by Emily Mayer
"Sure thing." He searched through a haphazard looking stack of files until he found what he was looking for, then pulled out a sheet of paper and passed it to Jack. "Look that over and make sure it's right. I'll have the guys get your order ready to load if it looks good."
Jack looked over the piece of paper. "Looks good," he said, and handed it back to the man, who was now watching me with an openly curious expression.
"Since this oaf has no manners, I'll have to introduce myself. Bill Hayes." Bill leaned across the counter, hand extended in my direction, wearing a large smile. I slipped my hand into his and gave it a friendly shake.
"Evelyn Mercer. It's nice to meet you, Mr. Hayes."
"Likewise, and please call me Bill. Are you staying out at Pinehaven?"
"Yes, I came with Ben. I mean I work for him. I'm his executive assistant at Sterling."
"Ahhh," Bill said, like something I’d said made sense to him.
"All right, you've met. I'm going to pull the truck around back and load up. Take it easy, Bill." Jack turned and started walking back the way we had come.
I waved at Bill, walking backward after Jack.
"It was nice to meet you, Bill."
"Nice to meet you, Evelyn. Hope to see you around."
I turned and scampered after Jack. It was starting to feel like I was always chasing after him. I didn't care for it. Not that he didn’t have a very nice back. I slowed my steps in silent protest, mostly because I wasn't sure we were at the ‘launching a formal complaint’ level of friendship yet. He would either have to wait for me to get to the truck or he could drive off without me, which I was betting was not an actual possibility.
Jack was waiting for me at the truck, reclining against the hood like waiting for me was something he regularly did. I looked down at his boot-covered feet.
"I can't seem to keep up with you." My gaze traveled up those long, toned legs to meet his eyes. I wondered if he realized my words held more than one meaning.
He stood and graced me with one of those smiles that were becoming less and less rare.
"Sorry, I'll try to slow down. I guess I'm not used to someone—" His sentence came to an abrupt stop and he glanced away before returning his eyes to mine.
"Someone what?" I prompted, half-terrified of what he was going to say but not able to let it drop.
"Someone with such… with much… shorter legs. "
Supermodels. He was used to supermodels. One in particular, who—according to my recent internet stalking binge, because I really was a glutton for punishment—was releasing a country album next month. Fun stuff.
"Hey! Are you calling me short? I’ll have you know I’m five-four."
His eyebrow quirked up skeptically.
"Ish. That's a perfectly respectable height, thank you very much." I moved to the passenger side and opened the door. "These trucks are just unreasonably high."
Jack nodded his head, clearly feigning seriousness.
"Totally unreasonable." He shut the door for me, adding, "I'll try to remind myself to take Letty steps."
The slamming of the door did not drown out my outraged gasp. I waited until Jack was seated next to me before shooting him my best angry glare.
"Did you just insinuate that I’m the same height as Letty? You just said I’m the same height as a child!"
Jack shot me a sly grin that made my stomach flutter in ways I was not at all happy with, and did not match the outrage I was supposed to be feeling.
"Nah, you've got at least another year before you catch up with her."
I swatted him on the shoulder playfully. I was slightly offended, but the offended part of me was losing to the part that loved the teasing version of Jack the most.
"You're just lucky I really want those boots."
Jack steered the truck to the back of the building and backed it up to a platform where bags were stacked on a forklift. Men were moving all around the warehouse. The back of the building seemed to be so much busier than the store in front.
"I'll get these bags loaded, and then we'll go after your boots."
I slid out of the truck after him and made my way to the raised platform behind it. I took a moment to appreciate the sight of Jack bending to pick up bags and loading them into the truck bed. All those muscles stretching and straining. There was no way anyone with a pulse could resist sneaking a peek. I glanced from side to side, fully expecting to see a crowd of females gathering to watch. Huh; just me. I stepped up onto the platform and moved to the pile of bags. I bent to pick up one of them, trying to decide the best way to lift it since it was basically half my size.
"What are you doing?" I stood up to see Jack watching me, hands on his hips, head tilted slightly.
"Helping you load the truck." I pointed from the pile of bags to the truck as if he needed a demonstration to accompany my words.
Jack took his hat off to run one hand through his hair before settling the hat back on his ruffled hair.
"I appreciate that thought, but these bags are actually really heavy. Someone will be over to help me load in a minute."
"I am someone, and I pretty much have a ton of new muscles just waiting to be used today. So this is no problem."
I resumed my position, reminding myself to lift with the knees, not the back. I didn't really know what that phrase meant exactly, but I remember my dad reminding me to ‘lift from the knees’ when we were moving the furniture into my apartment. I managed to lift one corner of the bag just slightly before dropping it back on the pile. I cleared my throat.
"I just lost my grip. My hands are cold so…" I blew into my hands and then rubbed them together furiously, putting on what I hoped was a convincing performance. I took a deep breath and tried to lift the nine-hundred-pound bag again, painfully aware that Jack was watching me. What was in this food? Was the special ingredient lead?
I groaned inwardly and lifted with all the strength my puny muscles possessed, but the bag barely budged. My head sank forward in defeat. I saw two distinctly male hands land on the opposite side of the bag I was still gripping.
