by Cindi Madsen
And when he simply cupped my cheek, peered into my eyes, and told me to be safe, a tiny fissure formed in my heart.
Yeah, I definitely needed a break from Jackson Gamble. I didn’t make a long-ass list of rules to get my heart broken all over again.
Chapter Sixteen
A beam of sunlight greeted my eyeballs first thing Monday morning, nearly blinding me—ironic, since the broken slats on the blinds were responsible. I blinked and sat up, moving around the penetrating ray that got me every morning.
I stretched, and instead of a mixture of stuffy dust and fresh paint, I got a whiff of dark-roasted coffee. I did a double take at the Daily Grind cup on the nightstand, right next to the frilly lamp that I used when I wanted to read past bedtime undetected back in the day—it was a much better accomplice than the noisy bedsprings.
I lifted the cardboard to-go cup. Still warm.
A light, steady tapping noise echoed through the house. Jackson must already be here and working.
Words were etched into the cup in blue ink, and I twisted it so I could read them.
Forget small children, I don’t want you to terrify any handsome handymen this morning. My lips stretched into a smile, and I ran my thumb over the roughly sketched broom at the bottom.
I sipped the coffee, moaning at the bold taste and warmth on my tongue. Like his sister, he sprang for the good stuff. They’d make a coffee drinker of me yet.
I couldn’t believe I didn’t hear him come in, but I never had back when we were doing our whatever. I could sleep through most anything—as evidenced by the fact that he’d been hammering away while I’d been crashed out.
I took a quick shower, ran some anti-frizz curling mousse through my hair, and pulled on my paint-covered, tattered jeans and a T-shirt. I contemplated makeup and then decided against it. If Jackson was already working, I should get to it.
Gripping my personalized cup of coffee, I hurried down the stairs. And then paused to admire the view. Jackson was on a ladder, hammering the white crown molding to the top of the wall. It gave the living room a finished, framed look and complemented the blue-gray paint perfectly, if I did say so myself.
As nice as the room looked, the real sight for sore, still-tired eyes was the drool-worthy guy. That strong line of his back, visible through his T-shirt, arms flexing with every swing. He also had a pencil behind his ear for marking and a few nails pinched between his lips, and I found it completely sexy for reasons I couldn’t exactly explain.
Actually, it wasn’t that hard to explain. He was hot and using his hands to help me achieve this outrageous house-flipping idea I’d gotten into my head.
“Thanks for the coffee.” I lifted the cup, like otherwise he might not understand what I meant. “If I spot any handsome handymen, maybe I’ll be able to refrain from hexing them. Maybe.”
The crooked smile that tugged at his mouth made him the most handsome of handymen, and the cocky slant to it proved he knew it. “I’m sure they’ll appreciate that.”
I scanned the room again, mostly so I wouldn’t just ogle him and give away exactly how much I’d thought about him during my self-imposed two-day break. “You must’ve started early.”
“You know how much I like worms.”
I scrunched up my forehead, trying to make sense out of his words.
“Because that’s what early birds get,” he said.
“Ah. Explains why I stay in bed. I prefer…not worms.” I downed the last of my coffee and wiped my hands on my jeans. “Put me to work.”
“If you want to hold the molding so I don’t have to try to balance it and hammer at the same time, that’d be great.”
I walked up the other side of the ladder and, once he’d fitted the molding where he wanted it, held it in place. “Do anything interesting over the weekend?”
Surprise bled into his features, like he couldn’t believe I’d asked. Honestly, I couldn’t believe it, either. This was why I should plan out stuff to say beforehand. Since that wouldn’t be weird. He removed a nail from between his lips, stuck it in place, and swung the hammer. “Not really.”
How annoyingly vague. Vague is my job.
“How about you?” he asked.
“Same.” I kept glancing from the molding to him, then back to the molding. This was torture, being so close and trying not to focus on Jackson, and how good he smelled, and the varying shades of green in his eyes, and what did he do over the weekend, and what was he thinking right now, and why was my brain doing this to me?
