Page 62 of Middle Ground
What usually takes me no time at all ends up becoming a large task as I remake the filling. Still, when the pie is done, chilling in the fridge, I smile. I like to bake a variety of strawberry pies, but this is one of my favourite recipes—the filling is mixed in a pot on the stove, then poured into the baked shell and set in the fridge. It’s served cold with a dollop of whipped cream on top.
“We managed to spend the whole day together without any threats of death,” I muse.
Jackson nods. “You should be proud of yourself. Impeccable restraint on your behalf.”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t act like you haven’t thought about it.”
“About what?”
“Killing me.” When his brows jump, I amend my statement. “Notactually. Metaphorically.”
He grins. “I know what you meant.” He slides his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants, ever casual. “But I’m afraid I can’t say that I have.”
Now my brows jump in surprise. “I’m very stubborn, you know. I wouldn’t blame you.”
“That, Ellison, is precisely what I like most about you.”
Not for the first time, Jackson has managed to render me speechless.
“The pie,” he goes on, as if he hadn’t just complimented me. My obstinacy. “When can we eat?” His eyes lock on mine, and I can almost swear something predatory—wolfish—flashes in them. “I’m hungry.”
CHAPTER 22
MEYER
Today issonotmy day.
We haven’t had any updates from the police’s investigation, even after Jackson gave them a not-so-gentle prodding. But we also haven’t had any more creepy incidents, so I finally managed to convince my friends that I don’t need a permanent bodyguard. Jackson has been accompanying me to see my mother every time I’ve been recently, but I went alone today.
My happiness was short-lived, though, because my air conditioning decided to crap out on my drive to Calderville, and then on my way back, one of my tires went flat.
Atticus’s class is on a field trip to the strawberry fields today, and Pippa took the day off work to help supervise. Declan is at the lumber yard—I can’t justify interrupting his shift to help myself out. And with that, I realize that my network is very small. I know lots of people in town, but none of them are close enough to warrant asking a favour.The walk back to Fraisier Creek is long, albeit manageable, but in this heat, it’s likely I’d keel over from heat stroke.
Which leaves me only two options: wait in the unforgiving sun for Kenny to come tow my car or call the last person I want to need something from.
Ten minutes later, a black sports car slows and then does a U-turn, pulling up on the shoulder behind me.
“I’m tired, hot and sweaty, so whatever teasing comment you’re about to make—” I hold up a palm. “Just don’t.”
Jackson throws his hands up in surrender. “I was only going to offer to change your tire for you.”
I raise a skeptical brow. “You know how to do that?”
He heads for my trunk. “Believe it or not, I’m very capable with my hands.” After rooting around for a minute, he turns to me. “Ellison, where’s your spare tire?”
I shrug. “I don’t know, in there somewhere?”
He shakes his head. “There’s nothing here.”
“Son of a bitch.” I kick at the flat tire, but I manage to hit the hubcap instead. My big toe throbs. “Ow. Fuck.”
“Okay,” he says, placing his hands on my shoulders and steering me away from my car. “Let’s not start a fight you can’t win, huh?”
I eye my old Ford Fiesta. “Should’ve gone with the Honda Civic.”
Jackson laughs. “Come on, get in. We can call the tow truck on the way back.”
Begrudgingly, I agree. In the blissful coolness of Jackson’s air conditioning, I call Kenny and tell him where I left my stupid hunk of junk. But when we bypass the inn, I whirl on Jackson.
