Page 42 of The Summer We Played Pretend

I raise an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

"Trust me." He squeezes my hand gently.

With a dramatic sigh, I comply. Jackson guides me forward a few more steps before coming to a stop.

“Are you going to push me off the cliff?” I crack open an eye.

“If you don’t keep your eyes closed, maybe.”

I hear his backpack zipper open and some rustling.

“Jackson…”

“Two more seconds.”

I fold my arms and wait, resisting the urge to open my eyes.

"Okay, open them."

I blink my eyes open and gasp. Spread out before me is a picnic blanket and a few Tupperware tubs scattered across the blue pattern. There’s plastic tumblers and what looks like non-alcoholic bubbly to one side too.

"Jackson, this is..." I trail off, willing my eyes not to glisten. It’s just a picnic.

But it’ssothoughtful. So sweet. Not something you’d expect someone like Jackson with his tattoos and worn t-shirts to do.

At least, not something anyone else would expect. I know him better than that and I’m starting to get the feeling he’d do anything for me.

He rubs the back of his neck and looks to the ground. "I know it’s not much. I don’t own a wicker basket or whatever but—”

I shake my head emphatically. "It's perfect."

We settle onto the blanket and Jackson begins unpacking popping open the tubs. I grin as I spot peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and great big wedges of honeydew melon alongside donuts from the bakery in town.

"How did you remember all this?" I ask, marveling at the spread.

Jackson shrugs, a small smile playing at his lips. "I pay attention."

A warm glow spreads through my chest. It's such a simple statement, but it means everything. Jackson notices the little things, the details that make me who I am. He sees me—really sees me—in a way no one else ever has.

As he pours the drinks, I can't stop smiling. For the first time in months, I feel light. Free. Like anything is possible, as long as Jackson is by my side.

I can't help but laugh as Jackson meticulously arranges the food on paper plates, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"Who knew the big bad mechanic had such a knack for picnics?" I tease, nudging his shoulder. "I didn’t even know you owned a picnic blanket.”

“Well, it’s Dad’s for one, and it’s just a couple of sandwiches.”

“You’re definitely ruining your reputation.”

“I have a reputation?”

“Are you kidding? All the girls at school were so jealous you were best friends with my brother. They thought you were such a bad boy.”

“And what do you think?”

I blush, recalling the time before Brendan when I’d watched him playing football in the garden from my bedroom window, willing him to rip off his t-shirt.

“I was too busy studying to think about boys,” I say primly.

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