"We lift on three?"
Bless this man. He was clearly wrestling to contain a shit-eating grin but made no mention of my pathetic attempt to be helpful. I nodded my agreement, and we lifted the bag, lopsidedly, into the truck bed on three. The universe must have decided I’d had enough embarrassment for one hour, because two guys magically appeared to help load the truck before I had to admit defeat.
"Okay, well, it looks like you've got this handled so I'll just wait in the truck,” I said, stepping off the platform. I heard Jack's low chuckle at my back as I opened the door and hoisted myself into the truck to wait.
20.
It took no time for the three to finish loading everything, including a wire twister that took an extra ten minutes and three conversations to locate. Jack was very particular about wire twisters. Whatever those were.
"Are you ready to get your first pair of cowboy boots?" Jack took his eyes off the road to shoot me a questioning look.
"Yes! Very ready. I normally hate shoe shopping, but I’m really excited about these boots. Is there like a super-secret handshake I get to learn now? Oh! Or an initiation ceremony?"
I had decided by this time that there was no point in trying to hide all my crazy. It was clearly too late.
"Are you joining a cult or getting a pair of boots?" Jack asked, eyes on the road, smile on his face.
"I don't know, you tell me." I raised my eyebrows conspiratorially, not even trying to hide my goofy grin.
Jack shot me an appraising look, a serious expression crossing his face.
"You have to be able to lasso a steer with one hand behind your back before we teach you the handshake."
"Noooo," I cried dramatically. "I knew it. I'll never get to learn the handshake."
Jack threw back his head and laughed, a deep smooth sound that I immediately catalogued as my new favorite sound. He pulled up in front of a store and put th
e truck in park.
"All right, let's do this."
I watched him exit the truck, appreciating the view of his backside, before hopping out and following him into the store. The first thing I noticed was the overwhelming smell of leather. The second thing I noticed was an entire wall of boots in every color and size. The wall of boots faced an entire wall of hats. This was no Neiman Marcus.
Jack came to stand next to me as I peered up at the wall of boots.
"Whoa." I tore my eyes away from the wall and faced him. "That is a lot of boots."
"Yeah, people are pretty serious about their boots around here."
"I’m feeling a little overwhelmed. I don't think I did enough research."
"It's not—wait, did you just say you did research?" Jack turned to face me. My cheeks heated a little under the scrutiny.
"Uh, yes. I don't know anything about all this, so I thought I should be prepared."
"Uh-huh. So you did some research?"
I nodded. "Yeah. You know, best brand for comfort and durability, fit. Stuff like that."
"I honestly don't know what to do with all that. Where does your research say to start?" Jack glanced at the wall and then back to me.
I looked up, up, up the wall of boots. Craning my neck, I shrugged.
"My research may not have prepared me for the Great Wall of Cowboy Boots. I definitely think I should defer to the expert here."
Jack was still looking at me with that one handsome eyebrow raised.
"Am I the expert?"
I nudged him with my shoulder and pointed down at his feet, which were currently sporting a pair of boots.
"Yep, you’re the expert here. I can help with snow boots, but that's where my expertise ends. Chicago winters are brutal."
"These are not cowboy boots, you know that, right?"
I looked at the tan boots. A boot worn by a cowboy was a cowboy boot as far as I was concerned. God, even Jack's feet were attractive, all covered in boots that looked like they had actually been worn to work and not to walk down a city street. There really was something to the whole working-man fantasy.
I voiced my thoughts out loud. "To-may-to, to-mah-to. You're a cowboy and those are boots.”
"Okay, that's not actually how that works, but let's just move on. I think the women's section is over here. I’m really not an expert at shoe shopping. Maybe we should have brought Margot with us."
I followed him to the part of the wall that had colorful boots with intricate patterns worked into the leather. Some of the leather had been dyed shades of pink and purple, clearly marking this as the women's section. Unless there was a segment of male ranchers who liked pastel-colored boots—who was I to judge?
Jack picked up a pair of pink boots and held one out for me to see. "These are pink."
I nodded my head and plastered a serious expression on my face. "Very good, that is pink. You know your colors."
"I meant you might like them. Don't women usually like pink things?"
I rolled my eyes and took the boots from him, placing them back on the shelf.
"Not this woman."
I walked down the row, past boot after boot, Jack trailing patiently behind me until I found the one. A pair of tan boots that looked like they had ivy growing up the side caught my attention. I picked up one of the boots and turned toward Jack.
"What about this?"
I handed him the boot and watched as he turned it over, moving it from hand to hand.
"It's a good boot. Do you want to try it on?"
"Yes! I love it."
"Let’s take them to the counter and get your size, unless"—he flipped the boot over, looking at the sole—"you're a size six."
I barked out a laugh, shaking my head. "Yeah, no. Nothing on me is a size six."
My face immediately flooded with heat as my brain caught up with my mouth. Why was there never a hole opening to swallow you up when you needed it? I looked at Jack, who was holding the boot and watching me with a thoughtful expression on his face. I briefly considered the possibility that he was trying to guess my pants size, since I had ruled out the size of pants worn by all his girlfriends. I wondered if that was one of his criteria for a girlfriend: Size 0-6 only need apply.
