“It’s okay,” she said, “we don’t have to talk about it. We can spend the rest of the time before Dottie comes back speculating about adding a cat clothing line to Dog is Love. It would totally be on brand, don’t you think?”
He smiled again, and this one was more genuine, more him. “Yeah, I’m sorry he’s coming too. Before the will reading, I hadn’t seen him since I was eleven. He came to visit me a few times when I was a kid. At the time I thought he was trying to get to know me, but I eventually realized he was really testing me.” He shrugged. “He made his call, and I’m grateful for it.”
“What happened the last time he came to see you?” Maisie asked. Because she really was too curious for her own good. And also because she wanted to know how much of a hard time to give his father.
He scratched his jawline, drawing her attention to his heavy stubble. She wanted to feel it rubbing against her thighs again, but not as much as she wanted to hear his answer.
“He offered to send me to a prestigious boarding school, but only if I agreed to completely disavow my mother and sign an NDA of my own the moment I turned eighteen.”
She bit her lip. “You said no because of Iris?”
“This was before Iris,” he said, his eyes flashing. “I said no because screw him. He doesn’t get to make the rules.”
She leaned closer again, needing to be near him without understanding why she did, and he reached out and touched her thigh, his fingers searing her. He opened his mouth to say something, but the sound of approaching footsteps reached them, and he jolted away as if she were diseased. That stung a little, but she understood. It could have been Iris.
Instead, it was Dottie, her mouth pursed as she held what had been a cat dress and was now a snarled and ripped collection of yarn.
“I guess we have our answer on the cat dress,” Jack said, giving her a look that she interpreted as a sort of apology. He hadn’t liked being interrupted either, but she understood without him saying so that nothing else had changed. He was still hesitant to explore this thing between them.
“I guess we do,” she said, getting to her feet. “Ready, Dottie?”
“I suppose so,” Dottie said. “Really, I hate to say it, but sometimes Jezebel can be difficult, the dear.”
Jack and Maisie exchanged another look and burst out laughing.
“Oh, you two,” Dottie said, waving a hand. “Come on now. I need to get home so I can consult the books before I go to bed.”
It seemed a pointless endeavor to ask which books. Undoubtedly they were wholly unscientific.
“Goodnight, Jack,” Maisie said, wanting to touch him but feeling a little unsure of herself.
He studied her for a moment, then got to his feet and pulled her into a hug, those strong arms of his wrapping around her in a way that made her eyes prickle.
Oh God, did she have tears in her eyes? What was wrong with her?
“Goodnight, Red,” he said softly. And if the tears hadn’t been there before, that was enough to put them there. No one called her that anymore, and yet it felt strangely right coming from him. Almost like her father was telling her that he approved.
You’ve really lost it now. You’re starting to think like Dottie talks.
But as she walked toward the car with Dottie, she couldn’t help but look back. Jack waved to them from the door, and a sentimental part of her was happy to see it.
Once they were in the car, she expected Dottie to launch into some sort of lecture about the stars, but instead Dottie was silent for a few minutes. Finally, she said, “You know, there was a time when I thought you were going to marry my River.”
And Maisie almost sideswiped a parked car.
Heart pounding, she said, “Crap. Dottie, don’t say things like that while I’m driving.”
Dottie chuckled softly. “The universe has a beautiful way of working things out, doesn’t it? You were meant to join the Buchanan family all along.”
“Are you talking about Lee?” Maisie said in disgust. “Trust me, I can tell he’s not my type, and vice versa.”
“No, I’m talking about Jack.”
Which nearly led to another sideswipe. God, couldn’t Dottie have waited for this heart-to-heart?
“Jack has made it very clear he isn’t looking for a relationship right now.”
“Oh, my dear, we’re so rarely looking for the things we need.”
There was a pulse of truth to that, so much so that she didn’t question Dottie further, and they sat in contemplation of those words until Maisie pulled up to the little purple house where everything had changed for her. Twice.
