by Sofia Sawyer
“Well, I don’t know, Jackson. She could be that type of girl. Doesn’t seem super classy.”
“If this show fails, Elena, it’s not because I wasn’t living up to my end of the bargain. It’s because you aren’t believable.” He ran a hand through his hair and let out a breath.
Every bit of self-doubt came crashing into her. Her stomach twisted. This show held the key to all her hopes and dreams, and Jackson was telling her she likely wasn’t good enough.
This was a mess, and it hadn’t even started yet.
“I-I don’t know what I need to do,” she said quietly.
He pegged her with his blue-eyed stare. “You’re going to need to trust me. Okay? I know you like everything to be perfect, to have a plan figured out down to the minute detail. To control everything. But this won’t be that, and you’re not the type of person that does well with gray areas. Luckily, I’m an expert in go-with-the-flow, so you’re going to have to work with me to make this believable.”
She swallowed and nodded her head. She hadn’t trusted many people in a long time and for good reason, but the conviction in his voice made her want to put her life in his hands. In a way, she supposed she was.
“Okay. I’ll trust you.”
A smile lifted his lips. “Thank you. I’ll take care of you. Don’t worry.”
Elena knew tomorrow would push her out of her comfort zone, but now she worried she wasn’t thinking big enough. She just hoped she could handle all that was about to be thrown at her.
8
Jackson
Jackson took stock of the selected couples: Maritza and Max, two youngish people in a new relationship; Ana and Zach, both career-driven and in a committed relationship of four years, but looking to bring the romance back; Natalie and Hari, nearing their fifties and in a committed relationship, but not fully on the same page for the next step.
He had to give it to the production company, they didn’t pull any punches. Each couple was at varying stages in their relationship, from the honeymoon hopefuls to the ones who needed to know if it was time to shit or get off the pot.
He had spent the last few nights rereading Elena’s blog, trying to get a sense of how she offered her advice, as well as researched the kind of guy she talked about in her blogs. If he was going to keep his word, he needed to know what they “did” together that she always referenced. It was the least he could do.
As much as he gave her a hard time growing up, he cared about her. She was important to Mae and, in a way, important to him too. She had gotten herself in a real mess, but he wasn’t about to let her down.
“Alright, everybody. Now that you’ve filmed your introductions, we’re going to get started on our first event,” the producer announced.
Stephanie Johnson had many successful shows under her belt. A cute black woman with wild hair and a few face piercings. The tattoos that showed off her passion for film gave her an edge, which worked perfectly for her Los Angeles residence.
From what Jackson could tell, she was damn good at her job, too. Introductions felt a little awkward, but she loosened everyone up, got them doing what they needed to do, and secured her footage seamlessly.
Celeste, Berkshire Media’s marketing director, clapped and smiled broadly. “Thank you all for coming. As we mentioned, this is a week full of fun adventures, designed to help bring the romance and intimacy back to your relationships.” She took Elena by the shoulders for a dainty side hug. “We have our expert, Ella, here to get us started on these activities and provide guidance.”
The group nodded, murmured, and smiled in response. Maritza nearly exploded with excitement as Celeste introduced Elena.
Guess she wasn’t joking when she said she had super fans.
“Alrighty. Let’s get started.” Rachel, Elena’s editor, opened the door to Ten George, an upscale experimental kitchen in downtown Charleston. “Chef James will be with us shortly. Pair off and go to your respective areas,” she announced as she directed everyone into a backroom full of cooking stations.
Elena shuffled in after Celeste and took her spot next to Jackson, looking the worse for wear already. “Everything okay?” he whispered in her ear, her florally peppery scent invading his senses.
Her big brown eyes looked back up at him, causing a pang in his heart. She was scared shitless. “Do you know how many times they made me do my introduction? I think I spent thirty minutes just pronouncing my actual name alone,” she whispered back. “It’s bad enough the cameras are in my face, but the added pressure of my editor and agent being here isn’t helping.”
“They just want to support you.”
“Or be a witness to my ultimate failure.”
Jackson’s hand reached out to hers, his knuckles grazing her soft skin before his fingers wrapped around hers. Her eyes, lined with thick black lashes, looked deeply into his, still full of worry, but now with the added hint of appreciation. Elena gave his hand a light squeeze—so gentle, he thought he imagined it—but when her lips tugged upwards, he knew it was real.
And damn if his heart didn’t clench at that tiny interaction.
“We’ll be okay,” he assured her, reluctant to release her hand. He didn’t want to push her too much. Even as he pulled away, the warmth from her lingered on his palm, a feeling he wished he could hold on to.
A boisterous man with shocking white hair and a matching mustache walked into the kitchen. His chef’s whites were equally as bright as his hair. His round cheeks and excited smile showed a man who had a life well-lived and well-fed.
“I am Chef James,” he said with a thick Italian accent. “Today, I will teach you the art of pasta. Reason? I believe food is a love language. It is universal. You can have a good day, a bad day, a fight you think you’ll never recover from. But food? Good food? It breeds love and saves love.”
