Marry Me, Jackson (Best Friends To Forever Book 1) Read online

But her joke fell flat. He picked up their conversation. “So obviously you didn’t have any connections in the city? I mean the city you left.”

  Trevor was being polite. He’d been honest with her and she wanted to be equally truthful. “I’d been seeing someone but it didn’t work out.” There. That sounded better than “he dumped me.”

  Trevor shook his head. “Foolish man.” He looked at her with such soulful eyes. She saw regret and all sorts of things she couldn’t name. But it touched her.

  “Sweet of you to say that.” Choked up, she somehow managed to get that out.

  Eric had been a mistake she could not figure out. Why had she hung in there for three years when he wasn’t committed to her? Somewhere along the way, she’d missed a road sign. Maybe she’d pressed him too hard. Maybe meeting Amber had been just the escape hatch Eric was looking for.

  And maybe at that time she’d been so busy building her business that she didn’t want to muddy the waters. Those days were gone.

  For a while they concentrated on their burgers. Eating during a first meeting might not be a good idea. She’d have to remember that. Emily kept blotting her lips with the flimsy napkin, hoping ketchup wasn't ending up in the corners of her mouth. At least nothing had dropped onto her lap. Yet.

  Obviously trying to strike a different note, Trevor launched into telling her about his work. “I’m a marine biologist,” he said.

  She didn’t know where to go with that.

  He chuckled. “Crazy, right? I’m used to getting that reaction. I deal with stuff that lives in water. But I’m usually in the lab. I teach at the college in Asheboro and conduct some studies around here.”

  Emily pictured him surrounded by sterile test tubes. That explained a lot. “Who takes care of your little girls?”

  “My mother moved in.” He seemed to wait for her response.

  “So your girls have their grandmother to take care of them. How wonderful.”

  He hitched a shoulder. “Again, not what I’d pictured for my future. But their own mother moved to Europe. Delia had a dream about becoming an artist.”

  “How does she manage that?” She couldn’t imagine leaving two little girls.

  “Her family indulges her,” Trevor said. “And to their credit, they are interested in Daisy and Annabelle.”

  “And that’s not a problem for you?”

  “Not at all. The girls need people around who love them. The Strattons aren’t the warmest folks in the world. They send tons of presents. I may have to enlarge the family room. They live in New Jersey and have a place on the shore. They want to take the girls for a week this summer.” A frown appeared between his brows.

  “How do you feel about that?” She almost didn’t have to ask. He shifted uncomfortably in the chair.

  “I have to think about it. They didn’t raise Delia with any boundaries. I have more structure for Annabelle and Daisy. Maybe when they’re older. I don’t know.”

  Trevor’s dedication to his children impressed her. He was probably a great dad. His daughters may have lost a mom but they had a father who cared deeply about them.

  The conversation turned to her. Of course she had to explain all about what a nutritionist does. “Do you have any vegetarians as clients?” Trevor asked.

  “Some. Are you one?”

  They both glanced down at what was left of his burger and laughed. Emily felt flustered. “I’m kind of new at this.”

  “What? Eating burgers?”

  “No. Meeting strangers.”

  ***

  Watching Emily laugh with the guy she’d met that night, Jackson thought he might jump out of his skin. Coming here had been a stupid idea. Emily was capable of handling a date on her own. And yet, she hadn’t been. Not in the past. There was something so innocent about her sometimes.

  He was feeling protective. Sitting in the shadows at the end of the bar, he peered across the crowd to where Emily leaned over the table. Her hair wasn’t pulled up into one of those clips she wore a lot. Not tonight. Soft, dark curls fell to her shoulders. He clenched his hand around the mug. If he closed his eyes, he could pick out her laugh above the noise.

  The guy across the table seemed into her. Jackson should feel good about that. But instead he found this character irritating. He was good looking, the heart of cool in his jacket.

  So what did I want? Another older man hitting on her?

  “What do you think of this one?” His friend Mick leaned on his elbows, following the direction of Jackson’s gaze.

  “Decent looking guy. At least he’s not wearing gold chains.” Jackson quirked a brow. “Is he a regular?”

