“I understand that. In this situation, being Harrison for the next few months will be difficult and awkward,” he said, truly seeming to empathize with Harrison.
I mean, he really seemed to understand what Harrison’s perspective might be, and that gave me pause. “I appreciate you being so understanding about this.” I heard some bewilderment leach into my voice.
Jackson quirked a half smile at my tone. “Let’s just say, I’ve been in his shoes before.”
“You have?”
“Yes.” His smile grew, turned into a shy one. “My ex-fiancée Zora Leffersbee was never my fiancée.”
Flinching back, my mouth dropped open. “Are you—are you serious?”
“Yep. She and I were—are—good friends, and we never dated. We don’t talk as much as we used to, now that’s she’s off with the love of her life, but we had a similar arrangement to yours and Harrison’s. Except, instead of doing it for attention and publicity, we did it to avoid the attention of our families and their constant questions about our personal lives.” He chuckled.
“Huh.” I sat back, contemplating this change in what I thought I knew about Jackson James. “So . . . you didn’t love her?”
“As a friend, absolutely. As more than a friend, no.”
I don’t know why, so don’t ask me why, but this information felt momentous, like a huge relief. It also left me feeling ashamed. I’d been jealous of this woman and judged her, a person I’d never met, because I thought Jackson had loved her and she’d left him. I’d been hugely curious, but I hadn’t wanted to bring her up to anyone—not Sienna, not Jethro, not Charlotte, and definitely not Jackson. I didn’t want to listen to Jackson talk about a lost love. I’d wanted to pretend she didn’t exist, that he never loved her.
And now it turned out he’d never loved her.
“Sorry I didn’t mention it before,” he said, rousing me from my confusing thoughts.
“No, no. It’s okay.” Now that I knew the truth, all the curiosity I’d been pushing from my mind erupted into an avalanche of questions. “Zora wanted out of the agreement?”
“Yes. She’s a health outcomes researcher, and her family are friends with mine. We’ve known each other forever. They kept pestering her about settling down and getting married, much worse than mine. So one of us offered—I forget who—and we talked through it. It made sense, we got along so well. She wanted to focus on her career without being asked whether she had a boyfriend, or why she was still single, or being told she needed to adjust her work-life balance.” Jackson made a face here, his eyes drifting up to the ceiling of the car. “I have similar issues.”
“Similar issues?”
“People telling me I work too much, or too hard. Folks like to comment on the food I eat, how much I exercise, how many of my days off I spend at the station, following up on a case or working through lower priority complaints.”
I nodded, remembering what Charlotte had said about Jackson, that he only ate boring food and that he worked all the time.
“But I like what I do,” he said matter-of-factly. “I love it, actually. I like that I can draw a straight line between what I do and making a difference. I like that I solve problems and, hopefully, make this part of the world better and safer for folks. Maybe I’m boring, but I figure someone has to be, you know?”
Warm affection and admiration surged through me, and I leaned forward to press a kiss on his lips, also placing a hand on his knee. “I don’t think you’re boring,” I said, sliding my hand up his thigh.
He didn’t catch it or stop me, but rather opened his legs for my touch and returned my kiss with a hotter, more demanding one. And when his warm palm settled on my knee, following a similar path up my thigh, I decided to tell Dave to take a detour back to the carriage house.
Before I could enact this genius plan, I felt the car slow, turn, and jostle. We’d already arrived back to Sienna’s. I groaned.
Jackson grinned, lifting his mouth from mine and kissing my jaw. “Call me when he leaves.”
“You’ll come over?” I linked my fingers behind his neck, encouraging his kisses. We still had a few seconds, I wanted his mouth on my body. Then again, I always want his mouth on my body. Nothing new about that.
But Jackson wanting to come over was new. We hadn’t been together (other than making out at his place on Thursday) since the boat. I ached for him.
“I’ll come over when he leaves.” Jackson leaned back and pulled the hem of my skirt back over my knees. “I don’t want to make things harder for you.”
“And you’ll stay the night? All night?” My arms were still around his neck, I couldn’t seem to bring myself to let him go.
“I have to get up early for work, but I’ll stay the night if you want.”
“I do want!” I kissed him again, this time a quick, hard press of my mouth.
He grinned, undoing his seatbelt. “Come on, then. The sooner you deal with your fake fiancé, the sooner we can be real friendly.”
Oh. I liked the sound of that.
Chapter 25
*Raquel*
“Rest satisfied with doing well, and leave others to talk of you as they please.”
Pythagoras
Jackson was as much a gentleman with Harrison as he was with everyone. As I reflected on it—watching the two men shake hands and exchange pleasantries—I tried to recall a moment or a person with which Jackson hadn’t been patient.
His sister. I smiled softly at the memory of the two of them at dinner, teasing each other. I decided his sister didn’t count. He didn’t need to be self-contained or controlled with her. He could let loose, say what he thought, and just be himself.
You. My smile widened. There had been a few times during these almost two months when Jackson had abandoned politeness with me. I hadn’t minded.
But other than with his family and with me, I couldn’t think of another instance. Even when I’d first arrived in Green Valley and he’d been covered in pie, being filmed by a stranger, he’d been polite with the man. Firm, but polite.
Same thing when I’d overheard his phone call at the station—with the reverend, about the neighbor’s prizewinning roses—he’d been firm, but polite. And not mean-polite, like he resented having to be polite, but truly polite, like he comprehended and appreciated the other person’s perspective, even though he didn’t fully agree with them.
When four of his former flings had approached us on the day of the infamous picnic, or with Charlotte after. He’d been visibly frustrated, but he’d always been polite.
“So. That’s the guy.”
Presently, Harrison stood at my shoulder, and we both watched Jackson drive away in his truck, the taillights winding down Sienna’s driveway toward the main road.
“Yes. That’s the guy,” Dave said, hovering at my other shoulder. “And we like him a lot. A. Lot.”
“And he’s hot,” Miguel chimed in around a mouthful of popcorn. He stood next to Dave. “Don’t ruin this for us, Harrison.”