My Forever Billionaire

by Katie Evergreen

  “Mom?”

  Clementine moved out of the way so she wasn’t steamrollered to the floor by her mom. She caught her dad’s eyes, dark underneath his furrowed brow. His mouth was pursed. Clementine turned away, not wanting to hazard a guess at what he was thinking. Her mom had her arms on Jackson’s biceps, gripping them tightly as though trying to work out if they were real. Clementine couldn’t blame her, she’d had a hard time keeping her eyes to herself when Jackson had stripped out of his wet t-shirt last night and into a clean shirt.

  “Look at him, Clemmie,” her mom gushed, ushering him into the kitchen past Clementine and sitting him down at the table. “Just look at him. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes? Now, let me have a proper look.”

  As her mom kept talking, Clementine almost wished she was angry—anything would be less cringeworthy than this.

  “I need to get to work,” said her dad, obviously feeling the same way. Leaving a half full plate of food, he pulled on his boots, huffing and puffing as he did so.

  “Ladies, Jackson,” he said, shutting the door behind him.

  A fraction of a second of silence was too much for Clementine’s mom to deal with as she fussed about getting Jackson some breakfast.

  “Don’t mind him,” she said, topping his stack with bacon. “It’s just a big shock for him, you know. He’s probably worried you’ll up and leave again and Clemmie will end up as bad as she was last time…”

  “Mom!” Clementine hissed under her breath, willing with all her might for her mom to stop talking.

  “It’s okay, Clementine, your mom and dad are right to be anxious,” Jackson said, but Clementine couldn’t catch his eye. “It’s only because they care about you,”

  She didn’t want him knowing how much his leaving without a word had affected her, not until they’d actually had a chance to discuss it between themselves first. She didn’t want to make him feel any worse about being back than he must already.

  “Sit down, Little O,” he whispered at her.

  She looked at him finally. His eyes were wide, silently pleading with her to sit. He pulled his face into a pretend grimace. The knot of fear in Clementine’s stomach slid away with the look, she couldn’t help but giggle.

  “Okay,” she laughed, taking the seat next to him at the table.

  He leaned into her and she caught a whiff of ginger and soap. Butterflies replaced the empty space left in her stomach, a heat growing on her cheeks.

  “Thanks, I was getting worried your mom might sit there and grill me even more,” he whispered. His minty breath tickled Clementine’s cheek and a shiver ran all the way down to her toes.

  Stop it, Clemmie. Control yourself.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” she whispered back with a wink.

  She thought she saw his cheeks turn pink but her mom bustled in between them at that moment with two steaming hot plates of food.

  “There you go, tuck in,” she said, placing a plate down in front of them. “Oh, it’s just like old times.”

  They sang her praises for the delicious pancakes and tucked in.

  “So, what are you doing with yourself these days, Jackson?” her mom asked, sitting down opposite him.

  “Well…”

  There was a pause, Clementine felt his body tense next to hers

  “I work at Sweet Sensations.”

  He cleared his throat and took a huge forkful of food. Clementine thought that was a pretty good tactic for avoiding any more questions. Her mom didn’t get the hint.

  “You never do! Hey Clemmie, you should try and forge a deal for wholesale sweets.”

  She turned to Jackson.

  “My Clemmie has her own bakery. She would be a good person to get to know. Especially if you get commission for sales?”

  “Mom!” Clementine tried again to get her mom to stop talking. “I don’t have my own bakery. I had a bakery that I owned with Pete. That’s now gone. I have a few orders to fulfil but then I won’t have anything. So, I’m definitely not the person to talk to if you do work on a commission basis.”

  Clementine snorted into her pancakes and avoided Jackson’s eyes. She had to laugh, if she didn’t, she’d end up a soggy mess again. Truth be told, she felt like a failure.

  “Nonsense,” her mom piped up again. “We’re going to set you up here, back home where you belong. The people of Willingham would love a bakery here on their doorstep. The Pastry Emporium of Willingham.”

  She held her hands up above her head as though reading the words on a neon sign. Clementine groaned.