Chapter Eighteen
“Come on, Jack,” Iris said. “It’s for the dogs.”
“Tell me again why the dogs care if I wear a fluffy piece of polyester on my face?” he asked, standing in a small walk-in closet at the shelter.
She rolled her eyes. “It’s a Santa beard.”
“Nooo…,” he drawled, tugging at the itchy prop strapped to his face. “It’s a torture device.”
“To-may-to, To-mah-to.”
But it wasn’t Iris’s voice.
He glanced over his shoulder at Maisie, who stood in the doorway watching in amusement. “Exactly how many people have worn this thing?”
She started ticking off her fingers. “River. Finn. Dustin—”
“Dustin? The guy who lives off blue cheese Danishes?” he asked in a panic.
“He never eats them while he’s wearing the beard,” Maisie said. A wicked smile teased her lips. “At least not that I know of. But the dogs were especially fond of him the last time he wore it. It could have been the cheese.”
Jack made a face and tugged off the beard, tossing it back into the cracked plastic bin from which Iris had pulled it.
“It’s for the dogs, Jack,” Iris said again as she snatched it back out. “You know we got a crazy good response when I posted that photo of you with Ruby last week. This is bound to kick up the social media reach.”
He gave her a skeptical look. “I thought you hated the attention that post got.”
“Fine,” she said with a groan. “I did and still do. Women were drooling over you, and it was totally gross, but I’m also a pragmatist. It got shared like five hundred times. If we can keep that up, imagine how many people will come in and adopt dogs or donate to the shelter.”
“My little protégé,” Maisie said, her voice full of pride.
Jack couldn’t help thinking her plan had been influenced by Adalia. A week ago, Adalia had told Iris about her marketing campaign for the brewery. She took artsy photos of customers in the tasting room and paired them with simple comments about what they were drinking and why they’d come in. The campaign was simple yet effective—it made Buchanan Brewery seem approachable. Friendly. And one of the hashtags she’d created had gotten pretty big (#HomeSweetBrewery). They’d seen a gradual increase in visitors to the tasting room, a significant number of them out-of-towners, which suggested her efforts were working. While Iris hadn’t completely thawed to Jack’s Buchanan half-sisters, she at least respected Adalia enough to follow her advice. She’d applied what she’d learned to that photo of Jack holding Ruby.
Nevertheless, there was no disputing Iris had latched on to Maisie’s attention in particular. She’d started off by working two afternoons a week at the shelter and then added shifts on the weekends. She’d even recruited several other high school kids and, thanks to a Nextdoor ad, a couple of retirees to help out with various projects.
All that volunteering had left her with little time to spend with Jack. But he’d found a solution: last weekend he’d started volunteering at the shelter too. He told himself it was because he wanted to be with Iris, and that was true, but he’d also hoped to see Maisie—and to his relief and consternation, he had.
His first day had been Sunday, and Maisie had arrived soon after they did. One of the volunteers had commented that she rarely came in on Sundays. Jack wasn’t a fool. He knew she was t
here because of him.
Not that he’d complained.
He and Maisie had spent the afternoon cleaning out a storage shed. Alone. Innuendo had flown back and forth as they sorted through the boxes of junk that had sat in the shed since her parents had acquired the property. It was more fun than he’d ever thought he’d have in a dirty shed. They’d spent three hours talking about anything and everything, including his dysfunctional childhood and her idyllic one. But she’d avoided talking about her parents’ death or what had come afterward, including the shelter’s early days. Still, he’d picked up on some things. She’d taken time off college to finish raising her little sister, and she’d never gone back.
Jack was used to glossing over his past too, but for some reason he didn’t want to do that with Maisie. Maybe it was because he was letting his seventeen-year-old sister hold his romantic life hostage, but he wanted Maisie to understand his need to put Iris first.
She’d listened, intently, with a gaze that made him think she was seeing into the depths of his soul. When he finished, she put down the rusted bicycle pump and took his hand, staring up into his eyes. The gold flecks in them had mesmerized him.
