by Odette Stone
To try and get my mind off everything, I forced myself to read in bed. A soft tap sounded on my door. Matt poked his head in, giving me a grin.
“You look snug.”
“Hey.”
“How are you?” He sat down at the end of my bed.
“Good. Glad you got home for dinner.”
“Thanks for making Jackson feel so welcome.”
I blinked, remembering the golf club incident. “Are you joking?”
“He told me you bought the bed and fixed up his room. That was nice of you.”
My lips parted. I marveled that Jackson had not told Matt about the warm welcome he received when he showed up. “Any friend of yours is welcome.”
Matt studied me. “Are you sure?”
“He can stay here as long as he wants.” I lied. The sooner the man left, the better. I decided that maybe Matt having asshole friends was far preferable to nice attractive ones.
“Has Jackson told you what treatment he’s getting at the hospital?”
I shook my head.
“Me neither.”
We stared at each other. Didn’t Matt think it was weird that he had invited someone into our home that he barely seemed to know anymore? A man who apparently wasn’t entirely comfortable here and who made Matt feel the same way. The whole situation baffled me.
“Is everything okay between you and Jackson?”
He shrugged. I expected him to blow off my question. It threw me when he was honest. “Things have been pretty shit between Jackson and me since my dad passed away.”
“I'm still really confused as to how Jackson became part of your life.”
His eyes slid up to my face before shifting away. “One day, I woke up and Jackson was sleeping in my top bunk. He was my dad’s charity case. There’s more to the story, but that’s the gist of it.”
“You’re kidding. How old were you?”
“About seven.”
“And your mom was okay with this?”
“She knew it was important to my dad.”
I blinked at the bitter tone in Matt’s voice.
“I’ve never heard this story,” I said. “Were you friends?”
“Yeah. We used to be good friends.”
Matt was holding back. “How old were you when he stopped staying at your place?”
“He lived on and off with us until he left to join the navy.”
“So he was part of your family for most of your life.”
Matt looked down at his hands. “It was complicated. My dad invited him to be part of the family.”
“Were you okay with it?”
“Sometimes it was fun. Lots of the time, he felt like a brother. He was completely wild.”
“Was he a bad kid?”
“No, he wasn’t a bad kid, but trouble always seemed to find him. I remember one lunch hour, these older kids came over and started to pick on us. There was six or seven of them and the two of us. I was ready to bolt, but Jackson just stood his ground. I took one hit to the face, and I ran screaming to the lunch lady, but he didn’t run. He took them all on. They messed him up so bad he was in the hospital overnight with a bruised kidney, but when the teachers got there to break up the fight, it took two teachers just to subdue him. He was tougher than anyone I knew.”
“Oh, my gosh.”
“A bunch of kids got suspended over that fight, but that’s just who Jackson was. He had no fear. He would take anyone on. He was wild that way.”
“So, what happened?”
“What?” He avoided my gaze.
“Did you guys have a falling out?”
His shoulders twitched. “We’re just really different.”
There was way more to this than Matt was letting on. “Does your mom still keep in touch with him?”
Matt looked at me sharply. “Wow, someone is interested.”
My eyes widened. “This guy grew up with you, and I have never even heard about him. Of course, I'm curious.”
“It isn’t a big deal.”
“Okay.”
He cleared his throat. “Can you keep your eye on him for me?”
“What?”
“I had to twist his arm to stay here, but you know what my work schedule is like. We need time to work on some stuff.”
“Having me keep my eye on him isn’t going to fix your past with him.”
“I know, but I need you to buy me some time. I don’t want him to take off.”
I studied the chipped clear polish on my nails. “I don’t think I'm the one that Jackson wants to hang out with.”
“Getting him to fix your car was a brilliant idea.”
“I didn’t ask him to do that.”
“I know, but maybe ask him for help on things. Make him feel useful.”
That felt manipulative. “Matt, no. Jackson seems like a great guy, but I'm not going to impose on him.”
“At least spend some time with him.”
“We have nothing in common. Forcing him to hang out with me might drive him out of here quicker than if I just left him alone.”
“Please. It means a lot to me. Keep him busy.”
“Matt, you need to come home for dinner more. More than once a week. I get the sense that if Jackson feels like you're blowing him off, nothing will get him to stay.”
“You’re right. I'll try. Honest.”
We eyeballed each other. The cosmos laughed at my expense. I wanted to avoid Jackson, not spend more time with him. I needed to be more careful. Schoolgirl fantasies aside, flirting with anything Jackson was just a terrible idea.
“Where is he now?”
“I think he’s downstairs working on your car.”
I nodded.
“Hey, did you see that he moved that tire?”
“I noticed.”
He leaned forward, his eyes wide. “Tell me the truth. Did he use his truck to move that thing?”
The lie rolled off my tongue. “I have no idea.”
“I guarantee he used his truck.”
