It’s the kind of day that’s too pretty to spend my lunch break inside—all blue skies and fluffy clouds—so when Abigail texts me and asks me to meet her at the park, I’m more than happy to oblige.

I grab a chicken salad sandwich on a croissant from the deli case at Holy Grounds and make the walk from the plaza that hosts the coffee shop and bookstore. It’s getting warmer every day, I realize as I step out the door. We’re edging closer and closer to summer and all its humid glory. Already the hair falling out of my ponytail is beginning to curl.

Sometimes I think there are no good seasons in Massachusetts—just cold humidity or hot humidity. A lot of bare trees or enough flowers and grass to give you an allergy attack. But on a day like today, when I can wear just a simple T-shirt and feel the sun on my skin, I feel like maybe it’s worth it. I may not have the city today, but at least Swan’s Hollow smells good.

I find Abigail at the park, already sitting at one of the picnic benches facing the lake. She’s wearing her bookstore uniform and a tiny gold necklace half-buried in her cleavage. There’s an N engraved on the pendant, for her boy, and when I see it I smile. I take a seat across from her and push my sunglasses up into my hair.

Abby assesses the grin on my face and cocks her head to the side. “Well don’t you look happy.”

I probably do. I haven’t been able to stop smiling ever since last night with Jackson. After dinner he took me to McCafferty’s, where we spent hours browsing through books before heading back to his place.

“I broke my writing slump.” And my sex slump.

Abby opens her tupperware. It’s full of fresh greens and vegetables, a sauce that smells like lemon and basil. “I hear you were up to no good at the bookstore last night.”

I take a bite of my sandwich. It’s not the healthiest choice, but between the late night with Jackson and an early morning wakeup, I didn’t have time to throw together lunch. And frankly, the chicken salad is damn delicious.

“You weren’t working last night,” I protest around a mouthful of bread. “How would you know if I was there?”

Abigail rubs her hands together and cackles. “The books have ears.”

“That or your employees are some well-trained little spies.”

She smiles. “I’m the best manager, aren’t I?”

“You’re something, all right.” I laugh. I’m glad Abby has the bookstore and that it lets her be flexible while she studies and takes care of Nico. I’m just a little sad that they didn’t have a job for me when I first came back to town. Although maybe I wouldn’t be running Penchant after all if things had panned out differently. “So who gave me up?”

“Mackenzie from the children’s department. She’s had a mad crush on Jackson for a while now.”

The image of a pretty blond girl with high cheekbones swims back to me. She must have noticed us when I took Jackson past children’s and into the fiction section to show him a copy of The Pact. I’d left my signed version back in Boston, and running my fingers over the cover last night made me remember all the other things I’d left behind. Other than my books and the Boston Public Library and wine dates with Mandy, I don’t miss as much as I thought.

Abigail looks at me, trying to gauge my reaction. I almost want to say, “Mackenzie can have him,” but that’s not really the truth, either. No matter how casual Jackson and I may be, I don’t like sharing.

Something like a flinch must pass across my face because Abby presses on. “So you and Jackson? That’s a thing that happened?”

I don’t know exactly what to say. I don’t know what this is anymore. I may have asked Jackson to stay casual, sure, but then last night in the car? That had been all me. Still, there’s no point denying that something is happening. Abby has a sixth sense when it comes to sussing out hidden romantic relationships. In eleventh grade she correctly guessed that the principal and the secretary were banging each other. Six months after her prediction, the two of them eloped to Cabo for a cheesy, rum-filled wedding and Abby had talked about it for a week straight.

“That’s a thing that happened.” In fact it’s a thing that happened again last night, me and Jackson in his bed. He’d promised me a massage and he’d made very good on that promise. Twice. Everything between us might be fragile and unnamed, but if I can stop thinking long enough to let go, my body knows exactly what to do. And it’s so, so good.

Abby sighs and stabs some salad. “God help me, I know the heart wants what it wants. Just think about what you want. Okay, Natalie? What do you want?”

The truth is, even though I’m being forced out of town, I still want to go. I want Boston and the Charles River and long walks on Newbury Street. I want to prove that I can handle doing things on my own, that I don’t need someone else to keep me afloat, whether it’s Matthew or my dad or even Jackson. I really, really don’t want to be rescued.

That’s the hard part about working with Jackson. The more time we spend together, the more every decision I make gets twisted up in his life. I made sure that our new arrangement still gave me the rights to the business name, but I can’t deny that it’s his money funding this second chance.

“Don’t worry,” I tell Abigail. “I’ve got a game plan. As soon as we get this product going, I’m going to get my own place.”

“Fair enough.”

I dig the toe of my sneakers into the dirt, unable to contain my confession any longer. “Actually, I’m being forced to get my own place. I’m getting kicked out.”

“What?” Abby’s face pales by a few degrees. “That bitch.”

I shake my head. “It wasn’t just Gayle. My dad found out about my business and I got an ultimatum: quit the business or leave.” Ugh. Saying the words out loud makes me realize what an ass I’ve been.