  “I see him here once in a while. Sometimes he brings a date.” Mick ran a bar cloth over the surface.

  A couple took the two stools next to Jackson and Mick turned to serve them. Yeah, Jackson should leave. The feeling in his chest confused him. If it wasn’t for the fact that Emily might see him, he would have made his way back to shoot pool with the guys.

  But his heart wasn’t in it. When Emily got up and headed to the ladies room, he tossed some bills on the bar. Time to leave.

  Looking back, he stopped. The dazed smile on the guy’s face as he watched Emily walk away made Jackson’s stomach knot. Maybe he’d stop at Winn Dixie for more milk, in case he’d run out.

  ***

  The banging jolted Emily awake. No hammering. No drills. Just banging downstairs.

  Turning over, she groaned. When would this end? Sasha’s brilliant blue eyes stared down at her from the pillow. Her whiskers twitched, as if to say Would you please do something? A feeble morning light made her bedroom glow. Emily pushed herself up on her elbows. What now?

  She’d been having a dream. Trevor was standing at a lectern on a pier. Very strange but dreams usually are. Someone else was coming up behind Trevor with a hammer. And now this. She dropped her head into her hands. With a flip of her tail, Sasha disappeared.

  Emily had put up with the circus downstairs. But a girl needs her sleep. She'd had it. Scrambling into the bathroom, she splashed water on her face. The clothes she’d worn last night felt just fine and she pulled them on.

  Time for a showdown.

  After all, she was paying rent. Why should her life be disrupted just because Victoria Pomeroy wanted to tear this place apart? She ran her hands through knotted hair.

  “I'll be right back,” she told Sasha, who gave a righteous flick of her tail. Emily had to act on this or she’d lose her nerve. Pulling on her boots, she headed out the door.

  The noise reverberated under her feet as Emily stomped down the stairs. When she burst into the crisp morning air, the back alley was crowded with trucks. What was this? She’d been blocked in again. An angry pulse throbbed in her forehead. All she wanted was peace and quiet. She wanted her sleepy Sweetwater Creek back.

  The trucks had fancy names like Sophisticated Shelving or Wrought Iron Wonders. As she approached, two men were maneuvering a huge crate through the door. She could hardly see around them.

  Arms folded tight at her waist, she waited until they’d cleared the hallway. Then she barreled through. The place smelled like sawdust and new carpeting. Hot angry words boiled against her lips. Words that she’d never said out loud, although she might have thought them, especially during her final conversation with Eric.

  The front showroom was crowded. She was way beyond caring who heard her. “What is going on down here? Just because you have a new cafe opening up doesn’t mean you have to ruin everyone’s sleep.” Her verbal volcano blistered the air. She could imagine her mother covering her ears.

  The workmen stopped, giving her puzzled expressions. Victoria and Jackson stood at one of the gleaming counters, poring over what looked like a plan. The entire scene made her crazy. The white shelving contrasted with the muted green walls that perfectly matched the soft carpet under her feet. Gleaming glass cases waited for the tempting selections Victoria would whip up.

  As she’d thundered down the hallw
ay, she hadn't missed the updated kitchen that mocked her own. This wasn’t fair. Her daddy had always told her that “fair was a weasel word, one that sounded like whining.” Still, this was not fair.

  “Emily?” Dropping the large sheet in his hands, Jackson said, “This is moving in day for all of the fittings. Were we being too loud?”

  “Just a bit.” Emily’s voice had turned meek. Her burning anger had become embers. Signs were scattered across the glass top of one of the counters. Fancy purple script spelled out enticing words like Gourmet Coffee. Southern Delicacies. Skinny Thigh Salads. What the heck were those?

  All of this wonderfulness was going on right below her. Standing there, she didn’t feel sorry for Bryn. Not anymore The tears thickening her throat felt personal.

  She felt sorry for herself.

  Victoria was looking fabulous, wearing at least three tones of subtle brown eye shadow and cheeks with a rosy glow that didn’t come from the sun. Without anything on her face, Emily felt washed out in comparison.

  Squeezing Jackson's arm, Victoria said, “Hasn't he done a wonderful job?”

  Jackson flushed. His hand went to hers. Was he brushing Victoria’s hand off or thanking her?

