Dave—already awake, dressed, and drinking coffee in the kitchen—lifted his hand in the air as I walked out of my bedroom, “I promised Domino I’d ask you these five questions. Number one, have you called Harrison back?”
“Yes. We’re playing phone tag.” This was the longest we’d gone without talking in four years, but I’d finally called him back this week.
Unlike my first two weeks in Green Valley, I hadn’t been avoiding him purposefully this last month. But with Sasha leaving, I’d been working eighteen-hour days trying to make sense of her organizational structure, follow up on items she’d neglected, and undo damage caused by some super rude emails she’d sent to people over the two weeks I’d been gone.
Eventually, I’d reorganized her entire system, migrated all appointments onto a shared calendar, moved tasks into an app called Trello, and then—finally—worked through the tasks, answering all emails myself.
As of two days ago, everything outstanding had been completed, and my days settled down.
“Okay, thanks.” Dave lowered his thumb. “Number two, did you like any of the candidates he sent for Sasha’s replacement?”
“I did, and I have a draft email on my computer with the names I’d like him to interview.”
“Great.” He lowered his pinky finger. “Number three, did that salon work out? Were you happy, and do you want his people to schedule another appointment?”
“Yes. They were great.” Things had been getting hairy, and the salon had me feeling smooth and silky again.
“Good to know. Number four, did you look at the new script from Gavin for Midnight Lady, and what do you think?”
I heaved a sigh and covered my face. “Ugh. I looked at it. I hate it.” I didn’t know what to do. I thought about sending back extensive notes and rewrites, but I doubted Gavin would listen. And now I didn’t want the part at all. I wished there were a way for me to have the final say on the scripts and creative direction of my films.
“You’ll have to tell Domino that yourself. And, last one, when do you think you’ll be done here?”
For some reason, I glanced at Charlotte. Her eyes were lowered to the carpet like it was the most interesting carpet she’d ever beheld.
“I’ll be another month, at least.”
“Fine.” He lowered his hand, his eyes sweeping down and then up my body. He looked at Charlotte. He looked at me again. Then he said, “I’m guessing I shouldn’t go today.”
“Probably a good idea,” Charlotte answered, pushing me toward the door, grabbing the cooler we’d prepped last night. It was my turn to bring the food.
Once we made it to the front door, she put a bag on my shoulder that contained sunscreen, sunglasses, my wallet, my phone, and a change of clothes. On my other shoulder she placed the strap of the cooler. “Too bad you didn’t make any sexy food, like banana pops or something.”
“Or ice cream,” I said.
She gave me a look, like I was weird, then stepped back and studied me. “Stop stressing. You don’t have to take off the white halter or shorts if you don’t want to. But if you do, and this bikini doesn’t do the trick, there’s no hope for Jackson James.”
I laughed outwardly even though I felt stressed on the inside. I’d already tried the skimpy-clothes approach when I’d first arrived in town and brought him that pie for Operation Deputy Distraction. Then again, he’d been dating Charlotte at the time.
And yet, what I wore didn’t seem to make any difference to Jackson the times he’d hauled off and kissed me with little or no warning.
Jeans and a sweatshirt the rainy day of the ATM kiss. My orange maxi dress the night we drove around and he’d been . . . friendly. Black yoga pants and a T-shirt the afternoon at the picnic. I’d worn all of those outfits since, and they hadn’t elicited any particularly amorous reaction from him.
But then last Friday for the jam session, I’d put on a white and pink gingham summer dress, and he’d lost his mind. See? No correlation.
Charlotte held my gaze, her expression encouraging. Before I could articulate doubts, I heard the sound of Jackson’s truck pull into the drive, and my stomach went crazy with nerves.
“It’ll be fine. It’ll all work out. You just concentrate on having a good time and let him concentrate on you. Okay?”
I nodded, turning for the door and opening it. I stepped out, looking up to find Jackson jogging toward me, wearing what he usually did for our boating trips: cargo shorts and a long sleeve UV shirt. This one was light blue and fit him verra nice, showcasing the narrowness of his hips and tapered waist. He was so handsome even in the dim light.
“Hi,” he said, eyes on mine, gaze intent and happy.
“Hi.” I swayed toward him, momentarily forgetting that I was supposed to be worried about something.
“Ready to go?” He reached for both of my bags, pulling them from my shoulders and walking next to me as we crossed to the truck. “Where’s Dave? Isn’t it his turn?”
Oh yes. Now I remember. “He’s not coming today. Neither is Miguel.”
“Oh. They sick or something?”
“No.” Darn it. I couldn’t think. What could I say about Dave and Miguel staying behind that didn’t make everything about my outfit seem obvious?
Luckily, Jackson sent me a small smile and said, “I guess it makes sense for them to stop coming. That lake is as secluded as they come, and I imagine it’s pretty boring, sitting in a hot car all day.”
I stood to one side as Jackson opened the door of his truck and placed my bags in the cab. The July morning was already hot. Even so, I fought a shiver. Finished loading my items, he turned and held out his palm to help me up into the truck. This was the point at which he would usually kiss the back of my hand—if he were going to kiss it—so I’d learned to pause and wait a second before stepping up into the truck.
But once I fit my fingers into his waiting hand, his smile waned slowly as he finally seemed to look at me. And what I was wearing. And what I was not wearing.
After a protracted moment, Jackson’s eyes cut to mine, held. My stomach threw a dinner party and only invited anxiety.
“Are we going swimming?” His voice deepened with the question.
“No,” I croaked. I cleared my throat as I stepped up into his truck. “I thought I might work on my tan.” UGH! The words.
They were the wrong words. They were Charlotte’s words, not mine, and they tasted wrong in my mouth. Perhaps Rae from two months ago wouldn’t have minded. She was used to pretending every day, playing a role wherever she went. And Rae from our first night together would definitely not have minded. She was used to faking boldness.
But current Rae, the person I was now, didn’t want to play pretend and didn’t want to fake it. Especially not with Jackson. Yes, I wanted him to notice me and think lusty thoughts about me. I wanted him to do wonderful things to my body and let me do wonderful things to his, but I also wanted to be honest.
I turned to look down at him, to find different words, but my mouth dried up and my tongue felt useless as soon as I caught his hungry stare on my bare legs.
Or, maybe, just this once, I’ll suck it up and play pretend.