“You’re a good brother,” she’d whispered softly, her face cast in shadows in the dimly lit shed.
But he wanted to be so much more than that. Especially when Maisie’s hand was cradled in his, and she was close enough for him to smell the green apple scent of her shampoo. He felt a closeness to her that he hadn’t felt with anyone since his grandmother had died, and he didn’t want to lose it. She was friends with River and Finn. Maybe she could be his friend too. At least for now.
It had taken everything in him to pull his hand free. “I want…”
“I know,” she said with a weak smile. “I have the worst luck with timing.”
Then she’d walked out, and he hadn’t seen her until this afternoon, four days later, when she’d greeted them both, all smiles, and convinced him to play Santa for the dogs. And sure, he would have done it for Iris. But he was doing it for Maisie too.
“Okay!” Maisie exclaimed as she clapped her hands, shaking Jack out of his stupor. “When River does this, he usually squats next to them and we get a quick photo.”
“No,” Iris said, shaking her head emphatically. “That won’t work.”
“Why not?” Maisie asked with a laugh. “We’ve been doing it like that forever.”
“My point exactly,” Iris said. “Hardly anyone has seen them. Sure, you put some on social media, but taking photos and putting them up with hashtags isn’t enough. People want pretty pictures now. Artistic pictures.”
“You mean photos of hot men,” Maisie said dryly, but her gaze shifted to Jack for a split second in a way that made his blood boil.
“Gross,” Iris said with a shudder. “Stop saying that about my brother, but…” A pained look crossed her face. “It is true that the subject matter is almost as important as the quality of the photo. Addy gave me some pointers on how to get good photos with my phone, plus a couple of filters that will help with lighting.”
That information caught Jack by surprise, but he was smart enough not to comment. Adalia’s efforts were apparently paying off. She’d gone above and beyond to include his little sister, showing a level of patience that had surprised him. Iris saw much less of Georgie but seemed more tolerant of her than she’d been in the past, perhaps because Georgie had asked for her input with the bridesmaids’ dresses. Both of those developments were surprising, but most shocking of all was Iris’s acceptance of spending Christmas in Asheville instead of going back to Chicago as she’d originally pleaded.
Maisie crossed her arms over her chest as she gave Iris the side-eye. “It sounds like you have something in mind.”
“That’s because I do. Dustin was kind enough to get the backdrop set up.”
Jack laughed as Maisie dropped her arms, obviously caught by surprise. “He what? You just got here, and he’s not officially on duty today. When did you talk to him?”
Iris held up her phone. “There’s this newfangled thing called texting. I showed him a few photos I’d found on Pinterest, and he said he’d hook me up.”
“Why am I suddenly terrified?” Maisie asked.
“You?” Jack retorted with a laugh. “You’re not the subject of the photos.”
“I thought the dogs were the subjects of the photos,” Maisie teased. “Are you available for adoption?”
Iris shook her head as if she found them tiresome and headed for the door with the beard in hand. “Come on. Let’s get started. Dustin said he set up in the playroom.”
She headed in that direction, well-versed on all the locations in the shelter now, and left them to follow.
“You forgot the Santa coat,” Maisie called after her, picking up a flimsy red piece of fabric with tacky white fur attached to some edges.
“I’m supposed to wear that?” Jack asked in disgust. “How old is that thing?”
She propped a hand on her hip as she held up the coat. The way it was wadded into a ball didn’t increase its appeal. “River wears it and never complains.”
“Well, good for River, but I can’t imagine Finn wearing it.” He was too impeccably well dressed to agree to such a thing.
She made a face that told him he was right.
He motioned toward the jacket. “The only way I’m wearing that is if you delouse it first.”
“Dramatic much?” she asked with a grin. “You’re not going to catch lice.” Her grin spread. “But I can’t guarantee you won’t get fleas.”
