[2015] Just the Essentials

by Shari L. Tapscott

  Ginger laughs, and I end the call.

  I drive back to the cabin feeling a little down. I should write, but I think I’ll read. When I drive around the corner, I’m surprised to see Jack on the roof.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask as I swing the car door shut.

  He sets his tools down, wipes sweat from his brow, and flashes me a welcome home smile that dredges up domestic urges that involve me baking bread and roasting chickens.

  “The day didn’t take as long as I thought it would,” he says. “So I thought I would stop by.”

  “How’s it coming?”

  “I’m almost finished.”

  The roof was the last big project. After that, there’s not much left for him to do. The thought makes my stomach feel squirmy.

  Leaving him to his task, I go inside.

  The cabin is much cozier than it was when I first arrived. All the surfaces gleam. I’ve washed the ugly lace curtains, and they are as white as they’ll ever be. And every night, before he leaves, Jack starts a fire for me.

  I’m going to miss that.

  Instead of reading as I had planned, I sit cross-legged on the couch with my laptop. It’s easy to stay on task when there’s no Internet connection, and I’ve gotten a much larger chunk of writing done here than I usually do at home in the same amount of time.

  I’m rereading my last chapter when Jack comes in.

  “There’s bottled water in the fridge if you want one,” I say.

  He stands behind the couch, his eyes on the screen. “Unless I’m mistaken, there’s water in the faucet, too.”

  I close my laptop before he can read any of my work. It’s still in its roughest stage and certainly not ready for him to judge. Instead of protesting, he rounds the couch, helps himself to my personal candy stash on the coffee table, then sits next to me.

  “Did you finish up?” I ask, hoping his answer is no.

  Jack rests his head back. “For the night.”

  “How did the appraisal go?”

  “Fine. I start next week.”

  He doesn’t have to add when he’s finished here. We both know.

  “Do you want to stay for dinner?” I rack my brain, thinking of what I have in the cupboards.

  Angling his head toward me, he grins, probably remembering breakfast. “How about we go to the cafe?”

  My stomach growls. I set my laptop aside and grab my purse. He drives, as usual, and I think of how very like a couple we’ve become—except that we don’t kiss or hug or generally touch each other.

  Jack waves to Edna as we walk through the doors. As she points to a booth in the back, there’s a familiar squeal just to our left.

  “Imagine the timin’!” Amber gushes. She leans so far out of her and Hudson’s booth, she might just crash to the floor. “Why don’t ya’ll join us?”

  Chapter Eleven

  I hold back my groan, but I’m not sure I manage to hide my grimace. Amber doesn’t seem to notice or care, and she waves us over.

  “Come on now.” Her smile is huge. “We’re not takin’ no for an answer.”

  I scoot into the booth first, and Jack slides in next to me. He and Hudson size each other up.

  “Aw, just look at the two of you!” Amber sets her sugary gaze on Jack and me. “Aren’t you just the cutest thing?” She elbows my ex. “Right, Hudson?”

  He breaks eye contact with Jack and looks down at his menu. “Cute. Yes.”

  “I’m a lucky guy.” Jack wraps his arm around my shoulders, pulling me flush against his side.

  Startled, I melt into him.

  Amber beams at us. What’s with her? Why is she so happy all the time? And why does she want us all to be friends? It’s not normal.

  Still, I’m perfectly happy to snuggle up next to Jack—even if he is just pretending for my sake.

  Now that the two guys are together, I can’t help but compare them. Jack’s a little taller, a little more muscular. Hudson is handsome in a prissy suit and tie kind of way. I always thought I preferred that, but now, seeing them side by side…

  Hudson’s brow furrows as he scans the menu. “Is everything slathered with mayonnaise?”

  Jack looks up. “No. Some things are fried.”

  I bite my lip to keep from snorting. Even Amber looks like she’s holding back a smile. She meets my eyes and gives me a conspiratorial nose scrunch.

  Ugh.

  Edna comes to take our order. I ask for a grilled chicken sandwich with fresh fruit in an attempt to counteract all the awful food I’ve eaten lately. Amber splurges on a hamburger, and Jack gets chicken fried steak. Hudson’s order is a little more complicated.

