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“If the money can work, which one gives you the version of your life that you want?”
I’ve never thought about what not reaching higher would mean. What do I want my life to look like in five or ten years? For the first time, the version of success that my mother, myself, and everyone wanted for me no longer feels like my safest option.
I hear the soft click of the door closing behind me, Jackson leaving me with my thoughts. I turn to sit on the couch and see my heated blanket has already been turned on and my current Regency romance book set beside it.
I let myself get lost in the centuries-old world of the ton, letting their worries of finding an advantageous match fill my mind. And somewhere between the offer letter and the blanket, my definition of success starts to shift too.
21
PHOENIX
My phone dings, waking me up with a restless energy.
Virgo — Weekly Check-In
Today asks you to loosen your grip on what was and make room for what could be. Answers about the future may arrive disguised as unfinished conversations from the past. Closure isn’t always an ending; sometimes it’s understanding. Trust that what is meant for you won’t be found by looking backward, but you may need to uncover what’s buried there before you can move forward.
Fine universe, maybe one conversation won’t kill me.
I have the sudden urge to throw out all the old clothes I don’t wear, the kitchen appliances I never use, and start fresh. I peer through the sheer curtains of the new sunroom. Sun’s out, and it’s doing the yard no favors. Bare-bones landscaping, and even the bare bones are overgrown. I’m out the door before I’ve fully decided to be.
The soil is cool under my fingernails, and against my will, I’m smiling. I can almost hear Nessa now: “Of course you’re happier in the dirt. You’re an Earth sign. It’s not a preference; it’s biology.”
Sweat beads on my forehead as my pile of yanked-out weeds grows higher. A figure appears, blocking my light. Wiping my brow and probably smearing dirt across my face, I look up to see Jackson.
“You’ve been busy this morning,” he says, hands at his waist, eyeing my handiwork. He’s wearing a pair of black athletic shorts and a moisture-wicking light green T, clearly just finishing up a run.
I reach for my phone out of habit and come up empty. I haven’t thought about it once all morning. I let myself feel a little smug about that.
“What is it?” Jackson asks. “You’ve got that look. The one you get when you finish the crossword before me.”
It’s true, beating Jackson at anything was always one of my favorite hobbies. Glancing away from him and back at the garden, I realize it’s time for a new one.
“Just appreciating my progress. I may have a black thumb, but at least that is helpful in getting rid of these weeds.” I attempt to stand, and Jackson moves quickly, bringing my crutches to me.
“So, what’s your vision for your estate, Proprietress?” he asks with full sincerity.
Surveying my small front yard, I see my vision coming to life. “I always wanted one of those overgrown but still-kept gardens full of wildflowers in front of a cottage. It’s probably because I was obsessed with the movie Matilda growing up, and Ms. Honey’s cottage and garden were my dream.” I stop and mutter more to myself, “Or maybe it was the dream of finding someone like her to take me in.”
Looking back at Jackson, I realize I admitted that out loud. His thoughtful look hurts more than if he had laughed at me. Tugging the brim of my hat up and down a few times, I square my shoulders and move to the topic at hand.
“Jackson, I believe you deserve your day in court, if you will, to share your side of the story. I promise, I won’t cross-examine; I will listen. Do you have time today to get this over with so we can both reach an understanding and move on with our lives?”
He opens his mouth, then closes it swiftly, stopping the flood of words attempting to come out. Closing his eyes, he inhales, shoulders rising with him, before releasing it all and looking back at me.
“Yes, thank you, I appreciate the opportunity to enlighten you on details you do not have.” Looking down at his sweat-soaked shirt, he adds, “Let me take a shower, and then I can make us some lunch; does that work?”
“No, it’s fine; I’ll cook something before I come over.”
Jackson bites his lip, trying to hold back a smile. “Sugar, you can do a great many things, but cooking? Well … it’s not your strong suit.”
“Hey! That’s not fair. I’ve kept myself alive for this long.”
“And it is a wonder you have! I don’t know how you managed to burn the salmon to a crisp on the outside and have it almost frozen on the inside, but it was impressive.”
I can’t hold back my own laugh at my lack of culinary skills. “Fine, I’ll be over in thirty minutes. I expect whatever you cook to have all of its surfaces at the appropriate temperature.”
He gives a mock bow before staring into my eyes. “Of course, I would never serve you anything that wouldn’t befit a duchess.” Checking his watch, he responds, “I’ll see you at half past twelve.” He heads to his side of the duplex.
