by Amy Lyon
Jackson dipped his head again. “No one comes there anyway.” He gently reclaimed her lips.
Sara allowed him the kiss, but then nuzzled into his chest, wrapping her arms comfortably around his waist. “I’m trying to help you with that. Lesson number one to a successful business is opening your shop on time.”
His sigh told her he cared more about holding her than he did about his business. And while she devoured his attention, her job was to be the voice of reason.
“Really,” she admonished playfully. “Your shop opens at nine. We have to get back there.”
With hooded eyes, Jackson nodded. “You’re right.”
Sara licked her lips as they walked hand in hand. Now that she knew the pleasure of kissing Jackson Levy, she couldn’t unknow the feeling of his warm lips on hers or the comfort of being wrapped in his arms.
“What are you doing for lunch?” she asked when they stopped outside his shop.
“I’ll be here. My second home.” He shrugged. “Actually, it’s like my first home. I spend more time here than I do my house. Why, you wanna come hang out?”
He winked and Sara’s heart lurched.
“I would if you had Wi-Fi,” she said with a grin. “I want to launch your website this afternoon.”
He looked up at the wisps of clouds in the sky. “If I have it by noon, will you spend the afternoon here?”
“Wi-Fi?”
“Yeah,” he said with a shrug.
Sara laughed. “It’s not that easy. You can’t just snap your fingers and have a wireless connection.”
“Watch me,” he said and planted a self-assured kiss on her lips.
CHAPTER EIGHT
One advantage of growing up on Mimosa Key was knowing just about everybody. Many of the people Jackson graduated high school with had ventured off to go to college, but returned sometime in the last fourteen years to raise families of their own. And then there were those who never left at all, seemingly content with whatever this small town had to offer them.
Vivian’s brother, Kenny Fine, was one of those island-lifers. He worked as a technician at Gulf Coast Cable, which came in handy considering Jackson’s emergency need for a wireless connection.
“Thanks for squeezing me in,” Jackson said after the line was installed and Kenny made his way out onto the porch of Bayside Rentals.
“Not sure what the emergency was since you don’t even own a computer, J.T.” Kenny rapped him on the shoulder. “But anything for a fellow Scorpion.”
Jackson grunted at the nickname and the mention of their high school mascot. “Yeah, about that. Sorry I haven’t responded to your calls about the alumni breakfasts. A lot going on—”
“Totally understand, brother,” Kenny said. “Must be tough being back on the island when you thought you were gone for good.”
Jackson tensed and folded his arms over his chest.
“Bet you didn’t expect you’d be following in your old man’s footsteps,” Kenny said, unwittingly driving the stake in a little deeper.
But Kenny wasn’t being malicious. At least Jackson didn’t think so. This wasn’t the first time Jackson had wished he hadn’t made such a big deal out of joining the military right out of high school and saying sayonara to Mimosa Key. As a know-it-all teenager, he’d been pretty dang vocal about wanting a higher level of success than what his dad had as the owner of a little shack business.
Only now did he see what a spoiled brat he’d been. Only now did he see his dad was more set on building a life for his family than merely earning a living.
But you couldn’t reason with a cocky Army recruit who had plans to travel the world and climb the military ranks.
Only in leaving can you truly find your way home.
Life sure gave him a wake-up call.
“Mimosa Key isn’t so bad,” Jackson finally said. He waved across the street at the ocean. “I have this perfect view every day.”
Kenny wasn’t looking at the ocean. He had his eye on the attractive brunette making her way down the sidewalk.
“Or that view,” he said, leaning into Jackson. “Is that the widow neighbor Vivian told me about?”
Jackson winced. Kenny didn’t have the ability to filter his comments in high school and time hadn’t helped his problem.
“She available?” Kenny probed with a salacious wink.
“Don’t even think about it,” Jackson said through clenched teeth.
Kenny shrugged and backed away from his warning stare. “You got first dibs, J.T. I can respect that.”
Thankfully Kenny hustled off with nothing more than a respectful salute to Sara.
“Got your text,” she said as she climbed the stairs. “’Emergency. Bring your laptop.’”
Jackson threw a thumb over his shoulder to the shop. “Got a wireless router that really wants to meet you.”
Amusement flickered in her eyes. “How in the world did you manage that?”
“Told you I had connections,” he said with an easy nod.
“Better be lightning fast,” she said and pulled a paper sack from her bag. “I picked up sandwiches.”
As she passed by him, Jackson grabbed her arm to stop her. “Where you going?”
Sara pulled the bag tightly to her chest and giggled. “Who, me?”
“You,” Jackson whispered and wrapped her in an embrace. “This has been the longest three hours of my life.”
Sara’s eyebrows drew together and he loosened his grip. He didn’t want to scare her or move too fast, so he brushed a kiss across her forehead and followed her inside.
They ate lunch at the surfboard table and Sara spent the better part of the afternoon uploading pictures to some magical place on the Internet. He spent the day fighting the overwhelming need to wrap his arms around her.
By the time he closed up the shop at six, Jackson had a fully functioning website and his picture plastered across cyberspace. He wasn’t sold on the significance of a website since his dad had functioned this long without one, but the way Sara lit up with each click of her mouse, he was sold on what she believed would be a boon for his business.
