If It's Only Love (Boys of Jackson Harbor 6)

“I . . .” The image is so clear, and my heart aches with how badly I want it. This future.

“Keep your eyes closed,” he says softly. “Look around. Step outside if you want. Grab your planner and open your calendar—what do you have coming up this month? This is the life you built, and you love it. Study the details. What makes you smile? Like any life, there’s good and bad, but what are the parts that make the tough moments worth it? What excites you? Here, in this moment, five years from now, you can find all the answers you need.”

It’s easier than I would have imagined. Everything is so clear—the sunny room I wake up in, the smell of coffee in the kitchen, the warm feel of someone wrapping me in a hug from behind before I turn to smile. I open my eyes and find him watching me. “That was incredible.”

“Did it help?”

I nod. “I’d already decided, but yeah. The visualization helped nail it down. Thank you.”

His throat bobs as he swallows. “Where were you?”

“In Jackson Harbor, and I have a family.” I study him and wonder if I’m a fool for having the same dreams for my future now that I had when I was a twenty-year-old college student studying in Paris. The idea of moving to L.A. doesn’t thrill me, but the idea of staying home, of letting my choices be guided by my family? Does it really matter if that makes me a small-town girl? Or old-fashioned? Maybe those things aren’t bad. Maybe they’re just me.

“That sounds like a good start,” Easton says.

“I think for me it is. There are people who thrive by revolving their life around their career, but there’s no career I want enough for that.”

“What about writing?”

I smile. Leave it to Easton to refuse to forget my whispered dreams. “I’m not sure even a career as a novelist would be enough to substitute for living near the people I love the most. But that’s moot, isn’t it? I can do that anywhere . . . if I’m ever lucky enough to do it at all. And until then, I just need a job that pays the bills and allows me to live my life. There are so many opportunities with my family’s business that I’d enjoy. A job that gives me a sense of satisfaction and lets me spend my free time with my favorite people in the world.” I shrug. “For better or worse, that’s enough for me.”

He takes my hand and strokes his thumb across my knuckles. He’s quiet for a long time, and when he does talk, he draws in a deep breath first. “Take a walk with me?”

“I’d like that. Do you need to tell Abi?”

He shakes his head. “Nah. I told Carter I was coming in here to ask you on a walk, so he’s going to keep an eye on her.”

I’m wearing flats with my dress, so I trade them for a pair of canvas tennis shoes on the way out the door. The fresh air feels good, the sun amazing after the long winter, and I find myself smiling as we stroll the property. There’s so much left to do and decide, but I already feel better having made my decision. I’ll have to call Emmitson University next week and cancel my interview. I don’t need to waste their time or mine.

We wander past the house and away from the beach toward the pole barn where we keep the snowmobiles and store the boat and lake equipment during the winter. Easton knows this property as well as I do, having spent a good chunk of his teenage summers and weekends hanging out here.

“Thank you for taking me through that,” I say after we’ve walked for a while. “It was helpful.”

“I can’t take the credit. When I was trying to decide whether or not to retire, my therapist did that exercise with me. I found it . . . insightful.”

“And your vision brought you back here?”

“Yeah.” He looks down at me. “I guess we have that in common. I think it was the right decision, too. It’s such a relief to see Abi happy, but I owe that to your family. You all welcomed us and made us feel . . .”

I smile. “Welcome?”

He smacks my ass lightly. “Pest. I was going to say not alone.”

“Well, I think that’s what friends do.” I take his hand and intertwine our fingers. “I like being your friend, Easton.” And maybe, if I stay, we could work on being something more.

Something flashes in his eyes, but he looks away before I can place the emotion. “About that . . .”

We keep walking, but I squeeze his hand. “What?”

He lifts our hands and studies them. Mine is so small in his, but to me, it’s the perfect fit. He shakes his head. “Nothing.”