Later, Rose stood in the backyard at her house, staring into the middle distance as the sun set behind the mountains. With a glass of iced tea in one hand, she swayed gently as she watered the grass with the other, lost in thought. The back door opened, startling her. Lily padded out onto the wet lawn in bare feet.

"Hey, Lil."

Lily stopped beside her and peered at the grass with a concerned look on her face.

Rose cocked her head. "What are you looking at?"

"Nothing. Just wondering what's captured your attention so thoroughly." Lily smirked. "The lawn or the McBrides."

Rose chuckled and shifted the garden hose to her right to spray water on Lily's feet. Lily yelped and swatted Rose's shoulder.

"Mind your own business," Rose said, laughing.

Lily snorted. "Not going to happen. Did you talk to Jackson, or what?"

A blush crept into Rose's cheeks.

Lily raised her brows. "Did you?" Her mouth gaped. "You kissed him, didn't you? I can tell."

Rose's blush deepened. It was impossible to keep anything from her sister, even though she tried.

"It's nothing," she muttered.

Lily giggled. "Oh, it's something, all right. Did you talk to him, or did you just make out?"

Rose opened her mouth to speak, then hesitated. "I—I think we mostly just made out."

"This is a good thing!" Lily squealed. "Progress!"

"I guess so." Rose bit her lip. "I don't know, Lil."

"Talk to him, Rose. Just ask him. Whatever's on your mind that's getting in the way, just ask. What's the worst that could happen?"

Rose considered Lily's words. Maybe her sister was right. It was silly to be afraid of the past, especially after all these years. What could Jackson possibly say that would ruin their blossoming romance now?

She squared her shoulders. "All right. I'll ask him."

"Good." Lily grinned. "It's about time."

***

Jackson reclined in the living room with the TV on. The eleven o'clock news bleated out the day's headlines, but he wasn't listening. Instead, he was back in the treehouse, his lips pressed against Rose's mouth, his hands caressing her hair, her hot skin. He closed his eyes and leaned back on the couch, lost in a reverie.

Denny barreled into the room with a beer in hand.

"There he is," Denny boomed. "The groom-to-be."

Jackson blinked rapidly and sat up straight. "What?"

Denny snickered. "I never thought my baby brother would be the first one to walk down the aisle. By the looks of it, to run. Your little plan isn't exactly working in your favour." He cocked his head as he flopped down beside Jackson on the couch and rested his feet on the coffee table. "Or is it?"

Jackson lowered his brows. "It's not what you think—"

"Isn't it? You're..." Denny trailed off, snapping his fingers, "...what's the word? You're over the moon, man. Twitterpated."

"I am not."

"I've never seen you look at a woman the way you looked at Rose tonight. You're in love with her." Denny took a swig of his beer. "This is why we came to Dogwood, isn't it? I thought you wanted off the board."

"I do."

"Then you're taking a flying leap in the wrong direction."

"I'm not marrying Rose," Jackson snapped.

"Oh, please." Denny scoffed. "You were practically measuring her ring finger with your eyeballs."

Jackson's face burned. Sometimes, Denny was far too perceptive for his own good. He rubbed the back of his neck.

"Look, Denny, I need you to keep this between us."

Denny took another sip of his drink, then tipped the neck of the bottle toward Jackson. "Whatever you say."

"I mean it. Don't tell Dad."

Denny cocked his head. "Why not?"

Jackson ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation. "Because I'm asking you not to. I just—I can't explain it, okay? You wouldn't understand. I'm asking you to keep a secret for me. Just once."

Denny shrugged. "I don't see what the big deal is. You marry Rose, you win. You keep the money, the prestige, the job—everything."

Jackson muttered under his breath, "Not everything." He heaved a sigh and leaned across the couch to pluck the beer from Denny's hand. "Give me a sip of that."

"Hey, now. Get your own."

Jackson took a long drink before handing it back. "I just need you to do this for me. Please, Denny. Say you will."

Denny's brows drew together. "All right, Red. Relax. I won't say a word."

"Dally, too."

"All right, already. We won't say anything."

Jackson took a deep breath and let his shoulders relax. "Thank you."

"You need to work on your poker face, though."

Jackson quirked a brow at him.

"If you're trying to hide your feelings for Rose," Denny went on, "you're doing a piss-poor job. I'm just saying. When Dad gets here, you're going to have a hard time."

Jackson sat up straight. "What do you mean when Dad gets here?"

"Tomorrow." Denny raised his brows. "I thought you talked to him."

"Not about this," Jackson exploded. "Goddammit." He stood and rubbed his jaw nervously. "You've got to keep this quiet. Promise."

Denny rolled his eyes. "I promise, Jackson. All right?"

"Good. I just need more time."

"For what?"

Jackson ignored his brother as he strode from the room and stormed up the stairs. This was a disaster. He had to keep Rose away from his father. But with her stubborn resolve to work the Creek House grounds, that was going to be a challenge.

He sank onto the edge of his bed and rubbed his forehead wearily, shoulders slumping. That long-ago, late July day came back to him. The cloistering heat. Rose's sweat-slicked skin under his hands. Their kiss on the steps of the Creek House. His father's car in the driveway, its engine ticking, still hot. And what came after.

He tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling, remembering Rose in the treehouse. She'd clung to him as though they were adrift on a wave and had only each other to hold on to. If only she had any idea how badly he was treading water, himself. He wanted more of her—possibly more than she was ready to give—and he'd been ready to wait, to bide his time and show her how he'd changed. He wanted to show her that he was a man now, with a man's desires and a man's honour. But everything was just so...complicated.

He rested his head in his hands and sighed into his palms.

With his father due to arrive, he didn't feel like a man. Instead, he felt very much like the boy he used to be.