As a thank you, he took her across the causeway to Naples Grill, a nice restaurant with a romantic ambiance. The next night, they agreed, she’d let him cook her dinner at his house.
* * *
Sara dabbed a calming oil blend of sage and lavender on her wrists and behind her ears in an effort to slow her overactive imagination. She was less nervous about spending time with Jackson at his house and more concerned about what she might say. More accurately, what she might share about her past.
In the last couple of days their relationship had transcended another level. He told her about playing baseball in high school and he opened up about his decision to join the military. Sara shared more of the details of Sweet Serenity’s serendipitous start and how running a small business was the last thing she’d imagined herself doing, yet turned out to be one of her most rewarding ventures to date.
When she talked, Jackson listened. Really listened. And he asked questions. There was genuine interest in his comforting gaze and he even complimented her on her natural business sense.
To say the attention felt undeserved was an understatement.
Now, she feared the conversations would turn more personal. She had, after all, been married for six years and suffered a tragic loss. She sucked in a deep breath. There was no way she could tell Jackson the rest of that story.
Not yet, at least.
Sara slipped on her comfy jeans and a turquoise and black India-made top that was a gift from Inya. Perhaps she and Jackson could talk more about their businesses. That was always a safe subject. In fact, she’d emailed Inya earlier in the day and ordered a shipment of a dozen similar tops to sample in the store. If the pieces sold well, she might be able to add jewelry and other handmade treasures to Sweet Serenity’s selection.
The flutter in Sara’s belly morphed into hope and she felt her grip tighten around the
prospect of a life—a real, honest-to-goodness rewarding life—here in Mimosa Key.
And that token of hope, along with the one she kept in her pocket, was what she held tight to as she drove six miles south down Center Street to Dolphin Drive where she parked in front of a coastal-style home with shake siding. The sun bowed down in the western sky, casting a warm glow over the two-story.
She knew from their conversation at dinner last night that Jackson’s mom lived in the lower level and Jackson had an apartment upstairs. She followed a sidewalk around the side of the house to a flight of stairs that led to the second-level apartment.
She tapped lightly on the door, which was open a crack, and walked through the entry, instantly overcome by the homey ambiance and—oh, that view!
Apartment wasn’t the right word for this gorgeous space.
Sara made a beeline past a small dining room table, through the living room and out French doors to an open patio. She was so captivated by the picturesque view that she completely forgot her manners. Beyond the slatted railing, Sara glimpsed a slice of heaven framed by a perfect sunset. Below, only one street and a sprinkling of one-story houses separated Jackson’s home from the ocean.
“Well, hello to you, too,” he said from behind her.
Sara whirled around and in an instant her arms were around Jackson’s waist.
“This view,” she cooed.
“I like this view better,” he murmured, leaning back to get a good look at her.
Sara tipped her face up for what she knew they both wanted and she actually went weak in the knees when his lips touched hers.
His hand slid down her hip and caught her fingers. “Can I give you the grand tour?” he asked against her cheek.
“Sure,” she whispered, taking in the scent of him. What she really wanted to do was beg him to kiss her again.
Instead, she followed him into the living room and to the left where a half countertop and two bar stools overlooked a cozy kitchen. Water rolled in a pot on the stove and a second, smaller pot warmed next to it.
Just beyond the kitchen there was a bathroom and a small hallway that led into a massive master bedroom.
“Oh, beautiful,” Sara said, appreciating the white-washed wood bedroom set and the same floor tile she recognized from her cottage. “I love the colors you’ve chosen.” She nudged him and winked. “Very beachy.”
“Golden Girls,” he said, flipping a switch that lit up a large walk-in closet. “They did the decorating.”
She cocked her head. “Golden Girls?”
“That’s what we call my mom, Matt’s mom and Andi’s mom—Dottie, Fancy and your aunt, Millie. They’re always meddling in everyone’s business, but, boy, can they decorate.”
Just then Jax made his way out of the closet, the limp evident in his gait more than usual.
Sara reached out her hands and lowered to her knees. “Hey, buddy,” she said, stroking his fur.
Jackson pushed his hands onto his hips. “Poor boy is really slowing down,” he said, a notch in his voice. “Sleeps most of the day when he’s not at the shop and is struggling with those stairs. I’ve thought about letting him stay with my mom downstairs, but I’m selfish.”
Sara looked up. “Why do you say that?”
“I’d miss him too much,” he said and shrugged. “Not sure what I’ll do when he’s gone for good.”
The sadness in Jackson’s voice was palpable and Sara rose to wrap her arms around him. “You don’t have to think about that now.” She buried her face against the corded muscles of his chest. “I know from experience how lonely it can be living by yourself.”
He grunted and when she looked up, his eyes flashed like summer lightning.
“You could always move in and we could keep each other company,” he said, the rumble in his voice low like thunder.
Sara’s eyebrows shot skyward. “Uh, a little soon, don’t you think?”
A deep laugh floated up from Jackson’s throat. “I’m teasing you.”