  “If there’s one good thing to come out of this messiness,” she said, pouring more syrup. “It’s that I never have to say I run a pastry emporium again. That really was an awful name.”

  Jackson muttered a noise of agreement. Clementine felt her pancakes flip over inside her tummy. Jackson would never have called a bakery an emporium, he was far too genteel for that rubbish. Fueled by his murmur, Clementine continued.

  “I wanted to call it The Gingerbread House but Pete pooh-poohed that as too girly. As if being too girly is something to be ashamed of.”

  Clementine went back to her pancakes, her cheeks flaming as Jackson’s eye’s bored into her.

  “Jackson,” her mom said, and this time Clementine was thankful for her chattiness. “We’re off to see an empty lot in town after breakfast, you should come. It’d be good to have a male perspective. And it’s always good to have a man about when there’s haggling involved. I get all giggly and hate talking figures. You must be good at that, seeing as you’re in sales and all.”

  She clapped her hands together in glee.

  “Yes, that’s decided. I’m going to get washed up.”

  She left the room in a flurry of excitement.

  “Sorry,” Clementine mouthed to Jackson when the room fell silent. “It won’t be a long trip, I promise. I need to be back here to decorate a cake this morning.”

  The cheeky half smile he gave her back warmed her like she was a cake baking in the oven. Maybe a trip to town wouldn’t be such a bad way to start the day after-all.

  13

  What a mess!

  Jackson tucked his long legs in to the back seat of the car. How had he got himself into this situation?

  Not this exact situation, he thought, squashed in behind Clementine in the family car. He was quite enjoying that. The nostalgia he had felt as they’d walked up to the battered old station wagon had hit him in the gut like a sucker punch. He’d been thrown right back to his childhood, arguing with Little O about who was going to sit up front with her mom. They’d always played a game of rock, paper, scissors, and inevitably had to keep playing until Clementine won best of however many goes they’d ended up thrashing out.

  This morning she had offered up the passenger seat, but he’d refused. He needed some headspace anyway, some room to come up with a plan to backtrack his life story before the lie got out of hand. Somehow, without really uttering anything of the sort, he’d been depicted as a poor urchin who was ever indebted to the grave marker of his younger brother. Yes, it had made him seem virtuous and honorable, but deep down he knew he was neither of those things. He knew he couldn’t tell Clementine and her mom the whole truth about what had happened to his brother, but he would have to tell them who he really was sooner or later. That lie was uncalled for. He just wasn’t sure how to dig himself out of the giant hole he seemed to be in.

  He stared out of the window as they drove down the Harper driveway. In the distance he could see the overgrown fields of his own farm. He drew his eyes away quickly, before the weight of guilt took hold again. Mrs. Harper caught his eye in the rear-view mirror and gave him a reassuring smile that could only come from a mom. The guilt shifted inside him, but he managed to force a smile in return.

  “So, tell us more about Sweet Sensations, Jackson,” Mrs. Harper asked as she turned the heavy car onto the road towards town. “Have you ever met the owner, what does he call himself? JD? JB? Or is he
as elusive as everyone makes out?”

  Jackson cleared his throat, his breath steaming up the car window beside him. He wiped away the mist with his jacket sleeve and watched as the road zoomed past outside. Half of him wished he could be out there, away from the questioning, but the other half never wanted to leave Clementine’s side ever again. That part of him was winning—that and the fact that if he jumped out of the car now he would do himself some serious damage.

  “He’s a good guy.” The answer just popped out before he had a chance to formulate something plausible. “I mean… from what I hear.”

  “What a way to make billions though, hey? Candy. I’d love his job. I bet he gets as many Never-Lasting Gobstoppers as he wants.”

  Jackson laughed. They were one of his favorites too. He’d decided to play on the name of the sweets in Charlie and The Chocolate Factory, and Violet Beauregard had been one of his favorite characters. His gobstoppers didn’t last forever, nor did they turn anyone purple, but they all had unique flavors that sharply divided his customers.