I stuck to the plan and forced myself to pull back before I got in over my head. Why isn’t it working better?
“You know, I could hammer, too,” I said when he stepped down from the ladder to grab another plank. “Then we could go even faster.” And I’d have something else to concentrate on besides you.
He opened his toolbox and handed me his spare hammer and some nails. Once we were in position again, we started at opposite ends, planning on meeting in the middle. I swung the hammer, better now that I could focus on the head of the nail instead of the head of the hottie.
But now not-talking was getting to me, all the words we weren’t saying stacking up and making it harder to find that easy camaraderie we’d experienced last week. I took it upon myself to try again to get a conversation going. “I did manage to sort through more of Dixie’s scrapbooks in my spare time.”
“I saw those scattered on the couch,” Jackson said, fitting another nail in place. He raised his voice to be heard over the hammering. “Anything interesting?”
“They’re kind of like almanacs for which dude my mom was dating year to year. To be fair, some lasted more than one. Not to mention we didn’t see Dixie as much when Mom had a boyfriend, so she mostly captured the beginnings. Then there are pages of just the three of us—me, Dixie, and my mom—doing crazy things that were supposed to help Mom over whatever relationship she was mourning.” I paused to drive the nail I was working on home. “I’d forgotten about a few of them, though. Like Craig Watson, who made me take my shoes off by the front door and had a room no one could sit in. He was crazy about the lid being on the toothpaste, too.” Enough so that he’d blown a gasket when Mom forgot. In general, she and I were too messy for his perfect, orderly life.
“Sounds like a fun dude.”
I huffed a laugh, stretching as far as I could go without moving the ladder, since we were sharing it. “Then there was Chuck, who was a little too fun. Like the carnival would be in town, so we’d hit that, and then the second we got home, he wanted to go right back out to dinner or a movie. I remember thinking can we just sit for five minutes? His daughter hated me and we had to share a room, so that was extra fun.
“Then there was a lot of Rhett, way more than the other guys.” I hesitated. I hadn’t meant to go deeper than little anecdotes about the constant carousel of men. “He was different from the start—for one, I actually liked him. He treated my mom well, and more than that, I didn’t feel invisible or like he was trying too hard to include me, like it was all just a show for my mom’s sake.
“He gave me permission to read any book in his sizeable collection, and then we’d have these great conversations about them and playfully debate topics. He taught me to drive and insisted on getting me a reliable car after I got my license.”
Over the year and a half we lived with him, I slipped and got attached, even though I should’ve known better by then. Some of Mom’s other men were nice enough, but for the first time ever, I’d thought, This is what it must feel like to have a dad. I see what the fuss is all about.
Jackson stopped hammering and turned to fully face me. “What happened with him?”
“He’s married to Dixie now.” I rolled the remaining nails in my hand, then squeezed hard enough for them to dig into my skin and redirect the dull ache that’d settled in my chest. I didn’t know why it was hitting me so hard, harder than when I’d seen evidence in the photos that Dixie liked him from the start. I bet it was tough for her
, watching them together. “My mom dumped him before anything started between him and Dixie—Mom translated ‘too nice’ and ‘reliable’ into ‘no passion’ and moved on to a guy who yelled at her all the time…”
She went from too nice to verbally and emotionally abusive. Good call, Mom.
“Did he yell at you, too?”
Since my thoughts were still spinning on Rhett and Dixie, it took me a second to switch gears and figure out why Jackson sounded like he was ready to murder someone. I shrugged it off. “Yeah, but he wasn’t the first to yell, and it’s not like I’m scarred for life because of it or anything. By that time I was seventeen and could take care of myself. I yelled right back.”