Jack's steady, smooth voice drew me out of my thoughts. "Let's take these to the counter, see if they have them in your size."
I followed him to the counter where he asked a teenage girl, who made googly eyes at him the whole time, if they had the boots in a size seven. Poor kid. I could totally relate to the struggle of remaining sane when staring into those brown eyes.
Seated on a chair with a pair of size seven boots in hand, I dug through my bag to find my extra pair of socks. Jack's hand fell on my arm. I stopped my search to look at him seated in the chair next to me.
"What are you looking for?"
"My trial socks,” I said, holding up the pair of extra socks. "For trying on shoes. I don't like to wear dirty socks in case I don't end up getting the shoes. The next person doesn't have to worry about my dirty socks being in their shoes."
Jack scrubbed a hand over his face. I could hear his palm travel roughly across the whiskers growing on his jaw. The sound made my mouth water a little. I swallowed. I might ask the counter girl if she wanted to start a support group with me.
"Evelyn, I never know what to do with you."
I gave him a weird smile and proceeded to switch socks, trying not to think about what Jack meant and whether ‘not knowing what to do with me’ was a good thing or a bad thing. I slipped my right foot into the boot and stuck it out in front of me.
"I think it fits." I put the left boot on and stood, rocking back and forth on my heels. "What do you think?"
"They look good on you. Do they feel okay?"
I took a few steps away from him and then turned to walk back the way I came.
"They feel good. I think these are my boots."
"You're sure? They don't crowd your toes or anything? You don't want to try any other pairs on first?"
"Nope, I'm sure. These are it." I pulled my phone out of my bag and snapped a picture of my feet. I went to slip my phone back into its spot when I had an idea. I backed up until the wall of boots was directly behind me, and motioned for Jack to come stand beside me.
"Jack, we need a picture,” I said, looking up at him. He sighed dramatically and gave me a look that said my request was actually physically painful to him. I smiled right back, a cheesy, over-the-top smile.
"You want to take a selfie? I can't believe I’m even considering this. Fine, but only because this is your first pair of boots."
He moved to stand next to me, and then, to my complete surprise, Jack wound his arm around my waist and tucked me into his side. I was monetarily stunned, standing stiff like a mannequin. Turning my head to look up at him, I gave him yet another weak smile, aware that my cheeks were turning red at an alarming rate. He just glanced down at me with a ‘let's do this’ look. I took another second to enjoy being this close to Jack while my brain wasn't working, the heat from his body warming my side.
I stretched my arm out as far as I could, but I only managed to capture our noses and below. I tried to readjust my arms, standing on tiptoe, but still only got our noses on the screen. The chest pressed so close to mine vibrated. I let out a disgruntled huff and turned to the man next to me, who was not even bothering to hide his amusement.
"You're going to have to take this. My T-rex arms aren't going to cut it."
Jack let loose that toe-curling laugh and took the phone from me. He was so close that his laughter stirred those little strands of my hair that never behaved. I was turning to a puddle of goo right next to him, and he had no idea.
"You ready?" Jack asked, face turned toward my phone. I heard a click before I had a chance to properly pose. I mean, if I was going to be in a picture with a real-life fantasy I was damn well going to make sure I only had one chin. I snapped my head in his direction and shot him a look, nudging h
im with my shoulder.
"Hey! I wasn't ready. You can't sneak attack me like that." I heard the click again. "Jack! This is serious."
I saw that impossibly perfect smile and was momentarily dazed, staring into it, until I heard the click again. He laughed at my indignant huff.
"Okay! Okay, get yourself ready and tell me when."
I turned toward the camera and smiled. Jack pulled me in a little closer, causing heat to creep back into my cheeks and my smile to grow impossibly wide. Two clicks later, Jack unwound his arm from my waist and handed me back the phone. I felt the absence of his arm like a warm blanket being ripped off. I shivered. What was happening?
We walked the short distance to the counter in silence, and I paid for my boots and shot sympathetic looks at the still-frazzled clerk.
"You ready for some lunch?" Jack asked when we reached his truck.
"Sure. Can we walk though? I'd love to look around a little."
"Everything's pretty much in walking distance, so we can walk if you want. Are you going to be warm enough, though?"
"Yes, I'll be fine, thanks." I dropped my bag in the passenger seat and then joined Jack on the sidewalk. We walked side by side, which was a nice change from me following him. I made the decision to ignore the little voice warning me that this was too good to be true. If this was the only day I got with friendly Jack, I was going to enjoy every second of it.
21.
It turned out that Jack was a pretty great tour guide. He pointed out historic landmarks and places he thought would interest me as we walked. I couldn't decide if I was more fascinated by the sights or by how much Jack was speaking. He didn’t even complain when I asked to check out some of the stores we passed along the way. When I saw the sign for Joan's Diner just ahead, I was tempted to ask Jack to keep walking just so I could listen to him talk a little more. The grumbling in my stomach, however, had me following Jack inside the adorable diner, which smelled like a strange, but not unpleasant, combination of grease and ice cream.
Jack led me to a booth and handed me a menu.
