Hey, so, I know I said I’d never contact you again after our one night together, but do you maybe want to play golf. . . with my holes?
“Yes.” She inspected me for a quick second before asking, “Is he why you’re here? You need to be photographed with someone—to continue the Harrison ruse—and so you thought of Jackson James?”
I opened my mouth to respond, but no words arrived.
Be honest, Rae, if only with yourself. Is Deputy Dreamy the reason you’re here?
Looking toward the garden again, I tilted my head back and forth as I debated how to answer and ended up speaking the truth out loud. “Partly, yes. It’s been impossible these last few years, meeting someone, and I know that’s my fault. I used to not care. Work came first, always. But recently, I don’t know. It would just be nice to have a person who I didn’t have to pretend around, someone trustworthy who didn’t go running to the tabloids to sell an insider story. I meant what I said, I’m tired of having nothing real in my life. It’s . . .”
“What?”
“Exhausting. Pretending all the damn time.” I peeked at her, gauging how weird I might make things if I continued talking and were actually 100 percent honest.
As I’ve mentioned, Sienna was, by far, the most genuine, real person I knew in the business. She never faked anything. Or if she did, she was just that good an actress and she made her life look authentic. Since her wedding, I’d seen her with her husband at red carpet events and they always looked so happy, so in love, and they stood out from the crowd because of it. Where others—like me—were airbrushed and arduously determined to exude effortless perfection, Sienna and her Jethro were effortless perfection.
“You came here so you wouldn’t have to pretend?” she said after a while, her smile faint and shaded with concern. “And you think, with Jackson James, you won’t have to?”
“Why do you look worried?”
“It’s just—” she sucked in a breath, her eyes moving between mine “—he has a reputation in this town. He is a good guy, but he’s not . . .”
“Boyfriend material?” I pressed my lips together to keep from grinning because this felt like good news for me. “I’m not here to go steady with him, remember?”
“Yeah, well, then Jackson is perfect.” She chuckled. “What happened that night? Between the two of you? He must’ve made a big impression.”
“More like, he’s the last guy I’ve felt any actual attraction to and with,” I hedged. “If I have to get caught making out with someone, it would be nice to enjoy the experience.”
“I see.” Her eyes moved over me and narrowed, grew thoughtful as her smile flattened.
“Don’t worry, I won’t mack down on him at your house. It has to be public. And I promise, I’ll be out of your hair by next Friday.”
“Stay as long as you like, I mean it.” She sipped her whiskey, but her eyebrows told me she was troubled. “I’d be more than happy to host you all summer, if you want.”
Oh man, I wanted to accept her offer. But I wouldn’t. I wasn’t a freeloader. That said, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been as tempted to break my own rules as I was right now. Whatever Sienna’s secret for happiness was, I wanted it. But I couldn’t say that either. I didn’t want her to think I was needy.
So I said, “Thank you, you are very kind, but I probably should get back to LA,” because it was the truth.
Just not all of it.
Chapter 4
*Jackson*
“Spock was the sex symbol. A lot of people think it was Kirk. But, no, it was really Spock.”
Jolene Blalock
My father and I had breakfast together on the first Tuesday of the month, usually at Daisy’s Nut House. This was partly because the food was always so good, partly because it was so close to my parents’ house, and partly because Daisy expected us. And my father never did anything to disappoint Daisy.
“Daisy here?” he asked by way of greeting the moment he arrived at the booth, taking off his hat and glancing around the diner. “I don’t see her.”
“I haven’t seen her yet.” I took a sip from my coffee, my second cup since arriving thirty minutes ago. My father was on time, I’d been early.
After catching that quick glimpse of Raquel downtown on Saturday, I’d been early to every appointment and meeting since. But there’s no use thinking about that.
Moving on.
I typically only drank coffee brewed at home, so much cheaper than buying it elsewhere. This was especially true around Christmastime when local businesses sent the station heaps of gifts. The cafe on Main Street roasted their own raw coffee beans. They sent the station a pound for each deputy and ten pounds to the sheriff. My father didn’t drink coffee anymore, so I’d end up with eleven pounds to start the year.
“What’re you having? Green tea or water?” I lifted my hand toward Rebecca, signaling for her to come over.
She never came over unless we asked her to, convinced my father and I were discussing secret sheriff’s business. Little did she know, we never discussed work during our monthly breakfasts. He didn’t believe it would be right or fair giving me, one of his deputies, extra face time with him every month when he didn’t—and couldn’t—do the same for everyone. I agreed with him.
“Your mother watched me drink the green slime this morning. Water, please.” He wrinkled his nose in distaste. He’d always hated tea—all tea, even sweet tea—but he drank green tea with ginseng every morning because it made my momma happy.
“Hey, Rebecca.” I gave her a smile as she approached, and she glanced between us, eyes wide. “My father will have an ice water, and I think we’re ready to order.”
She withdrew her writing pad silently, and I sighed. I’d known this woman my whole life, and as far as I could remember, she’d always been skittish with my father. Maybe she expected him to arrest her at any moment. Who knows what went through her brain?
“I’ll have the egg white omelet with four eggs instead of three, spinach and tomato. Instead of hash browns, could you ask chef to cut me up a bell pepper? Red or orange if y’all got it.” This was my regular order, but I always asked since it wasn’t on the menu.
She nodded, and I met my father’s eyes. Even after over a decade of me abstaining from meat, dairy, refined sugars, and processed grains—except on holidays, dates, and special occasions—he still looked at me with sympathy. But he hadn’t grown up with cystic acne, asthma, and chronic cluster headaches. Me eating picky meant I felt good.
“I’ll have the number three, please,” he requested gently, sending a warm smile her way even though she never looked directly at him, if she could help it.
With that, Rebecca dashed off, returning to the safety of the diner counter and then the kitchen beyond. I didn’t know if these kinds of interactions with folks bothered him or not. But I did know he never stopped trying to be friendly with anybody.
“So, what’s the news?”