Jackson’s P.O.V.
When I had asked Jenna, the owner of the bed and breakfast where I was currently staying at, for the best spot to eat in Fairview, I expected her to suggest a diner with mismatched coffee mugs and a jukebox in the corner—not some fine-dining restaurant tucked between a dark alley and a bookstore with twinkling lights on the windows with a name like Timber & Tines.
She had warned me that the place wasn’t cheap. Told me people came here to propose and celebrate anniversaries. But that was fine with me. I wasn’t here to pinch pennies. Hell, I wasn’t even here to be Jackson Hart, the guy on billboards and magazine covers. I just wanted a good steak, a glass of wine that didn’t come out of a plastic bottle, and maybe five blessed minutes where no one recognized me or asked wh