Chapter 9
I walked into the kitchen. Jackson stood and stared at the espresso machine. I could do this. I could be the playful fun sister-in-law that made him feel welcome.
“You have to press a few buttons to make it work. They haven’t installed an eye retina scan on espresso machines yet.”
He turned, giving me an amused look. “Whatever happened to just a regular coffee maker?”
“I meant to buy one. The espresso machine takes forever when we have a dinner party. Do you want a latte?”
“Just a regular coffee.”
“I can make it for you.”
“If you can make me a coffee, I'll make you breakfast.”
“Deal.”
We worked together in silence.
“What are your plans today?” I asked.
“Just work out. You?”
“I need to run some errands,” I said. Then I paused. My car was in pieces.
“Let me take you.”
I avoided his glance. “I can take a cab.”
“Let me take you.”
I chewed on my lip. Thinking about how Matt asked me to keep him busy. “I have to do wedding stuff. Trust me. You’re going to hate this.”
“I think I can handle it.”
We stopped first at the Paper Pelican. Jackson nosed around the small shop. I stood at the counter, a shaky hand on my forehead, while the clerk droned on about grades of paper, type of font and messages. I stared unseeing at the dozens of examples before me. A familiar sense of panic washed over me. I don’t know why I had thought it was a good idea to bring a witness to my meltdown. I still had no clue on how to proceed.
“You okay?” Jackson asked from just over my shoulder.
I shook my head. “I can’t seem to make a decision which just makes me even more anxious.”
I glanced over at the door and debated just dropping everything again and running.
He moved beside me. “You want some help?”
He looked up at the clerk. “What do you suggest we focus on first?”
“Pick your paper first. Then your design,” she said.
“Are these all your paper samples?”
“Yes.”
He spread them out on the counter.
“Okay, Emily. Focus just on the color. Anything you don’t like?”
I pointed at four. “I don’t like these.”
“Good,” he pushed those away. “What about texture?”
I bit my lip. “I like this texture.”
The clerk said, “That’s the linen. It comes in these four colors.”
She pointed at four sheets of paper.
“Anything jumping out at you?” His voice sounded so calm and soothing.
I sighed. “I don’t like the green or the blue.”
He removed those. “So we are down to pink…and…” he squinted, “and another pink.”
The clerk chimed in. “This is sugar egg pink, and this one is pink innocence.”
Jackson leaned in. His low voice rumbled in my ear. “My vote is on pink innocence.”
I blushed as I fought to keep a ridiculous smile off my face. I pointed to pink innocence. “We’ll go with that one.”
The clerk wrote it down on her paper. “Now what about the font?” She took out a sample card. “These are our most popular fonts.”
Jackson leaned his arms on the counter and studied the sheet. “I can’t even read these two fonts.”
He was right. “Agreed.”
“Which one is easiest to read?” He glanced up at my face.
We both, at the same time, pointed to the font on the top left.
Jackson looked up at me. “Is this the one?”
“Yes.”
“This wedding stuff is easy,” he teased.
I rolled my eyes, but something released in my chest. We were doing this.
“What about messages?” the clerk prompted.
“Show us your samples.”
She pulled out five sheets. He leaned over and read them. I stood there and studied his dark blond hair, noticing the way it curled around his ear. It looked so soft and thick. My fingers itched to touch it.
“Any thoughts?” Jackson turned and glanced up at me.
I squirmed. I had no idea. “What are your thoughts?”
“These two samples mention the parents in the invitation.”
Out of four parents, only one remained. “Not those.”
“And this one writes out the date and time in word format. I never liked that.”
“Me neither.”
He pointed at a sample. “This one is to the point, which is my style. Date, time, location. Simple.”
This is what I had wanted Matt to do with me. Jackson offered pragmatic and logical advice.
“It’s my style too.”
He pointed at the sample and said to the clerk. “She’s the one.”
The clerk wrote that on her sheet. “We have all your other details. The last thing we need is how many invitations you need?”
I shrugged. “I have no idea.”
“Do you know how many guests you're inviting?”
“The less, the better,” I said under my breath.
Jackson turned, his open curiosity filled his expression.
“Let’s go with 150 invitations. Too many are better than not enough.”
We started to walk towards the truck. Relief coursed through my veins. One task removed from my gigantic list. I wanted to high five the world.
“Jackson, that was amazing. How did you do that?”
“It’s all about elimination.”
“I’ve been stressing about the invitations for months. Every time I have walked in that store, I just walk out overwhelmed.”
“Seriously?”
“I can’t seem to decide anything.”
“Why do you think that is?”
We started to cross the street. Why was I paralyzed about my wedding instead of being filled with excitement and joy? When we first got engaged, Matt and I had been so excited. We talked about what we wanted our wedding to look like. I had floated around on cloud nine for weeks. But those talks never materialized into anything more. And now Matt seemed so disinterested.