The group laughed, and although the chef laughed too, he turned more serious. “Tell me a moment where food was not used to build relationships? It is used as a celebration, a tradition, to comfort, to heal, to connect. Quality food is good for the soul.” He held up a finger. “But, it is not just the act of eating or offering, it is also the act of making. It is a tangible way to come together with those you love to make something you can enjoy. You can be satisfied by the fruits of your labor. And today, this is what we will do. We will create a lovely meal together for you to enjoy with your loved one.”
Chef James came to Jackson and Elena’s station and offered a hand. “You must be Miss Ella, yes?”
She shook it tentatively. “Yes. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“The pleasure is mine!” Chef James went back to the main station, where he would be demonstrating. He swept a hand over the supplies on the counter, the same as each of their stations. “And here, we have all the makings of a wonderful meal. Please wash your hands, and we will get started.”
As the group ambled over to the sink to prep, a few of the women stopped Elena to gush over her book. “I was so excited to get selected for this!” Maritza said, her sunny disposition was infectious.
To everyone but Elena, that is.
Elena stood stiffly, her smile bordering on uncomfortable cringe. They had barely gotten started, and Elena was already choking. This was going to be over before it started.
Unless he intervened.
The thing with Elena is that she liked everything perfectly packaged and within her control. That’s how she had always been. Focused on saying the right things, wearing the right things, getting involved with the right people, despite how unnatural it was in comparison to who she was.
Jackson had seen the real Elena. She wasn’t perfect. Far from it. She was fiery, ambitious, funny, sometimes awkward, a little dramatic, and always passionate about the things that mattered to her. He’d take that Elena any day.
And then there was that smile. Her real smile—the one that reached her beautiful eyes—was breathtaking. Always full of straight white teeth, and so much joy that her eyes
formed into little crescent moons—not quite closed, but almost. And the way her nose scrunched in the most adorable way, usually followed by a heartfelt laugh, made Jackson always want to make her laugh like that.
But later in high school, she had changed. She was too focused on what everyone thought of her, and any attempt Jackson had made to loosen her up and remind her of who she was often caused a rift between them. She hadn’t always been this stiff, he’d seen the lighter sides of her growing up. But something about high school had made her become way too serious for her own good.
It wasn’t her.
That thought gave him pause. If they had been on good terms, maybe she’d trust him for what he was about to do. However, there was a real chance it would cause their already delicate relationship to fall apart, never to recover. Underneath it all, he had hoped this week would finally bury the hatchet between them. They were adults now, and more than a decade had passed since their strained relationship had started. It was time to set things right.
He silently prayed that whatever plan he concocted to get her out of her own head wouldn’t backfire. She’d never forgive him. But he’d never forgive himself if he didn’t try to help. He looked at her again, her spine ramrod straight, and her posture closed off.
Yeah. I’ve gotta do something. And quick.
“Everything okay?” he asked for the second time as they went back to their stations.
“Fine,” she lied and sucked in a breath as a camera passed by their station. Her tension was palpable, and he was sure it would translate to the footage.
“Now, everyone place your flour and salt in the bowl and make a well in the center,” Chef James instructed as he did his own.
Elena grabbed the flour and salt on autopilot and did as instructed.
“Must be easy for you,” Jackson commented. “With your mom being an amazing cook and all.”
Elena’s mother was a proud Italian woman who took cooking seriously. She and Chef James would be in good company, for sure. Jackson loved the days when Elena would bring by leftovers or would cook for the St. Julien clan. He’d tried a lot of great food through his travels, but something about Elena and her mother’s cooking was hard to beat. It reminded him of home, which was a weird because he never thought of home fondly.
At least, not since the falling out with his father.
“Yeah. I can do this in my sleep,” she replied, her voice flat from distraction. Her gaze darted to the different stations and trailed the camera crew.
Jackson cracked an egg and put it in the well. He dipped low and whispered in Elena’s ear, breathing in her intoxicating scent again, now mixed with the scents from the kitchen. “You have to forget about that. You need to relax.”
Her shoulders went to her ears in response. He forgot how much she hated being told what to do.
“I’m fine,” she said defiantly, her body even more rigid than before.
“Well, it’s a good thing this is a piece of cake for you then.”
She turned her head and looked at him with confusion. “What?” Realization registered. “Oh, Jackson. Don’t you dare. I know that look.”
“Chef James,” Jackson called out.
Elena grabbed his forearm in a death grip. He winced but didn’t stop.
“Yes?” he responded as he helped Zach and Ana properly use a fork to mix the ingredients.
“You know, Ella over here loves to cook. In fact, her mother is a wonderful Italian cook.”
He raised his bushy eyebrows. “Is that so?”
“Some of the best meals I’ve ever had, Chef. You should let Ella help out with the demonstrations.”
She gripped harder, her fingers likely leaving bruises in their wake. She sure had some surprising strength.
“Brava. That would be wonderful!” he said with joy. “You take my position at the front, and I will work on the technique with the couples. Yes?”
“Sure,” Elena answered through gritted teeth. She threw Jackson a death stare and rose to her toes to hiss in his ear, her sweet breath warm on his skin. “You know I’m going to kill you, right?”