  “It's...it's beautiful.” The scene glimmered beyond her unshed tears.

  With a sudden shift of his shoulders, Jackson pulled away from Victoria’s reach. Maybe Emily was imagining that.

  “I hope you’re coming to the opening,” Victoria said, one hand skimming the case possessively. “Bring your friends.”

  “Honestly, do you think you're ready?” Jackson turned to Victoria. This sure felt like a couple’s conversation. Why had she come barreling down here?

  Especially without any makeup.

  Perfect nose lifting, Victoria sniffed. “We will be. You'll make sure everything's in place, right?” Her eyes grazed Jackson and softened.

  “Victoria, the shelves are in place, but…” Then his eyes swerved to Emily and he stopped. Maybe he didn't want to embarrass Victoria.

  Right then and there, Emily decided. “Of course I'm coming. See you later.” Buoyed by an outrageous idea, she turned and barreled back through the workmen. They stepped away as if she had measles and they hadn’t been vaccinated. Once outside, she sucked in the fresh air.

  Confederate jasmine twined its way from a small patch up to the balcony. Its sweetness filled the air. The winter had been long and the vine looked spindly. At that moment Emily felt like the jasmine, barely hanging on.

  “I’m an idiot,” she told Sasha when she got upstairs. Her cat gave her a glance that said I told you so.

  Emily went straight to her computer and began to type.

  ~.~

  A platter of crab cakes had just started to make the rounds that Sunday when Miss Charlotte turned to Emily. “Any news in the dating world, dear?”

  Never looking up, her father kept spooning remoulade sauce over his crab cakes. Her mother, however, was all ears. She leaned forward over the Pineapple Perfect Salad, her mother’s original concoction. “Do tell us.”

  “Wonderful. It's going great.” After all, hadn’t Trevor agreed to come to the opening with her? Granted, the invitation had been impulsive. She wasn’t sure how she felt about Trevor. Could she really be with a man who couldn’t tolerate pinkish beef? Pathetic as it might be, she wanted to have an escort. And Trevor seemed pleased by the invitation.

  “Charlotte?” Her father held the china bowl of sauce, his eyes encouraging their neighbor to serve herself. Miss Charlotte drizzled dainty amounts over her dinner, while she served up weighty questions.

  “So you've met a real hottie!” Her shoulders squeezed together, bringing the lilac ruffles on her blouse up to her chin.

  Hottie. Trevor definitely fit that description. “Yes, ma’am. I guess I have.” Emily hadn’t intended for the words to come out with so much mystery. Her mother's eyebrows peaked. Miss Charlotte dropped the silver serving spoon, and sauce spattered her father's face. With a sigh he passed the bowl over to Emily. Then he dabbed at his chin with a napkin and started on the okra. Poor Daddy, outnumbered by three women. A giggle tickled her throat.

  “Don’t you want to tell us more about this young man, Emily?” To her credit, her mother waited at least a full minute before asking.

  “There’s nothing much to tell, Mama.” Maybe mystery was the way to go. “Let’s see, I've met maybe four men so far. Each very... individual.”

  “Four? That many?” Her mother sputtered. “Certainly one would be enough.”

  “One, if he’s the right man,” she said gently, moving the okra around with her fork. Mama had no idea.

  “How is the renovation coming?” her father asked in an obvious effort to change the subject.

  “Noisy. Just ask Sasha. The back alley has been jammed with trucks for the past week. But I think most of the hammering and drilling is over.”

  “Why, I should hope so. Another crab cake anyone?” her mother asked. But Daddy and Miss Charlotte both shook their heads. “After all the opening is next week.”

  “Probably just putting on the finishing touches,” her father said around a mouthful of crab. “These are delicious. You have outdone yourself, precious.”

  “Thank you, dear. So Minerva’s old place is all fixed up?” her mother asked, not to be swept off subject. “Hard to believe.”

  “I guess so.” She should feel relieved and not so aggravated. How could she pull ideas together on the major food groups and counsel her clients when she leapt out of her skin with each new thump? She chewed her crab cake decisively, not missing the dash of cayenne pepper. If only people would use more spices instead of salt.

  And there she had it.