  “Can I get the chicken salad with grilled chicken instead of breaded?”

  “Sure,” Edna answers, not looking up from her pad. “Dressing?”

  “Omit the croutons, cheese, bacon bits, egg yolks, and—what kind of lettuce do you have?”

  She looks up, raising an eyebrow.

  “Is it iceberg? Romaine? Leaf?”

  Edna sighs. “I’ll go check the bag—”

  “It’s from a bag?” He shakes his head. “Never mind, I’ll need a few more minutes.”

  Jack looks at Hudson like he’s sprouted another head. Even I’m embarrassed, and I’m not with him anymore. Amber looks like she wants to crawl under the table.

  “Would you just order something?” I say.

  He shoots me a frustrated look and then turns his attention back to Edna, looking put out. “The salad is fine.”

  Edna’s not amused. “What kind of dressing?”

  “Oil and vinegar if you have it.” He begins to close his menu but stops. “Wait—it’s not soybean oil, is it?”

  “For heaven’s sake!” Amber tries to laugh. She gives Edna an apologetic look. “Whatever you have will be just fine.”

  Hudson glares at Amber as Edna walks away. “It’s not fine, Amber. Soybeans—”

  She bats her pretty eyes. “Darlin’, one time isn’t going to kill you.”

  That’s funny; I’m pretty sure I’ve heard that same argument from him. Of course, he wasn’t talking about important things like condiments.

  As if this is all just too much for him, Hudson takes a deep breath. He turns to me, obviously blaming me for half of his troubles. “How is the querying going, Kinsley?”

  I wouldn’t call myself a violent person, but it’s a good thing Jack’s not wearing his gun because I swear I could shoot Hudson in the foot.

  “Just great.”

  He looks surprised. “Is someone going to publish your novel?”

  Squirming in my seat, I say, “Not yet.”

  “Ah,” he says with a superior, satisfied look on his face.

  I hope Edna serves him traditionally grown iceberg lettuce—preferably wilted—with partially hydrogenated soybean oil, preserved with all kinds of chemicals for life-long freshness.

  Sensing my irritation, Jack leans close, again wrapping his arm around my shoulders. “It’s only a matter of time. Right, honey?”

  I’m about to come up with something witty to put Hudson in his place, but then Jack kisses me. Right here, in the booth, across from my ex and his new pocket pet girlfriend. And—oh my—it’s the best peck I’ve ever been party to.

  I blink at him, but he turns back to the conversation like it’s nothing. Like he kisses me all the time.

  Which he should. He absolutely should.

  Hudson doesn’t look pleased. In fact, he looks ready to come over the table. I know he won’t, though. That would mess up his hair and his clothes and his pretty face.

  Amber blinks at us, starry-eyed. “I just can’t get over how sweet you are together.” She turns to Hudson. “See? It’s all worked out just fine.”

  “So—Jack—what do you do?” Hudson asks, ignoring Amber. “Did you say you’re a handyman?”

  “That’s right.” Jack nods, nonchalant. He peeks at me, giving me just a hint of his killer smile, before he turns back. “You coul
d say I’m a Jack-of-all-trades.”

  “Oh!” I exclaim, delighted. “I didn’t think of that one.”

  “Hmmm,” Hudson says, unimpressed. “I suppose the job market is limited up here.”

  How did I date him? How did I even consider sleeping with this jerk? Or marrying him?

  And then something terrible hits me.

  Together, we would have spawned stuck-up, jerk children. What a horrible thought.

  Amber frowns at Hudson and changes the subject. “Kinsley, I want to hear more about this novel you wrote.” Oddly enough, she actually looks curious. “I have to admit, I’m a sucker for romances. Hudson mentioned that’s what you write.”

  I roll my napkin in my lap. It will probably be shredded to bits before the evening is over. “It’s a modern day fairy tale retelling.”

  “Oh,” she says, drawing the word out. “Which one?”

  “The Twelve Dancing Princesses.”

