She's welcomed back into the house by the unexpected sight of Jack's body sprawled on the floor with an arm over his eyes. His three dogs lie next to him, the giant black monstrosity being the only one to acknowledge her, raising his head and waggling his tail upon her arrival. The other two snore soundly, the golden retriever with her head on Jack's stomach. It's the most still she has ever seen him be, and if it wasn't for the even rise and fall of his chest, she would have worried.
"Hello," she says cordially as she drops her keys on the foyer bowl. "How are we doing today, Jackson?"
"Why doesn't this godforsaken house have a single AC unit?" he grunts.
Carrying her bags to the kitchen island, she replies, "Your uncle doesn't like air conditioners. He says it's bad for the environment."
Elsa hears him slamming his hands on the floor.
"Jesus motherfucking Christ, it's the twenty-first century; the environment is fucked anyway. An AC system in the house ain't gonna change shit."
She wipes the perspiration that pooled on the back of her neck. The part of her that had to walk five blocks under the blaring sun and thick summer air wants to agree with him. But still, she determinedly points out, "Well, this is still his house. And these are his rules."
"Fucking kill me…"
Busy putting away her groceries onto the top cabinets, she mutters, "Honestly, I would've pegged you as someone who liked summer."
"I love summer," he immediately replies. "Beach, music festivals, all-you-can-eat ice cream… What I don't love is feeling my whole skin melting out of my bones like a fucking pig roasting on a spit!"
"Isn't that an oddly specific picture?" Elsa rolls her eyes. "Would you like a popsicle? They were on sale and we may not have enough room for them in the freezer."
He lifts his head just enough to be able to stare at her from the floor. He looks ridiculously stupid with his arms and legs spread flat on the floor like that, and she swallows down a laugh with some effort. Jack asks, "Are you offering me a popsicle?"
Confused as to what other interpretation he could have reached from her words, she articulates slowly, "I am."
"You're not trying to poison me, are you?"
With a hand on her hip, she looks at him and laughs. "Trust me, if I were to murder you, I'd do so in a way there would be no hard evidence that could be traced back to me."
His eyebrows shoot up at that. He smirks. "Putting some real thought into that one, aren't we?"
"Oh, Jackson. You don't even know."