  The topic for her next column.

  Across from her, Miss Charlotte set down her fork and pushed back a bit, as if taking a break. “My, oh my. I was at the Five and Dime. And I think they will have to change that name to the Five Dollar Store. I needed birthday cards for all the grandchildren. But they were all over three dollars. Can you imagine? Why, I don’t even sign my cards anymore, in case my family or friends want to reuse them. Just seems right. I put in a little message on a sticky note.”

  “Isn’t it awful?” her mother agreed. “Don’t even get me started about the cost of business envelopes.”

  “Mama, what are you using those for?” Did Emily even own envelopes?

  Mama looked at her as if she should be down the road at the old sanitarium that had closed thirty years ago. “Why, Emily. For paying our bills, of course.” Mama took great pride of being in charge of the budget.

  “Aren’t you paying your bills online?”

  Miss Charlotte gasped. Mama fanned herself with her napkin. Daddy kept eating.

  The birthday cards seemed like a safer conversation right now.

  “Do you send your cards out all at once, Miss Charlotte?” Emily had to ask.

  Waving the question away, Miss Charlotte said, “Heavens no, dear. I haven’t gotten that bad. I still remember the dates.”

  “So you were on the square...” Daddy knew how to get Miss Charlotte back on track.

  “Right. Oh, yes. After buying my cards, I kind of moseyed around the square until I came to that sign.” Lips pursed, she glanced around the table. Miss Charlotte knew the value of a captive audience.

  “What sign would that be?” Emily asked, merely to move the conversation along. She was eager to get home and start on her new post.

  Her mother gave her a jaundiced look. “Probably the very same one we've been talking about sitting right here at this table, Emily Louise. and you know it. The open house.”

  “Victoria's Pantry.” Miss Charlotte said the name with relish, as if a queen were really coming to grace their presence in Sweetwater Creek. “They’re having a party for the opening. Isn’t that grand?”

  “Next week.” Thinking ahead to seeing Trevor again brought her alternating fits of anxiety and excitement. Josie and Bryn couldn’t wait to meet him.
He’d been the topic of conversation on their last walk.

  “We're going,” her mother turned to Daddy, who’d probably like to be watching the nightly news right now. “They’ll have food. We can sample.”

  Daddy took another sip of his water. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  Emily almost burst out laughing. Then it hit her that if her parents came, they’d meet Trevor. Her mother might jump to conclusions. How big was that pantry space? Maybe it would be so crowded that she could hide in the corner with Trevor.

  But hadn’t she wanted Trevor to be seen, especially by some key people? Emily hadn’t pictured her parents at this affair. A flaw in her thinking.

  Miss Charlotte had almost cleared her plate. “My goodness, Emily. I suppose all sorts of delicious smells are making their way up to your apartment? How absolutely heavenly.” She practically smacked her lips.

  Her parents’ eyes were on her. “Um, I don’t think Victoria has gotten around to any cooking yet. Just the renovation, which is giving Sasha nervous fits.”

  “Poor thing,” her mother murmured.

  “So exciting. How I would love to go.” Miss Charlotte waited politely. Mama finally got the cue.

  “We’d be happy to take you, wouldn’t we, Buck?”

  “Why, of course,” Daddy said.

  Emily had mixed feelings. Her eyes circled the table as her life flashed forward. She didn’t want to end up like Miss Charlotte, although she was sweet as hummingbird cake. The thought of sitting at other people’s dinner tables in her old age left her cold and empty.

  As soon as Daddy finished his second serving of crab cakes, Emily helped her mother clear the table.

  “Emily, you are dripping pineapple juice all down the front of you, girl,” her mother clucked, setting a salad plate on the counter.

  Where was her head? “Oh, Mama.” Picking up a towel, she wet it and scrubbed at the stain on the front of her pink hoodie. “It’s nothing.”

  “Where is your mind today?” her mother asked.

  “I’ve got a deadline.” That was always a safe response. But mentally she’d rocketed ahead to the opening event. What should she wear?

  Trevor had been polite and pleased when she'd invited him. “Thanks for giving me some forewarning,” he’d told her. “I like to give my mother a heads-up if I’m going to be out.”