“We don’t have to spend the day together,” I suggest, in case he’s acting funny at the idea of being forced to spend time with me, which, let’s face it, is highly likely.
“Don’t be stupid. Let’s…” He drums his fingers against the counter, staring out the window, “Go for a walk? Check out the forest?”
It’s overcast outside but warm, and since I have no better ideas of my own, I agree. “Sounds like a plan. Maybe we should take some food with us? There’s no point in rushing back, is there?”
“You mean, have a picnic?”
“Why not? Sammy is obsessed and makes me do them all the time with him. As long as you promise never to rat me out and tell him I said this, they’re actually fun.”
“I am so telling him the next time I see him.”
I smile and make my way to the pantry. “Of course you will.”
We set out, and after walking for about half an hour, we reach the trees and find a nature trail. I was expecting Jackson to ditch our picnic plans and make a bold dash for freedom, but he never did. A one-hour hike later, we’ve parked ourselves in a beautiful spot with a view overlooking wave-like hills dotted with oak-studded meadows, lush grazing fields, and a carpet of gold, purple, and fiery red wildflowers.
“Clancy really did think of everything,” Jackson comments as I open the picnic basket I found in the pantry, conveniently stocked with fruit, crackers, two baguettes, popcorn, and pretzels.
I take out the baguettes I made before we left and lift one into the air. “Roast beef, mustard, and arugula?” I raise the other. “Or turkey, cranberry sauce, and baby spinach?”
“They both sound really good.”
“What can I say? I had an abundance of good ingredients to choose from.”
Jackson’s eyes narrow as he deliberates between the two choices.
“Tell you what?” I say when he can’t make up his mind. “How about I cut them in half, and we can have one of each?”
He breaks out into a grin. “That sounds great.”
I cut the baguettes, place one half of each on a paper plate, and hand it to him.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
We start chewing, the occasional call of a meadowlark the only sound breaking the comfortable quiet.
“I’m liking this truce,” Jackson says after a while.
I smile around my baguette. “I’m liking it, too.”
He places his plate in front of him and crosses his legs. “I’m sorry if I didn’t say the right thing last night when you told me all that stuff about your family and your addiction. It caught me by surprise, and I wasn’t sure what the best response was.”
“You were fine. Really. Most people don’t know how to react and only end up saying something cheesy or eye-roll-worthy.”
“Like what?”
“You know, clichéd shit like, ‘everything happens for a reason’ or ‘what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.’”
“Ugh. That one’s the worst. I also really hate ‘it could always be worse.’”
“That one is pretty dumb… You speaking from experience, by any chance?”
His shoulders go rigid. “No. Just general stuff.”
“What about you? I gave you my sad life story. I want to know more about you. How did you get into horses?”
Yes, I’m fishing for details about his life. I figure horses should be a safe place to start. It remains to be seen whetherhe’ll eventually open up to me about his family once owning the rescue center.
