“It’s not sex,” she declared, earning another eye roll. “Okay, it’s not only sex. If he wanted his normal slam, bam, thank you, ma’am kind of night, he wouldn’t be leaving you notes and coming to see you at work.”
My lips pursed and I swallowed the bitter taste on my tongue. I didn’t want to think about Jackson doing any kind of slamming or bamming.
“What are you going to do?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. What would you do?”
“I think you should tell him about the kiss in the playground.”
“No sirree.” I shot off the bed. “As far as I’m concerned, that night never happened.”
“Then I guess you’ll have to go out with him. If that night never happened, then you have nothing to be mad about. Especially since he apologized for calling you Willow for so long.”
I frowned, annoyed that she’d tricked me. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I know. But why not? I mean, you’ve liked this guy for an eternity, so why not go out with him? Yes, he got drunk and high and kissed you, then forgot. Total asshole move. But it was one mistake. If you tell him about it, I bet he’ll feel awful.”
“I’m never telling him about it, Leighton.”
She held up her hands. “Fine. What I’m saying is that he messed up and would probably own it. Just like this note.”
She plucked the apology note from my nightstand. Was it pathetic that I kept them on my nightstand so I could sleep next to them? Probably.
“I don’t want to tell him.” I sighed. “It would be too humiliating.”
“Then don’t tell him. But if he really is interested, why wouldn’t you go out with him?”
I went back to the bed and plopped down. “It hurt. So much. I’ve never felt anything like that before. And that was just after one kiss. What happens if we date for a while and then he dumps me? What if he breaks my heart?”
She set her hand over mine, her pink manicured nails such a contrast to mine, which were unpainted and cut short. “It’s possible. But that’s a risk no matter what. Don’t you want to at least give Jackson a chance? I mean, if I had a guy who I’ve been crushing on for ages ask me out, I’d be too curious to resist.”
I blew out a long breath. She was right, I could get hurt. But that was a risk everyone took when it came to love. “I’ll think about it.”
“Good.” She put the notes back on the nightstand and scooted back into the pillows.
The couch over by the window was comfy and soft, but whenever Leighton was over, we always camped out on my bed, either to talk or gossip or watch TV. It was our spot.
“Mom and Dad are taking me out to dinner tonight. Want to come?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I can’t. I, um . . . have a date.”
“What?” I yelled, nearly jumping to the ceiling. “With who? When?” Leighton hadn’t dated since high school, not since she’d been assaulted in college, and this was a huge step for her.
Leighton smiled and looked to her lap. “Brendon Jacoby.”
“No way.” My mouth fell open. “How did that happen?”
She picked at one of her nails. “I ran into him at the grocery store last night. He was buying salsa, and I was buying tortilla chips. We met by the nacho cheese and got to talking. He’s having me over for tacos tonight.”
“Yes!” I clapped. “I’m so excited!”
I might not have liked Brendon for myself, but he was a nice guy and perfect for Leighton. He was cute, in a clean-cut, wholesome kind of way. He didn’t have the larger-than-life, drool-over-me presence that Jackson did, but when Brendon walked into a room, most women glanced his way.
“Me too.” Leighton worried her bottom lip and she was about to ruin her nails if she kept picking.
“I’m proud of you. Are you okay?”
“I’m really nervous,” she whispered. “I really like him.”
“Don’t worry,” I said gently. “Just be yourself and he’ll love you.”
“Thanks,” Leighton said with a sad smile. “What should I wear? Most of my stuff screams conservative English teacher. Not single lady who wouldn’t mind a french kiss for the first time in ages.”
I giggled. “Let’s go back to your place and we’ll find something.”
She slid off the bed and stared longingly at a dress I’d laid out over the couch to air-dry. “Our friendship would be so much more convenient if we were the same size.”
“Right?” Even as kids, the two of us had never been able to share clothes.
Leighton had gotten her build from her dad, who’d always reminded me of a real-life Paul Bunyan. She was a knockout with her rich, chocolate hair and feminine curves. She was five nine with legs that went on for days and a bust that not even two of my bras sewed together would support.
“I want something like that navy sundress.” She pointed to the dress I’d been wearing the night Jackson had kissed me on the swing set.
For the first time in our friendship, I was glad we couldn’t share clothes like a lot of other girls did. That dress would be for me, along with the memories that came with it. No matter how much time passed, it would always remind me of that night with Jackson, even if the memory had turned sour.
“We’ll find something.” I slid into some flip-flops, then we traipsed through town and across the highway to her boathouse and got her ready for her date.
After picking out some skinny jeans and a simple green blouse, I left Leighton’s place and walked home in no particular hurry, enjoying the warm sunshine of the early evening.
Saturdays were me days, because during the summer, it was my only day off in the week. Even then, I usually stopped by the camp for an hour or two, just to check in with the counselors. But today, I’d stayed away and let my capable staff run the show.
Tomorrow would be hectic, starting early with a sendoff for the current campers and ending late with a welcome party for the new group of kids. So I was enjoying the day to myself and catching up on some much-needed rest and laundry.
As I strolled down the sidewalk toward my house, my thoughts drifted to Jackson. Would there be another note waiting when I got home? My feet sped up, then I slowed as I remembered the time. He was already at work.
Thea was still in New York and Jackson had to open the bar. That was probably why I’d gotten today’s note so early.
Dang. It had only been a few days, but I’d gotten used to having them by my door when I got home in the evenings.
I walked the rest of the way home, finding my mom sitting on the bottom step of my staircase with her garden gloves and a pair of scissors.
Her blond hair was twisted in a bun and trapped in a visor. She always dressed nicely, even when gardening. Today she wore a pair of navy linen pants and a cream blouse. The only thing casual about Mom was the pair of tan gardening clogs she wore when working outside.
“Hey, sweetie,” she greeted, trimming back a flower.
“Hi. Want some help?”
“Sure! I didn’t realize these had grown so much these past two weeks. I’ve been so focused on getting the strawberry patch in the front yard under control.”
“It’s okay. I just step around them.”
“I think we’d better trim them back.” She picked up a yellow petunia that had been trampled, probably by one of Jackson’s boots.
I laughed. “You’re probably right.”
I picked up the watering can that I used every day to water the flowers and went to the faucet to fill it up. I watered quickly, then found another pair of scissors to help Mom.
It didn’t take us long to work our way up the stairs, trimming until we could actually see the stairs again. When we got to the top, Dad came out from around the garage.
He was wearing his standard khaki chinos, short-sleeved shirt and loafers. The only thing different about his summer attire and his school-year attire was the lack of a tie. He still styled his light blond hair like he was going to work. And he starched and ironed his slacks every morning.
“You girls ready for dinner?” he asked.
“Almost,” I told him, tying up the garbage bag we’d filled.
Saturdays were also my night to eat dinner with my parents. We’d started the ritual after I’d moved into the garage three years ago, so instead of going on dates or meeting friends, I spent my Saturday nights with Mom and Dad.