“And you picked the business.”

I shrug. “Selfish me.” She doesn’t know the half of it.

“It’s not selfish to bet on your future instead of taking the safe route. You’re relying on yourself instead of your dad.” When she says it that way, it sounds like I’m being brave. But I’m not. “Can you afford a place?”

I grimace. “Well, maybe. Yes?”

“Sounds like a no.”

I huff out a laugh. How am I actually going to pay back Jackson and my dad and afford a Boston apartment? “I’ll just get a roommate,” I concede. “I wanted to be totally on my own, but I can adapt.” That’s the name of the game in business and in life, right? Adapt to survive. “A roommate might not be the worst thing. As long as I get one who pays the bills on time.”

“And who’s cool with the lube life.” Abby frowns. “I mean, you could crash with me short-term, but…”

The remainder goes unsaid. But I have a kid. I look at her in horror. “I did not tell you all this to make you feel like you need to offer. I’ll be okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” I have to be okay.

“Good for you.” Abby chews her salad and considers. “You’re different, you know?”

“In what way?”

“I don’t know. More determined, definitely. And happier. More like you, somehow.”

Sitting there, with the sunlight warming my face and my belly and my heart full, I know it’s true. Last night, after driving home from Jackson’s place, I stayed up late to write again. I thought it was going to be fiction but for the second time since I’ve been in Swan’s Hollow, what spilled out was the story of this business, so far. All the ridiculous things that have been part of my journey toward becoming a badass business lady. Pouring everything down onto paper felt like cracking my heart wide open.

It’s not just the writing that’s making my body buzz, though. I was right to stand my ground against Gayle. My passion for this product and this business grows every day. It’s not just about making money anymore, but about the idea of empowerment. I love the idea of people being in charge of their own pleasure, the idea of helping people make healthy choices. So what if lube isn’t something people talk about all the time? My numbers are right—people are sure as hell using it.

That’s the reason why I’m typing up a purchase order when Jackson knocks on the guesthouse door in the afternoon. I’ve done the research and I’m ready to do this right. Not only are my numbers good, the supplier I’m going to use has given me professional references to call, along with credit terms. I’m not going to get burned again. At least not by a crappy supplier.

Jackson sticks a newspaper in my hands.

“You shouldn’t have.” I pinch the newspaper with my fingers. As much as I love words, something about the feel of newspaper ink on my hands makes me squirm.

Jackson takes back the paper and flips to the horoscopes. He points to his horoscope and then mine. “It’s a good day to buy some lube.”

I don’t believe in horoscopes because they’re largely self-fulfilling, but he remembered my birthday. It’s a small, stupid thing, but it makes me smile. “What is this crap, Jackson? I thought you were the business person here,” I tease.

He drops the paper on the table. “There’s a reason I’m the man for the job.”

“Because you trust a ten-cent psychic to help you make a ten-thousand-dollar decision?”

“Always a skeptic.”

A wave of uncertainty rolls over me, making my knees week. I may have put on a brave face when finding a new supplier, but if I fail after I place this order today, it really will be over. I’ll be just another dropout barista, stuck in my hometown. But also, thanks to Gayle, homeless. And Jackson? He’d be out even more money to buy back Wirth & Sons. I don’t want his ship to go down because of me.

I look up at Jackson. “Are you really sure we should be doing this?” Tell me no. Tell me that there’s a safer path. “It’s bad enough I got burned. No need for you to lose money, too.”

He kneels down next to me and I can smell the warm, inviting scent of his cologne.

“Natalie, I believe in this project. I believe we can do this. The world has never needed a lube as badly as it needs this one.”

I bite back a smile. “It is a good one, isn’t it?”

“Objectively speaking.” His eyes fill with amusement. “But I haven’t used it in its intended way. Yet.”

I stick out my tongue at him because I am totally mature and also because if I don’t break the tension I’m going to let him take me into the bedroom and try out the lube once and for all.

Jackson rests his hands on my knees and everything up to my belly button turns liquid. “You need to start trusting that we’re on the same team, Natalie. That I want this as much as you do.” There is no way we’re still talking about lube and it’s all I can do to focus on why we’re having this conversation in the first place.

Jackson’s right. Being scared isn’t a good enough reason not to do this. And he believes in this scrappy little business as much as I do. Maybe our hope is enough to carry us. But then I remember the credit card bill I got yesterday. It’s a harsh reminder that—no matter if you’re jobless or homeless—when a bill comes due, it’s due.

We need to make this work. I do.

“Fine, I’ll send in the purchase order today.”

I let him fold me into a hug. Then, with Jackson leaning over my shoulder, I finally send in another order—two thousand five hundred units of silicone personal lubricant to be manufactured for Penchant. It’s either the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, or the best. That’s the thing about making leaps of faith. Sometimes you don’t know until after you’ve landed if you’ve done the right thing. Right now my feet are off the ground. Right now my head and my heart are somewhere in the air.