  Her eyes get huge. “That’s one of my very favorites! I had an old fairy tale book that I just wore out when I was a little girl. I would love to read your novel.”

  Terror rises in my throat at those seemingly innocent words.

  Amber doesn’t seem to notice my dismay. “I love meeting authors!”

  Hudson rolls his eyes. I’d like to say it doesn’t hurt—that I’m so far over him I don’t care in the least—but it does. And I guess I’m not.

  Amber drones on about an aunt who works for a publisher—everyone seems to know someone in the industry—but I block most of her chatter out. The last thing I need is Amber’s so-called publishing wisdom.

  Our food arrives, thankfully ending the conversation. Edna slides the plates in front of us, and I’m disappointed to see that Hudson’s salad not only looks very fresh, but it’s a lovely assortment of spring greens and spinach.

  The pale yellow oil, however, is definitely either plain vegetable or canola. That helps a little bit. Especially when he examines it, gives a disgusted grunt, and only drizzles vinegar over the whole plate.

  Conversation ebbs as we eat. All of us seem to be in a hurry to end dinner save Amber, who is just as bubbly as ever.

  When Edna asks if we’d like dessert, Jack is the first to decline.

  Edna gives him a surprised look. “Jackson. Are you passing on pie?”

  Jack grins. “Yes, ma’am.”

  She shakes her head and gives him an indulgent smile. “What’s the world coming to?”

  Amber decides she wants a slice of cake, so she and Hudson linger behind while we leave. I let out a huge sigh of relief once we walk through the door.

  “That was awkward,” I say.

  As Jack walks around to his side of the truck, I begin to panic. Is he going to mention the kiss? Should I mention the kiss? If I do, will he laugh at what a good trick we played on them?

  Or, just maybe, will he close the distance between us, confess his growing attraction for me, and…

  “You have that look again.” He starts the engine.

  “I do not.” I don’t even have to ask what look he means. It’s the one I get when I start daydreaming.

  Jack arches a brow, his expression answering for him. When we reach the cabin, he parks the truck out front. I expect him to drop me off, but he gets out.

  It’s a nice evening. The sun has just set and the western sky is pink and yellow. The cabin no longer looks foreboding, and I don’t dread going inside.

  Jack walks me to the porch.

  “You want to come in?” I rifle through my purse, looking for my keys.

  “No, I better get home.”

  I almost ask him why he walked me up here, but then I stop. My stomach flip-flops. I’m so flustered; I end up dropping my keys. We stoop down to pick them up at the same time. When I look up, our heads are just inches apart.

  Jack ends up plucking the keys off the deck. He offers his hand, pulls me back up to standing, and opens the door.

  “Goodnight, Kinsley.”

  “Night,” I murmur, not moving.

  He turns toward the steps. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

  “I can make breakfast before we leave, if you want,” I call to him.

  “Tempting.” Jack looks back just as he’s getting in his truck, and he grins. “But maybe we could grab something?”

  Laughing, I shoo him away with my hand. Once I’m snug inside, I melt onto the couch and relive our tiny kiss from the cafe. It’s only once the room begins to feel cool that I realize he left without starting a fire.

  Thirty minutes later, I decide Ginger’s dead wrong. Lighting a fire isn’t only difficult; it’s nearly impossible. I’ve gone through half of my box of “strike anywhere” matches, and I have nothing to show for it. There’s no warm, rosy glow—no merry crackle.

  What am I doing wrong? I know; I didn’t buy those fire starters. Still, Jack doesn’t use anything special. He just looks at it and it lights.

  He looks at me, and I light too, so I understand the mechanics behind it.

  Finally, I give up and go huddle under my blankets. I’ll probably toss and turn all night, not only cold but also thinking about Jack’s kiss and how irritating Hudson is.

  Has Hudson always been like that? How haven’t I noticed before? Or maybe I did, and I just didn’t want to think about it.

  I take twice my normal amount of time getting ready. I’m just putting earrings in when Jack knocks.

  Like always, he walks right in. “Kinsley?”

  “Back here,” I call.

  As a last minute thought, I squirt myself with a little of my favorite perfume. I haven’t used it lately because the bees seem to like the scent, but there’s no harm in wearing it today.