“Go get ’em, honey,” he replied loud enough for the other couples to hear.
He placed a kiss on her head and patted her ass. Her eyes shot daggers at him, but he shrugged. She was going to kill him anyway, might as well have his kicks while he can.
Elena went to the station and took a deep, shuddering breath. A sheepish smile touched her lips, not quite a cringe this time, but not a true one either. “My mother, Alma, is a fantastic cook.” Her voice shook from nerves. She cleared her throat and took another breath. “Ever since I was a child, she had me in the kitchen with her. She taught me not only the most mouth-watering Italian recipes passed down in her family but the most important aspect of cooking.”
“What’s that?” Natalie asked as she and her boyfriend Hari worked the dough.
Elena’s smile became more genuine as she thought back to her mother. “She said, ‘Ella, if there’s one thing you should know about cooking, it’s that you have to do it with heart. Otherwise, don’t bother doing it at all.’” Elena laughed. “I was four when she imparted that harsh truth onto me, but it’s stuck with me. Like Chef James, my mother believes food is a love language. Whenever she could, she’d make sure my father and I were there to help her. It was our way to bond.”
“It sounds like your family is very close,” Ana commented.
Elena nodded. “Yes. We are. Best parents in the world.”
“And I’m thankful for it too,” Jackson added. “Because I get the benefit of eating amazing meals as a result.”
Elena turned to him, her smile now turned evil. Her lips lifted slightly on one side as her eyes narrowed. He swallowed. Her wheels were turning, that was for sure, and he didn’t know what it meant for him.
“Well, Ana,” she continued, “like I said, my mother would always include us because how can you have heart in your cooking if the people you love aren’t involved?” She turned back to Jackson. “Which is why I make sure Jackson is always involved too. Isn’t that right, honey?”
Fuck. Jackson was a wreck in the kitchen, and she knew it. He stopped kneading the dough, aware that everyone was looking at him.
“Come on up, Jack. Don’t be shy,” she goaded.
Well, he had tried to get her to loosen up, and it clearly it worked. At his expense.
He met her at the station, awaiting her instruction.
She looked back at the crowd. “It’s stuff like this that made me fall in love with Jackson in the first place.”
He raised his eyebrows but nodded along.
She took his hands and shoved them into the dough where she kneaded it with him. Every so often, their fingers would get tangled up. She grinned in a way that made it clear she had a trick up her sleeve, and he’d pay dearly, but it didn’t ease his racing heart. Despite the number of people in the space, this felt intimate.
After a few moments, Elena added, “But it’s important not to be too serious. This is a way to bond, and it’s important to have fun.” She brought a doughy, floury hand up to his face and ran it down his cheek slowly, leaving a huge mess in its wake.
Jackson laughed in surprise and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her close and causing her to squeal. He took his cheek and rubbed it against her face, spreading the mess onto her too. Elena giggled, her body shaking against his, making him aware of all the curves pressed against him. Soft and warm and perfect.
As much as he hated cooking, if it was anything like this, he’d do it every day.
With her.
Jackson had to admit, this restaurant was so damn romantic. One of the new ones that had opened up the last couple of years, Ten George, had seating inside a beautiful historic house, plus an outdoor courtyard.
After finishing the pasta, Chef James instructed the couples to split up so they could make a surprise meal for their significant other—as per a suggestion in one of Elena’s articles.
Now, they were seated in the courtyard, waiting to be served.
The early-June air was warm without being stifling, which was typical in Charleston’s humid summer months. If anything, it was perfect. Between the beautifully dressed table with fragrant flowers and dancing candlelight and the twinkle lights illuminating the outdoor space in an intimate glow, Jackson felt like the star of a romantic movie. And then there was the wine. More of a beer or whiskey drinker, Jackson couldn’t help but enjoy the flavorful rosé that was a perfect accompaniment for the small appetizers and the sorbet-colored sunset gracing the sky.
Elena had loosened up a bit and was now chatting with the couples who were seated around the table. He wasn’t sure if it was his quick plan to throw her off her game or if the wine helped ease her nerves, but she was warm and inviting as she learned more about everyone.
She wasn’t quite at the level of comfort she had with Mae, but it was good progress.
Waiters started streaming outside from the open double doors that led to the courtyard, stalling whatever conversation was going on around the table. With a flourish, they whisked away empty plates and replaced them with the pasta meal they had made earlier. Each plate held something different—a way for them to try to make their loved ones happy by offering them a meal they believed they’d love.
Elena gasped next to him as her plate was placed in front of her, her eyes going wide. She licked her full lips, causing his body to respond. Jackson suppressed a groan, reminding himself the hunger in her eyes was for the food, but damn if he wasn’t curious to see if that look of excitement would be the same if it were for him.
She’s Mae’s friend. Strictly off-limits.
He took a sip of his wine and tried to shake off the attraction. Maybe it was the setting getting to him. It would be hard for anyone sitting in this courtyard not to have the feeling of lust or love or whatever come over them.