“I just thought it’d be easier. You know? To make decisions. It’s supposed to be our big day.”
“You should get Matt to help you.”
I looked up. A car roared towards me. It was too close. I couldn’t move. I shut my eyes, bracing for impact. Strong arms lifted me and spun me around. My back hit something hard. My breath knocked out of me in a soft umph. I opened my eyes. Jackson’s long length pinned me against the side of the truck.
My breath sputtered out of me in short little gasps.
Warm fingers touched my head, my neck, my shoulders.
“Are you hurt?”
Dazed, I stared up at him.
He repeated his question. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”
I could not seem to catch my breath. “You saved me.”
My back was against his truck. His hard warmth seeped into me. My mouth dried up.
“Are you hurt?” I worked to speak.
“I’m fine. You sure I didn’t hurt you? I yanked you pretty rough.”
“I froze.”
“You did.” He opened the passenger door. I scrambled in and sat staring straight ahead. My heart was still thumping, but I was pretty sure it was from his proximity not from the near miss.
“You need help?”
I looked at him stupidly. What was he asking me?
“Here, let me help you.” He reached in and pulled the seatbelt over me, his head bent over me as he fastened the belt. I caught the fresh, clean scent of his hair. I worked to bring oxygen into my lungs. His nearness trapped my breath.
He straightened. Our eyes met. I compulsively worked my throat, unable to tear my gaze from his. His jaw tightened, and then he shut the door.
A few moments later, he climbed in beside me, acting like nothing was wrong. “Where to next?”
Side by side, we faced the vast array of coffee makers in the large department store. Endless choices intimidated me.
“Who’s idea was this?” he asked.
“Yours, I think.”
“Process of elimination?”
“Yup.”
“Single cup or pot.”
“Pot.”
He walked up the aisle and then came back. “We’ve got 4 cups, 6 cups, 8 cups and 12 cups.”
“Let’s go with 8 cups.”
“What color?”
“Black or silver.”
“Do you want simple or gadgets.”
“Definitely lots of gadgets.”
He studied our choices and then tapped on two coffee makers. “Okay, you have eliminated it down to these two. This one has a built-in bean grinder.”
“Sold.”
He looked amused. “You haven’t even heard about the other one’s features.”
“I want the grinder. What do you want?”
“The built-in grinder is alright.”
“That’s the one.”
“Shit,” he looked at the price. “No way. This coffee maker is over $300.”
I shrugged. “The average person spends $5 on coffee a day which is over $1800 a year. What’s the guarantee on that?”
He checked the box. “Lifetime.”
“Need I say more?”
I watched as he picked up the box and we walked to stand at the cashier line up. He pulled his wallet out of his jeans.
“No,” I said.
“You admitted it was my idea.”
“My coffee grinder, hands off.”
He leaned forward. “You work part-time. Let me help.”
“My dad heavily invested in this unknown company called Microsoft in the 80s,” I said. “And because of his foresight, I can drink a lot of coffee.”
His eyes widened. “You tel
ling me you’re rich.”
“Grossly so.”
“Like how rich?”
“Bill Gates used to send my dad a birthday card.”
“No shit.”
“My Dad was a financial genius. He liquidated at it’s highest point, and now I just live on the interest, but I would give every penny back if it meant my dad was still here.”
He dropped his gaze to my face. “I bet.”
“My granny was no slouch in the financial department either,” I said with misery in my voice. This was the moment I dreaded. Once people realized how much more I had than they did, things got weird. Resentment reared up. Or worse, people started to suck up.
“Well shit, you should have told me sooner.”
My eyes flew to his face. “Why?”
A smile played on his lips. “I would have gone for the $500 one that had the timer and the grinder.”
I laughed in relief. We stood there smiling at each other.
“People get weird about that stuff,” I admitted.
He stood there for a long moment staring off at some distant point. It was almost as if he didn’t hear. Just when I thought the conversation was dead, he said, “The money?”
“Yeah.”
He looked me in the eye. “Fuck em.”
“Is that your life motto?”
“Pretty much.”
“Does it work?”
“Most of the time.”
I sighed. “It must be nice not to care what anyone thinks.”
“I still care about the opinions of a few.”
My eyes went wide. I wanted more than anything to ask whose opinion he cared about, but at that moment the clerk greeted me with a big smile.
Chapter 10
We walked through the mall. A voice squealed from behind me.
“Emily?”
I spun around to see my friend, Julie, standing there. She looked gorgeous with her cute green jacket and windswept dark hair.
“Julie,” I smiled as we hugged. “So good to see you.”
“You too,” her eyes were wide on Jackson’s face. “Oh, my gosh. What are the odds?”
“Julie, this is Jackson. He’s a family friend who’s staying with us until the wedding. Jackson, this is Julie, one of my friends from university.”
I watched as they shook hands.
