Page 3 of The Rules We Broke
And I was keeping secrets from her.
How could I even think of meeting Brady Jackson?
Later that afternoon, my friends came over for my traditional birthday dinner: chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes, and homemade biscuits—just the way Doris made them every year. The cake was decorated in Auburn colors, complete with an Ella-shaped “A” styled like the Auburn logo. Every bite, every sparkle of frosting, was a reminder of rule number three.
Aunt Lu always outdid herself with presents, and this year was no exception. Prada shoes. A Coach handbag. Gifts that felt absurd in Kaysville, Alabama—frankly, absurd anywhere. What fifteen-year-old needs luxury accessories? But Aunt Lu was all about the outrageous. She did things her way.
After the birthday festivities, my best friends and I made our way to the annual Kaysville carnival at the fairgrounds. Laughter, neon lights, and the scent of funnel cake wrapped around us like a warm familiar hug.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about Brady Jackson. Not that I could tell anyone about the note—not even my best friends. In Kaysville, people didn’t just follow the rules, they revered them. It wouldn’t surprise me if someone etched them in stone and mounted them next to the Ten Commandments at the courthouse.
We bought our tickets and rode everything from the tilt-a-whirl to the bumper cars, shrieking and laughing like nothing was tugging at my conscience. But as we headed toward the Ferris wheel, I glanced at my phone: 6:50 p.m.
One of us would have to ride alone on the Ferris wheel, so I thought maybe I should stay back and let the other two ride together. Plus, I really didn’t like heights.
Yes, they were all just excuses. Wicked little excuses.
Because even though I knew better, I couldn’t stop thinking about why Brady Jackson had asked me to meet him.
“Girls,” I said before I could talk myself out of it. “Why don’t you two ride the Ferris wheel? I’m going to grab some lemonade.”
“Are you sure?” they asked in unison.
I nodded. “Uh-huh.”
I watched them get in line, then turned and slipped away toward the funhouse. My heart was racing—wild and wicked. I felt like a cat chasing curiosity, and Aunt Lu’s voice echoed in my mind:Never trust a Jackson.I told myself it was just one meeting. No harm done. Still, I glanced around to make sure no one was watching. Ridiculous, really. But in Kaysville, even secrets had eyes.
I crept behind the funhouse five minutes early. Brady was already there, pacing. When he heard my footsteps, he turned—and his face lit up like the Fourth of July. We stood there, caught in a moment, neither of us speaking.
He’d invited me, so I wasn’t going to be the first to talk.
Then he stepped closer, slow and cautious.
I should’ve walked away. This was rule-breaking of the highest order. But he looked so sweet—and socountry—with his tight blue jeans, cowboy boots, and white tee that clung just enough. And that warm, fluttery feeling bloomed inside me all over again.
“Miss Ellie,” he drawled.
“My name is Ella.” I probably added more sass than necessary, but I was a Southern girl through and through.
He grinned. “I know your name, Ella Lu Eaton.”
He stepped closer. I held my breath, twisting a strand of hair between my fingers.
He stopped mere inches away, towering over me in his tight blue jeans and cowboy boots.
I tilted my head to meet those light blue eyes framed by lashes darker than they had any right to be.
His smile was wide, fresh—he’d just gotten his braces off, and now, it gleamed like summer. He slipped his hands into his pockets, nervous in that way boys are when they’re trying to be cool.
“Happy birthday, Miss Ellie,” he said, soft and sweet as molasses.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
He reached up and tugged on my hair. “What happened to your crown?”
I couldn’t wear that crown home. Aunt Lu would not have been pleased at all to see me in it. Surely, he knew the rules.
“Why did you ask me to meet you?” I couldn’t help but ask.