I reached for another nail, but I’d already used them all and the molding was already secured in place, and my hands needed something to do. Now that I’d turned on the memory tap, I couldn’t seem to shut it off. “The worst part about living with him was that I was stuck in this tiny town in Alabama, where I didn’t know anyone and there was nothing to do, so I felt completely trapped. I begged my mom to let me move back here with Dixie for my last year of high school, and she was just about to give in when Dixie called to tell her that she’d started seeing Rhett. My mom went ballistic. It got ugly, and afterward the rift was so wide and deep there was no chance of closing it. Which I think made my mom feel trapped, too, because she refused to leave Alabama, no matter how bad it got. And it got bad.”
I didn’t dare look at Jackson, afraid the weak wall holding back my emotions would crumble. Yet I couldn’t seem to stop talking, either. Besides Jackson, Rhett and Dixie had been on my mind all weekend. “All those years we just showed up on Dixie’s doorstep, no warning, and she took us in again and again. I never could figure out why, since my mom didn’t even love Rhett, she couldn’t just let her best friend be happy. That was such a shitty period. Within a couple of months, I’d lost one of the few of Mom’s boyfriends I actually cared about, Dixie, and my freedom.”
I pulled my gaze off the spot on the ladder I’d practically stared a hole through to find Jackson’s eyes leveled on me.
“Wow. That was a whole lot of talking and drama that I didn’t mean to get into, and I’m totally holding us back from our work. Sorry.” I jumped down and reached for another piece of the molding.
Jackson stepped up behind me, gently tugged my arm away from the pile and turned me to face him. “Ivy. You know that you can talk to me. About anything.”
I waved a hand through the air, sure I’d lose it if I talked any more about my past. I wished I could go back and stop myself from admitting so much in the first place. Stupid desire to get a conversation going. Talk about backfiring. “I’m totally fine. It was such a long time ago. Those scrapbooks are like time traveling to my past, and I should probably just tape them up and ship them off to Dixie before I get sucked in again.”
Jackson ran his fingers down my arm and gave my hand a quick squeeze. “I don’t think a little time traveling is a bad thing.”
“Where would you go?”
He rubbed his fingertips along his jaw. “In my past?”
I nodded, then took a guess. “Back to your football glory days?” I infused my voice with an extra dose of peppiness. “Where you scored lots of touchdowns and cheerleaders.”
He scrunched up his eyebrows. “I was a linebacker.”
“Oh. Do cheerleaders not like linebackers?”
That cocky smile of his spread across his face. “They definitely do, especially when we’re talking yours truly—”
I rolled my eyes.
“But linebacker is a defensive position.”
I shrugged a shoulder. “Yeah, sports were never my thing.”
“How do you even know I played football in high school?”
I swore we’d talked about it, but come to think of it, it was probably information I’d gleaned from Savannah. The first time I’d seen Jackson, I’d nudged her and made an inappropriate comment about how I’d like to climb him like a tree. Then she informed me that was her brother and added, “So down, girl.” Here and there after our initial introduction, I’d asked a few casual questions about him while telling myself I couldn’t go there, no matter how sexy the guy was.
Guilt rushed right up to remind me I was going against my best friend’s wishes. In my defense, I’d resisted for a really long time, and as he’d pointed out, he was an adult who could make his own decisions, and now I was rationalizing way too much instead of thinking of a good excuse for knowing that tidbit about him. “I’m sure you mentioned it. And you’re trying to change the subject about where you’d go in your past.”
There. Perfectly smooth way of redirecting our conversation.
Except he grinned at me like he didn’t buy it. “I like where I am now.”
“With your job and life?”
He took a step closer, his arms circling my waist. “Yeah. Don’t get me wrong, past me had some fun, but he needed to learn more patience and understanding. Hell, present me could be a little better at that, too, but I’m working on it.”
I placed my hands on his chest, going the extra mile and copping a feel of his firm pecs. “Well, how very advanced of you.”
