I’m careful to maintain a ten-foot gap between us before I pull an earbud free and roll it between my fingers. “Sorry?” I ask, noticing his raised brows over eyes which are the very definition of hazel with dark blue edges that lighten to green and darken to a soft amber.
His grin spreads into a smile. “I said you must be Ace.”
I look him over again. I was away all of last year for college, but returned home nearly every weekend.
Nothing about him is familiar.
“Must be?” I wish I’d brought my family’s Newfoundland, Zeus, with me—not that he’d do anything more than possibly lick this guy to death. Still, his one hundred and seventy-five pounds usually serves as a deterrent to most.
His smile grows wider, pronouncing a small, jagged scar running from the edge of his bottom lip and stopping midway to his chin.
He doesn’t exactly scream axe murderer, but I’m guessing most don’t.
He takes a step closer and I quickly look around the empty park.
“Sorry, my name’s Jameson. Jameson West…” he says, sensing my unease. “Sharon told me about you girls. You’re a Bosse, right? One of the five sisters?” Rounded hazel eyes await my confirmation.
I stare at him, waiting for what always comes when it’s brought up that I’m one of five—the same trademark comments and questions. Had they been trying for a son? No. Do you girls fight all the time? Not really. Do you all look alike? We don’t, other than having our mother’s blonde hair and being built fairly similarly.
The questions don’t come. Instead, awkwardness taints the air between us as I wonder how he knows Sharon.
“She said you’re all blonde,” he adds, breaking the silence and lifting a hand to his own hair, as if translating the words for me. “That’s what gave you away.”
Sharon’s our next door neighbor and my mom’s best friend. She and her three sons have lived beside us for a decade. She also works at Saint Andrews Hospital with my father where they’re both thoracic surgeons. Sharon specializes with lungs, and my father, the heart. She and my dad have shared a close professional relationship for years, but my mom and Sharon didn’t become friends until the last few years when her youngest son, Max, moved away.
They started a book club and began playing Bunco with a group of women, which evolved into spending most of their free time together with a bottle of wine … or two, accompanied by lots of giggling and gossiping. The reality that we never really outgrow this behavior both relieves and concerns me greatly.
Raising my eyebrows, questions of what Sharon’s told him run through my mind. “At least half of Southern California is blonde.”
His smile turns playful. “Mr. Janes also mentioned you’d be down here when I passed his house on my way down. Told me I should watch out for you because it’s not safe to be running alone.” He turns his head, making a point of looking around the empty field.
Does he know all my neighbors?
“I’m Max’s friend.” Jameson takes another step, bridging what’s becoming a very small gap between us, and extends his hand.
“Nice to meet you,” I say, noting how rough and callused his palm is. “Are you visiting Sharon alone?”
His eyes widen. “No,” he answers automatically. His ivory cheeks color with a faint blush as he shakes his head, keeping his smile in place. “No. I transferred down here with Max from the University of Alaska. We’re here for the summer until school starts.”
This surprises me. True, it’s my first full day back home after visiting my grandparents with my dad and sister, Kendall, in France for the past two weeks, but I’m shocked my mom didn’t mention Max returning. It isn’t like her at all.
“I met your mom yesterday. She mentioned you and your sister … Kylie?” His forehead creases, lacking confidence.
“Kendall.”
Jameson’s lips quirk in an apologetic grin as he nods. “Kendall. That’s right. She said you two would be able to show us around since so much has changed in the past couple of years.” The brightness of his eyes tells me he’s teasing, but I’m certain his words hold truth. My mother is a southern debutante, born and raised in the great state of Texas—a nationality in of itself in her book. Being hospitable and polite is ingrained so deeply in her, she isn’t always aware of boundaries.
“Yeah, absolutely. We’d be happy to help in any way we can.” It’s also ingrained in us girls.
Thanks, Mom.
He motions to the track with a nod. “Mind if I run with you?”
“Sure,” I reply on instinct, even though I do mind. Running is something I prefer to do alone or with Zeus.
My music remains off as we set off at a slow jog. After a few laps, our pace increases. Surprisingly, measuring my strides against his longer ones is invigorating and a welcomed challenge.
We run until we’re winded, then slow to a jog and make our way up to my neighborhood.
Stopping in front of my house brings the return of awkwardness as he stands beside me, his destination next door. “I’ll see you around,” I huff.
Jameson smiles gently, like he knows I’m uncomfortable. “Yeah. I’ll see you soon, Ace.”
Upstairs, the sun seeps through my shades, revealing Kendall sprawled across my bed, fast asleep. Even at twenty-one she has a strong aversion to being alone for any length of time. A side effect of growing up in a large family.
After showering and pulling on clean clothes, I climb in beside Kendall and quickly find sleep.
The familiar murmur of voices floating up the stairs wakes me. Kendall’s disappeared and the sun casts long shadows across my room, mocking me for sleeping most of the day away.
It’s Sunday, which means it’s family night at my parents’ house—a weekly tradition we rarely miss.
“Oh, you guys brought macarons home,” my sister, Savannah, sighs.
“Those are the chocolate hazelnut ones.” I point to the back corner of the box, indicating her favorites.
“Oh, Ace!” Savannah’s bright blue eyes shine with tears as she stands and wraps me in a tight hug. Pregnancy hormones have increased my second to oldest sister’s constant need for affection. “I’m so bummed I didn’t get to go with you guys! I want to hear all about it!” She pulls back and eyes that match our mother’s and sisters’ slowly scrutinize my face before lifting to my brown ones, concluding her brief assessment.
Smiling with assurance, I run a hand across her belly.
“Do you think much has changed since last summer?” Her husband, Caulder, asks, walking in step with my other brother-in-law Kyle from the den.
Kyle’s eyes widen as he nearly stumbles to break his stride and separate himself from Caulder, knowing his question won’t be well received.
Savannah focusses on Caulder with in an icy glare. “I still want to hear about it.”
Caulder’s brown eyes turn somber. “I’m sorry, babe. You’re right…” he places a hand on Savannah’s six-month bump, “and in a couple years when baby Alex is big enough, we’ll all go.”
“More like Alexandra,” I tease, selecting a pink macaron from the box.