  “I love the carrot flavor ones, they make me feel as though I’m being healthy,” he said, looking at Mrs. Harper in the mirror again.

  “Me too,” she squealed, clapping her hands together.

  The car swerved precariously close to the edge of the road and Jackson heard Clementine mutter under her breath. He remembered all of a sudden how similar Clementine and her mom were, both full of enthusiasm and excitement. Yet Clementine seemed neither enthusiastic or excited now.

  As if hearing his thoughts, Clementine spoke.

  “I wish I could send Pete a Sugar Coated to tell him what I think of his recent behavior,” she said. “Though it probably wouldn’t be printed.”

  “You’d be surprised. We print a lot of things. Nothing inflammatory, no swear words, or anything bigoted or hurtful. But the whole reason I… I mean the company, invented Sugar Coated was so people could speak the truth with candy when words were not enough. What would you say to him, Clementine?”

  He watched as best he could from behind the driver’s seat. She was chewing her lip the way she always did when she couldn’t speak the words in her head. Jackson reached over and touched her shoulder gently, he felt her relax under his touch. Her hand reached up and covered his.

  “I’d just ask him to leave me alone,” she said. “And to not try to ruin my life any more than he has already.”

  “That’s printable,” he replied, feeling sad that she was hurting so much.

  “Yeah, that’s the radio version.”

  Her delightful laughter tinkled around the car. Jackson felt her thumb stroke the back of his hand and gooseflesh erupted all down his arm. Mrs. Harper wound down her window.

  “Is it just me or is it getting a little warm in here?” she said with a twinkle in her eye that Jackson could see in the mirror.

  Clementine withdrew her hand, Jackson squeezed her shoulder and sat back in his seat.

  “Oh look, there’s the Carters now.”

  Mrs. Harper pulled into a space outside the empty lot. A friendly faced man with a walking stick and a flat cap, and a pretty older woman who looked like she’d feel at home with a milking stool and bucket, stood outside the shop. Jackson thought they looked deep in conversation. He recognized them immediately and suddenly regretted coming on this trip. He’d spent hours in the video store as a child. He and Clementine used to indulge in movies every weekend, but most of their time would be spent choosing a movie to watch, rather than actually watching it.

  Mrs. Harper was out of the car before he’d had a chance to say he was staying put. Clementine turned around in her seat to face him, her cheeks looked pinker then they had all morning. It made her eyes sparkle. A flutter of delight pounded in his chest.

  “Thank you for coming with us. I really appreciate it. I know you’ve probably got a million and one things to do today.”

  Her voice trailed off and Jackson thought she was probably thinking about his farmhouse. It was true, he did have a million and one things to do today, including being at home for the window fitter, but he couldn’t imagine being anywhere other than with Clementine. Despite the dread of having to speak to people who knew his past, he couldn’t draw his eyes away from hers. She was worth it.

  “I’m honored to be here, Clementine,” he said, and he truly meant it. “Let’s get out of the car before your mom signs on the dotted line.”

  They laughed and climbed out. Jackson stretched his legs as he stood, his arms reaching up to the blue sky. He stood back for a moment to let Clementine go and talk to the owners of the store. He didn’t want them to be distracted by him and his history before they’d talked shop, so to speak.

  He walked around the car to the sidewalk, where only yesterday he’d parked his bike and hurtled back into a past that he thought he’d left behind. Shaking his head to try to throw out those thoughts, he walked around to the side of the empty lot. Each of the shops along Main Street were detached buildings, most of them were only single story. The empty lot which Mrs. Harper had earmarked for Clementine’s blooming business was no different. It looked a little run-down and neglected, but who was he to judge? There was extra parking at the rear, and the building looked in good shape, it just required a good clean and a lick of paint. That was the outside, anyway.

  He caught sight of the small group, still standing outside the front of the store. They were all looking at him, and Mrs. Harper was clapping her hands together to draw his attention. She beckoned him over.

  “Jackson?” the sweet-faced older woman looked at him for a second, before the recognition showed on her face. “Jackson Brodie, as I live and breathe!”