“Right?” He laughed, and I joined in. Then his expression grew more serious. “I know that when it comes to the past, you didn’t have the easiest time growing up. So if you want to box up those photos and never look at them, I’ll get the tape and throw them in the back of my truck right now. But if you want to reflect on the good times and think about how amazing it is that you became such a strong, stubborn woman who insists apple green is a good color for a bathroom in spite of it all, then you can do that too. And I’ll happily do it with you if you want.”
“Do it with me?” I asked, waggling my eyebrows, because serious conversations made me uncomfortable, and this was getting way too serious. “How generous.”
“Mind out of the gutter, girl. On second thought, keep it there. But you’re going to have to wait until we get our work done.” He kissed me square on the lips, turned me back toward the stack of molding, and smacked me on the butt.
I let out a noise of protest, even though it was all for show.
As we finished working our way around the room, we unabashedly checked each other out, flirted, and threw out innuendos right and left. About banging hard and nailing each other and screwing until we were out of breath.
I told him that I was going to rock his world and make him forget his name.
He promised that he was going to make me scream his name so he remembered it.
And at the end of the day, we made good on all those naughty, delicious promises.
Chapter Seventeen
“Hey, baby.”
I ignored the guy at the end of the bar who’d had too much to drink and rounded the counter, putting some much-needed space between us for his safety. It wasn’t just alcohol making him forget his manners. He’d been inappropriate before his first shot of whiskey, one of those rich good ol’ boys who thought proper etiquette didn’t apply to him.
He snapped his fingers, and my spine went stick-straight as I took deep breaths, working to retain control of my temper.
More and more, I was sick of bartending. I’d been spinning my wheels here, afraid to commit to something more. I loved working on the house, but I didn’t know how realistic it was to set my sights on flipping houses full-time, considering that I wouldn’t find another situation like the one I was in now. Not every home owner would just hand me the keys and tell me to go to town on their place, and Jackson wouldn’t always be on hand to help fix my messes.
I wanted to believe that the skills I was learning and the money I would make from the sale would help launch me into a new career, but I couldn’t possibly make that much profit. Not to mention some tasks were still beyond me, both know-how and physically, even though wild horses couldn’t drag that confession from me. I needed a new life plan. I needed to stop waiting around to find the perfect long-ter
m career and take control of finding one.
Usually I avoided plans, because I didn’t want anything to control my life, even me. Plans just screamed stifling and unbendable, and I liked spontaneity, as long as I was also at the wheel. But if I made a plan and found my way to something more—to a life and a job I loved—I’d be in even more control of my life.
As I brainstormed options, I wiped down the bar, going away from Mr. Grabby Hands. I did a double take at the guy who’d sat at the far end. Jackson flashed me a butterfly-inducing smile, and I ditched the rag and moved over to him. “What are you doing here?”
“I was in the neighborhood and needed a drink. I hear the bartender here is super sexy, too.”
“Yeah. Jesse is pretty popular,” I joked, jerking my head toward the guy who was working the late shift with me tonight.
“Ha-ha.” Jackson brushed his thumb over my knuckles, and warmth coursed through my veins. “You look nice.”
“Thanks. So, what’ll you have?”
“Just a beer. Whatever’s on tap is fine.”
I poured it and set it in front of him. He seemed off somehow. “What’s going on?”
“Oh, I just have a big project that I’ll be starting once we finish up with your place.”
“Do you need to start it early? I can do everything else if I need to. Except the flooring. And any structural stuff. Okay, so I still need your help on some of the projects, but I can work around your schedule.”
One corner of his mouth turned up. “Glad to hear I’m needed. And you and I made a deal and worked out a schedule, and I’m sticking with it. I’m just trying to balance that and some other things. And my family is calling me every five minutes.”
“Ah. They can be…persistent.”
“Understatement.”
I leaned over, folding my forearms on the bar. “Go ahead and let it all out. Tell me your problems.”
A gleam entered his eyes, the one that usually accompanied teasing. “I thought you didn’t like getting too deep.”