“Maybe you should try it on first,” he said, his voice turning husky. He hadn’t meant for it to sound like an innuendo, more like a taunt. But now all he could think about was Maisie taking off her shirt, and what she might be wearing underneath. If anyone could make that Santa coat sexy, surely it was her.
From the way her mouth parted, a soft whoosh of air escaping her lips, he knew she was thinking about changing in front of him too.
“Are you guys coming?” Iris called out from down the hall.
“We’re getting the Santa jacket,” Maisie said, her gaze still locked on Jack’s.
“Leave it,” Iris said, her voice fading. “We don’t need it.”
A grin of victory spread across Jack’s face, and before he could stop to think about what he was doing, he pushed Maisie backward a couple of steps until her back was to the closet wall. His hand grabbed her hip, pulling her to him to satisfy his desperate need to feel her close. His other hand cupped the side of her face, and she stared up at him in such shock he nearly laughed. It took a lot to catch her off guard, and he considered it a small victory.
He lowered his face, inches above hers, and slowly slid his hand up her side, stopping short of the curve of her breast.
“I’ve been aching to touch you since Sunday,” he whispered. He knew he shouldn’t be doing this. Hell, Iris was twenty feet away, but Maisie made him drop his usual reserve and forget reason.
Something flashed in her eyes and she grinned. “Just since Sunday, huh?”
He grinned back. God, he loved her quips. She always kept him on his toes.
His thumb brushed her lower lip, and she sucked in a breath. Images of that night at her house flashed through his mind. But he was greedy. He wanted new ones.
She nipped lightly at the pad of his thumb and the remaining blood flow to his brain shut off, and it all flooded down south.
He lowered his mouth over hers, and their lips came together in a crash of heat and lust.
She wrapped an arm around his neck, holding him close, as her free hand roamed his chest and arm.
“Jack!” Iris called out. “What’s taking so long?”
Hearing his sister’s voice was like being doused by a vat of icy water. He took a step back, horrified that he’d wanted Maisie so badly he’d been willing to do God knew what in the closet. What had gotten into him?
“Maisie. I’m sorry.”
Anger fla
shed in her eyes. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry,” she hissed.
“We can’t do this right now,” he pleaded. “You said so yourself.” At least she knew his reasoning. He still had no idea what was holding her back. Was it Iris? But he couldn’t make that fit. Maisie seemed to genuinely like Iris.
“I know.” She ran a hand over her head and then straightened her shirt. “Why don’t I go out first? You can take a moment to get things under control.” Her gaze shot to his crotch, and he had to close his eyes for a moment.
“Maisie,” he said softly, pleading for her to understand, but he had no idea what he wanted her to comprehend. That he hadn’t stopped voluntarily, maybe, which was an issue in and of itself.
“I know,” she said again, sounding weary this time, and shot out of the room.
He took several deep breaths and headed to the bathroom, splashing his face with cold water and shifting things around. The last thing he needed was to draw his sister’s attention to his crotch…or get it on camera.
He headed to the playroom, bracing himself for whatever his sister had planned. When he walked in, it looked innocent enough. A chair was covered in an off-white, fake fur throw. A scrawny four-foot Christmas tree was perched next to the chair, covered in dog bones and toys as ornaments. Several wrapped presents sat under it.
“What took you so long?” Iris asked, sounding annoyed. “Ruby is already getting antsy.”
Sure enough, Maisie had Ruby on a leash, and the dog was trying to make a break for it.
“I had to go to the bathroom.”
Iris shrugged. “Yeah. Good idea. Especially with all these dogs about to sit on your lap.” She shot Maisie a challenging look. “No squatting. The setup is that the dogs are sitting on Santa’s lap.”
“So I’m supposed to sit in the chair?” he asked, gesturing toward it, hopeful Iris had meant it when she’d said he could go without the jacket.
“Yeah.”
“He needs the Santa coat first,” Maisie insisted, holding out the wadded ball of fabric. “His blue shirt’s not going to cut it as Santa.”
Getting Lucky (Asheville Brewing Book 3) Page 16