Smiling, Sara pretended to give it some thought. “Well, I could save some money. My landlord’s kind of a jerk and I’d have no qualms about breaking my lease.”
“Ah, touché,” he said with a chuckle.
She followed him back out to the kitchen and sat at one of the stools while Jackson served her a drink with fruit and an umbrella. She asked about his mother and learned that Dottie was the social butterfly of The Golden Girls trio.
“I’d introduce you, but she’s playing Bingo at Circles of Care tonight with Millie and Fancy,” he said.
Sara’s aunt had slowed considerably in the last few years, which was half the reason Andi had decided to move to Mimosa Key. Matt was the other half. Andi spent a lot of time at Circles of Care, Millie’s assisted living facility, but her worsening dementia took its toll on both of them. More often than not, Millie didn’t recognize her own daughter and she had severe bouts of anger. Sara didn’t hold out hope she’d recognize her niece when she and Andi visited the facility on Wednesday to show Millie Andi’s wedding dress.
Amazing how life changed, and not always for the better.
Jackson smiled over his shoulder. “You’re lost in thought,” he said, stirring the contents of the larger pot.
“Just thinking it must have been amazing to grow up here,” she lied.
He nodded and rested his elbows on the counter in front of her. “Used to be three bedrooms and a bathroom up here. Technically, this place is a duplex now that we redid this upper level into its own apartment. My parents had a heck of a time getting the remodel approved with the city, but when Bob had a will, he always found a way.”
Sara sipped her drink and frowned against the straw. “Bob?”
Jackson looked up. “Bob, my dad.”
“Bob’s Bait Shop?”
Jackson rubbed his chin and searched the room. “Yeah, he was my dad. Didn’t I mention that?”
He didn’t wait for her answer and returned to the stove.
Kind of like you didn’t mention you were my landlord, she thought and recalled the first evening she’d met Jackson, less than a week ago. She’d asked him why Bob’s Bait Shop had closed and all he’d said was, “Owner passed away.”
“I know what you’re thinking,” he said and turned to face her.
Sara huffed. “Oh, do you?”
“I should have told you my dad owned the bait shop.”
Sara shrugged. “None of my business.”
Jackson touched her hand. “I didn’t want to burden you with my—” he searched the room for the right word “—grief over losing my dad on the first day I met you. I mean, you’ve got enough going on in your own life.”
He tipped his head and she saw the pity. Oh, here we go again.
“Please don’t feel sorry for me.”
Jackson’s brow furrowed. “Sorry for you? I didn’t want you to feel sorry for me.”
“What? Why would I feel sorry for you?”
He fixed his eyes on the ceiling fan above them. “Picture this: my dad dies and I run his bait shop into the ground with his second business, Beachside Rentals, not far behind.” He met her eyes. “Kind of makes a guy feel like a failure.”
Sympathy swirled around her heart and she reached out to take his hands. “You’re not a failure. Not even close.”
Jackson lifted her hand and pressed a kiss into her palm. He leaned forward to kiss her lips … and the large pot on the stove boiled over.
Jackson let out a rueful laugh and busied himself with straining the pasta and mixing ingredients.
“Gluten-free,” he said, and gave her a wink as he held up a noodle then popped it into his mouth.
Sara bit her lip and her heart swelled more for this man. For someone who didn’t want to get too deep into conversation, she found herself wanting to dig down and learn everything she could about Jackson. What dreams did he have for the future now that his original dreams had been waylaid?
And, more specifically, why would
he carry such a heavy burden of feeling like a failure? When Sara looked at him she saw a glass well over half full and a man who radiated enough positive energy to help others’ fill their glasses, too.
She reached into her pocket and thumbed the coin she carried everywhere with her.
Even in death there is life.
She’d gotten the death part down, but couldn’t quite get a handle on the life. Maybe if she shared her story with him they’d both benefit.
CHAPTER NINE
The shrimp pesto was a hit. And the fact that the basil was grown in the backyard by his mother was apparently an added bonus in Sara’s book.
If only he hadn’t preceded the dinner with that feeling-like-a-failure admission. That really put a damper on the mood and he felt like it took the better part of the evening for the stench of that conversation to lift.
From the balcony, the waves crashed into Rocky Beach, creating the perfect backdrop for their conversation.
“Is there any place on this island that doesn’t have an incredible view?” Sara asked, snuggling in next to him on the double lounger. “I even caught a glimpse of Barefoot Bay from the Super Min gas station today.”
She fit perfectly into the crook of his left shoulder as he put his arm around her. Right where the bullet had lodged in his scapula, narrowly missing his heart. Amazing how he appreciated the simple pleasures in life after such a life-altering experience.
“I really took this place for granted,” he said.
She sighed. “Tell me more about what it was like growing up here.”
But Jackson wasn’t interested in talking about himself tonight. He readjusted to pull her closer.
“I want to know more about you,” he said. “What’s your middle name?”
She clucked. “You don’t want to know.”
Nice try. “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to know.”
“Sara… Serenity… Shaw,” she said and leaned her head back. “My mom was a hippie. My dad didn’t argue.”
“I like it.” In fact, Jackson liked everything about her. “So Shaw was your maiden name?”