  She walked over to him and gathered him up in her strong arms.

  “I was so sorry to hear about your parents,” she said, standing back, her hands still on his arms.

  Everyone was sorry about his parents. Everyone told him how sorry they were. Yet when Chase had died no-one had said they were sorry. No-one had said anything, they could barely look at him. He knew it was because they all realized what had happened. No-one was sorry because they had nothing to be sorry about. He was the only person who should have been apologizing.

  “Jackson?”

  Clementine’s voice brought him back to the store front, and to Mrs. Carter, whose smile was dropping from her face.

  “Thank you,” he said, rescuing the smile before it fell to the floor. “It’s a bit strange to be back, to be honest with you. It’s only for a few more days then I’ll be back off to the city. But while I’m here let’s have a look at this place shall we?”

  Mr. Carter swung the door open with a hefty shove, it groaned at the effort, and so did Mr. Carter. The bell, on the other hand, rang out as if it had been in use every day since it was screwed into the door frame. A waft of musty dust circled around them as they walked over the threshold and into the old shop. The space was just as he remembered it, the video shelves all lined up in rows toward the till point. Only now they were empty. But it was a good size, and Jackson could see past the empty shelves and picture a pastel-colored bakery with a counter top full to the brim of wonderful cakes topped with Sweet Sensation candies.

  “It’s perfect,” he said, a huge smile growing on his lips.

  14

  “It’s perfect,” Clementine said.

  She looked at Jackson and they both burst into laughter.

  “Jinx,” she said, smiling at him.

  “Sorry, I hope you don’t think me impertinent?” Jackson said. “But it really does seem perfect for what you need.”

  Clementine watched him as he walked around the shop, brushing dust from the cashier’s desk. He held out his arms, an excitement in his eyes that she recognized from when he was a child.

  “Bring the till point here,” he said, his arms still outstretched. “A counter running both sides all the way to the walls. Glass fronted cabinets along the tops of the counter, filled with cakes and sweet treats. The windows all run
along the front of the shop, so you need to have your goods in plain sight. You could have your wrapping area just behind you, then behind that you could have your baking area. The smell of the baking cakes would be enough to entice people in. What kind of color palette will you go for?”

  She grinned from ear to ear.

  “Candy colors. Yellows and pinks probably.”

  He turned to the Carters.

  “I’m assuming behind that door back there is the staff kitchen and toilet? I mean, you’ve already got running water, electricity, gas, that kind of thing?”

  Clementine hadn’t even thought about these mundane but important issues, and she was glad Jackson had brought them up so early on. Mr. Carter nodded, taking a bunch of keys out of his pocket and walking to the door hidden at the back of the store, behind the old cash register. He unlocked it and it swung open. Clementine crept up behind him and peered into the darkness. As her eyes adjusted from the bright shop floor, she could just about make out a small kitchen area and another closed door which she assumed was the toilet. She didn’t venture any further. Turning back to the shop, and to her mom and Jackson—whose faces were even brighter than the sun that streamed in behind them—Clementine felt overcome with giddiness. She grabbed the cash register to steady herself.

  “It’s really perfect,” she said, imagining the walls painted a candy yellow, the floor stripped back to floorboards that she would whitewash. “But it’s going to take a while to get ready, and a lot of money.”

  “Don’t worry about that.” Jackson was beside her in a second, his brow furrowed with worry. “Are you okay? You looked a bit wobbly there.”

  “I’m okay, thank you, Jax,” she said, overwhelmed at his kindness.

  She looked up into his eyes, which were etched with concern. Even so, they were as rich a color as her chocolate mirror cakes, and just as glossy. Her skin prickled with heat and she turned away quickly so her face wouldn’t betray her feelings.

  “How can I not worry about the finances when I’m still paying for a business that I don’t even own anymore? A rental that I don’t work in anymore? Suppliers who I can’t even get to? How am I supposed to get on with my life when I’m footing bills from an old life that I don’t want to be a part of anymore?”