  I study my reflection in the mirror over Grandma’s dresser. My curled hair falls around my shoulders, and my earrings peek out when I turn my head. I have on my favorite sleeveless blouse, dark jean shorts, and the designer flip-flops I haven’t been able to wear here because I always end up with stickers in my feet.

  Satisfied, I step out of the hall and find Jack sitting on the couch, waiting for me. He’s reading a novel I left on the coffee table, and the cover’s wrapped around the back of the book.

  “Is this the stuff you write?” he asks and then looks over his shoulder and smiles. “Look at you.”

  How natural it would be to stride over to him, lean over the back of the couch, and kiss him…

  I snatch the book out of his hands before he can put a crease in the spine. “No, this is more of a dystopian.”

  Jack stands. “I have no idea what that means.” From the way he says it, it’s clear he doesn’t care. “Ready?”

  Just as I’m about to say I am, his cell phone rings. Dread settles around me when he answers it. It’s another emergency call; I know it.

  “Hey, Eliza,” Jack says, his voice warm. “No, I’m heading down to Grand Junction.”

  I turn away, hoping I don’t look too eager to leave.

  “That’s not good. Why don’t you give Gary a call?” He walks to the window. “No, I’ll be gone all day.” After listening for a few moments, he says, “Yes, I understand.”

  Disappointment ties a knot in my stomach. Why couldn’t we have already been halfway over Red Mountain before the call came in?

  When he hangs up, I ask, “Emergency?”

  “Not exactly. Just some raccoon trouble. I told her to call Gary.”

  He’s mentioned Gary a few times. He’s the guy Jack worked with while he was a teenager. Apparently he’s just about retired, but he’ll still do a few things.

  “What kind of raccoon trouble?”

  Jack tucks his phone back in its pouch. “It’s stuck in Eliza’s basement.”

  I don’t know who Eliza is, but I don’t like the way he says her name. Like he knows her very well, and he’s very fond of her.

  “It’s all right,” he says. “Gary will take care of it.”

  We’re just to his truck when his phone rings again. He checks th
e screen and answers.

  “It’s all right, Eliza. I’ll pick up a trap from the lodge, and we’ll see if we can catch it.” He hangs up and shoots me an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. Gary’s out of town, and she doesn’t have anyone else to call.”

  I’ll bet she doesn’t.

  “How long does it take to catch a raccoon?” I ask.

  “It depends. I’ll set it now and swing by her place tonight after we get back.”

  We walk back inside, and Jack glances at the anniversary clock. “I’ll be gone an hour at most.”

  I try to hide my frown, but I must not do a very good job. He stands in front of me, places his hands on my shoulders, and looks me in the eye. “I’ll be right back.”

  I bask in the feel of his hands on me. Before I can think of some clever answer, he’s leaving.

  “One hour, I promise,” he calls as the door swings shut.

  Two hours and fourteen minutes later, Jack’s truck rumbles to a stop in front of the cabin. At exactly an hour, I got the obligatory It’s taking longer than I expected, I’ll hurry phone call.

  I’m just sending off my manuscript to the email address Amber gave me when Jack comes striding through the front door. I snap my laptop shut.

  He gives me an apologetic look.

  “I’m sorry,” he says, and though I don’t ask him what the holdup was, he tells me anyway. “The trap wasn’t in the shop as it should have been. I spent forty-five minutes looking for it before I finally gave up and asked Dad if he’d seen it. He’d loaned it to a friend in Silverton a month ago, and I had to drive down and pick it up.”

  “Did you get it set up?”

  “We did.” He laughs. “Eliza was worried the trap was going to hurt the raccoon.”

  Jealousy burns deep in my stomach at his tone, at the affectionate way he says the woman’s name.

  “Are you ready?” he asks.

  I shove my laptop aside. I won’t lie; I’m a little mad. I know he’s not mine. I know I don’t have any claim on him, but I don’t like him postponing our plans to rush off to another woman’s aid.

  “Do you think you can take the whole day off?” I don’t quite meet his eyes. “You’re awfully busy.”