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Jackson’s mom was in and out of prison when he was a kid. A big reason he moved here with her was to give her a fresh start and take her far away from the people she allowed to drag her into their chaos.

“I can’t think of anyone in town I’d be too worried about,” I say, hoping to ease his mind.

He tips his chin in appreciation.

“Just think, Linc,” Owen says…I can tell by the humor in his tone that some smartass comment is about to fly out of his mouth. “That could be you sending flowers and getting some action if you’d go out with the blonde server who keeps staring at you.”

I sigh heavily. “We’re back to this?”

The two of them laugh at my expense.

“Or maybe there’s someone else he’s taken a fancy to,” Jackson muses. “Someone with shapely legs and shiny red hair.”

My spine straightens at the knowledge Jackson was looking at Hattie’s legs. I don’t like that he noticed her legs. It’d be impossible not to. She has amazing legs…but still. I have the sudden urge to muss up his neatly combed doctor hair. Instead, I grit my teeth and keep my jealous ass firmly planted in my seat.

“I think you talking about her legs was the wrong move,” Owen whispers dramatically to Jackson. “Linc looks jealous.”

I sniff. “I’m not jealous. Poppy made friends with the woman, so I have a protective instinct. I’m just looking out for her.”

“Ahh, I see,” Owen nods. “Protecting her from kind, successful doctors?”

I drag a hand down my face. These two have a talent for twisting my words.

“Okay, no more teasing,” Jackson says, raising his hands up in surrender. “We’re just glad you’re here, man.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I say, smiling. “Now that you’ve both sufficiently bullied me, it’s someone else’s turn. Who should we tease Owen about?” I direct the question to Jackson.

He brings his hand to his chin. “I’ve noticed Mrs. Rose checking him out.”

“Well, Owen’s always had a thing for her.”

Owen makes a show of fake gagging. “Mrs. Rose was the meanest teacher I ever had. And her breath smelled terrible.” He straightens up in his seat, smirking. “However, I wouldn’t say no to a date with Mrs. Moor.”

The three of us laugh because Mrs. Moor is a wealthy widow who owns half the town, and she’s nearly ninety.

The server comes back and takes our plates, leaving the check behind. Owen grabs it before Jackson, or I can and slides out of the booth to pay at the bar.

I feel Jackson’s knowing gaze on my profile before he speaks, and I know what’s coming before he opens his mouth. Because two days ago was October twenty-first. It crept up on me for the second year now, looming in the back of my mind like a grim reaper.

“How are you, Linc, really?” Jackson asks.

I meet his gaze. My throat suddenly feels scratchy and dry. “I’m okay. The twenty-first is always difficult, probably always will be.”

He nods in understanding but says nothing. Which it’s exactly what I need. I don’t want sympathy or encouraging words about how my parents are in a better place now. I’m so tired of hearing everyone’s well-meaning words. I just need a friend to sit with me in this, someone who understands the weight of this grief, a steady presence.

“Hard to believe it’s been two years,” I say quietly. “That they’ve been gone for two years’ worth of special moments, birthdays, holidays…”

Jackson listens in silence.

“It’s still so…heavy. I hoped the weight of it would lighten up over time, but maybe it never will.”

“There’s no timeline for grief. Some days might feel lighter than others, but that ache always lingers,” he says, shifting his eyes down. Jackson understands grief in a different way than I do. His parents didn’t pass away, but his dad left, and then his mom missed half of his childhood.

“Yeah, I think you’re right.” I blow out a breath, attempting to shake off the dark edges of our conversation. “We did our ride again this year, at sunset.”

Mom and Dad wanted to be buried in the back pasture on our farm when they died. It’s a comfort knowing they rest there, that they’re still with us in a way. The last two years, my siblings and I saddled up and did a trail ride together around their resting place.

Jackson smiles. “Good. Your parents would love that tradition.”