Blossom Street. Debbie Macomber

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      Jason turned to her, then gradually smiled. “Not really. Are you?”

      “No.”

      “Good.” He pulled away from the curb.

      “You don’t act as if you’re going to miss me all that much,” she said, and immediately wanted to swallow her words. They made her seem insecure and she wasn’t.

      “What makes you say that?”

      “Nothing.” She shook her head.

      “Is it because I didn’t encourage you to fly down for the Fourth of July? If so, the reason—aside from not wanting you to spend the airfare—is that I already have plans.”

      “You do?”

      “My parents asked me to visit them and I said I would.”

      It didn’t escape Chrissie’s notice that he didn’t invite her to join him and his family.

      “Are you glad I’m leaving Eugene?” she asked. She knew he’d be staying; he was fortunate enough to have a full-time summer job with a big law firm. His family lived in Grants Pass, a couple of hours away.

      Jason sighed as if she were behaving like a difficult child. “Forget I asked,” she snapped. “It was a stupid question.”

      “Yes, it was,” Jason said. He gripped the steering wheel with both hands. “Why are you being so sensitive?”

      He was right; she was overreacting, even though she’d vowed not to. “Maybe I don’t want to go back to Seattle for the summer. Maybe I’d rather be here with you instead of trapped in a house with my mother for the next ten weeks.” The moment she mentioned her mother, Chrissie realized she’d said the wrong thing.

      “Why don’t you talk to her, then?”

      “About what? My relationship with her? My mother’s so caught up in her own world that she can’t be bothered with me.”

      Jason stopped at a traffic signal. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

      “How would you know? You only met her once.” Chrissie had brought Jason home at Easter and he’d spent three days with her family. The visit had been a success on all counts.

      As they’d pulled out of the family driveway, Chrissie had basked in her parents’ approval. Both of them had liked Jason immensely.

      “You have wonderful parents, Chrissie,” he said now.

      “Yes—but my mother’s going to make my life hell this summer. She’s upset with me for not having a job, although she’d never come right out and say so. Instead, she’ll find a hundred different things to criticize.”

      “I thought you were going to look for a job over spring break,” Jason reminded her.

      “I was, but I got busy—the time just slipped away. Don’t you start on me, too.”

      “Chrissie…”

      “You have no idea what this summer’s going to be like.”

      “Oh, come on, Chrissie. It’s not—”

      “Let me give you an example,” she broke in, “and this is based on experience. Mom will ask me to clean the bathroom and I will. Then she’ll come in after me and scrub the sink all over again. This is her way of letting me know that I didn’t meet her high standards.” The summer stretched before Chrissie like one long exercise in tolerance and patience. “If she didn’t like how I cleaned the sink, you’d think she’d just say so, but oh, no, not my mother.”

      Jason muttered something noncommittal.

      “Brian has a job,” she continued. “Mom’s already mentioned that fact about fifty times. He’s working for a construction company.”

      “You’re making too much of this.”

      “I don’t think so,” Chrissie muttered. “What she’s really saying is that if I’d looked for a job like she wanted me to over spring break, I’d have one waiting for me now.” She could imagine the constant barrage of digs that lay in store for her. Her mother couldn’t bear the thought of Chrissie being idle all summer, so she’d threaten to line up babysitting jobs for her. Babysitting at almost twenty? In Chrissie’s opinion, that was cruel and unusual punishment.

      “She seems to believe that finding temporary employment is easy. I suppose I could get a job at a fast-food place, but even those aren’t as available as they used to be. Besides, I don’t want to spend my summer asking someone if they want fries with that.”

      “Well…” He clearly wasn’t interested in arguing with her.

      “As a last resort, my dad will leap to the rescue and offer me a pity job.”

      “A what?”

      “He’ll bring me to his office and I’ll be reduced to doing menial tasks, for which he’ll pay me minimum wage.” She sighed. “It’s going to be a dreadful summer. I can tell.”

      “It’ll be fine,” Jason countered absently.

      Chrissie doubted he’d even heard her. His mind certainly wasn’t on her; that much was apparent. She looked at him and frowned, unsure what to think. Something had changed between them. She could feel it—had felt it from the moment he arrived. Jason had never been late before.

      “Is everything all right?” she asked, then added, “Between us, I mean.”

      He glanced at her and shrugged. “Sure. Why shouldn’t it be?”

      Instinct said otherwise. “You drove Katie to the airport last night, didn’t you?”

      “You know I did.”

      Chrissie noticed that his hand tightened around the steering wheel. What had happened between him and Katie the night before? She didn’t mention how long he’d spent at the airport. Originally she was supposed to tag along, but Katie had a lot of stuff and it would’ve been a tight fit in a small car, so she’d stayed behind. That, apparently, had been a mistake.

      Nothing had happened, she told herself. Chrissie couldn’t believe Jason would do that to her. Besides, Katie was one of her best friends. They planned on renting a house together in a few months. The last thing Katie would do was steal Jason away from her.

      No, neither of them would betray her, Chrissie thought firmly.

      The rest of the drive was completed in an uncomfortable silence.

      Jason drove up to the curb at the airport and Chrissie climbed out as soon as he came to a stop. Without a word, Jason jumped out and opened the trunk, heaving her suitcase onto the ground.

      “The summer will go fast,” he said with false cheerfulness. “You’ll be back here in no time.”

      “Right,” she agreed with the same fake exuberance. “No time at all.”

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