Marry Me, Jackson (Best Friends To Forever Book 1) Page 6

  “So Emily, what night are you free to check out Jackson’s house?” Josie asked.

  “Name it.”

  Chapter 5

  Emily’s body shrieked for sugar. She’d been working on her blog for the longest time but not making any progress. Lusting for sugar felt so wrong. Hadn’t she even taken a course called “The Evils of Sugar”? Sitting in class with her notebook, she’d felt like a mole, planted there to find a weak link so she could use it.

  Typing away now, she detailed the benefits of stevia and honey while her body clamored for a quick sugar fix. The real thing. Her mind kept drifting to the bag of chocolate chip oatmeal cookies in her freezer, intended for Jackson.

  He’d never know.

  Just one. Maybe two.

  Jackson. The thought of driving past his house also felt so wrong. But kind of like the cookies, he’d never know. And she was tempted. What was that about?

  No time for analysis now. She had to finish this post. Sugar can be bad for your health. The words felt like treason as she typed. Emily tried to internalize what she was writing. Sugar can lead to obesity, inflammation and fluctuating sugar and blood pressure levels that could contribute to diabetes.

  There. Words on the screen. Fodder for her blog. But her whole body was saying, no, no, no. You need this, Emily. Sugar might be bad stuff but she craved it.

  “Maybe I’ll have just one cookie,” she told Sasha, curled up on a pile of notes stacked on her desk. A flick of the tail was Sasha’s only response. One dark chocolate kiss from the freezer would stave off her hunger. Or could one taste lead to the slippery slope?

  She plowed on. Laid down the words while her body rebelled.

  Twice Sasha had jumped down from the desk and ambled to the door. “Is it lunchtime?” Emily checked her computer. Yep. Sure was.

  Good. She’d held her ground.

  The treasonous blog post was completed.

  Shutting down her computer, she stood and gave a victorious stretch. She’d held out. She’d won. Outside, the cardinals pecked busily at the bird feeder. All was right with the world. But she needed lunch.

  Emily shuffled into the kitchen in her fluffy socks with the lamb ears, grabbed the bag of cat food and measured out Sasha’s lunch. With her kitty happily occupied, Emily couldn't resist cracking open the freezer door. After all, it was a little warm in the kitchen from the morning sun.

  Frigid air bathed her face.

  The plastic bag of cookies sat waiting.

  But she wouldn’t.

  A candy kiss would do. Just one. That's all she wanted. Hand fumbling with the rigid plastic bag, she could hardly wait. She closed the freezer compartment, unwrapped the purple foil and popped the kiss into her mouth. Leaning against the counter, she felt the chocolate slowly soften. She’d saved herself from cookies but had succumbed to the candy kisses.

  Maybe this was the slippery slope.

  A curious longing remained. And she didn’t know for what.

  Was her cell ringing in her office? She scurried back there, hating the fact that she’d have to swallow her treat to talk. What a waste. Chocolate should be savored.

  Although this might be her mother, she wasn’t about to make the same mistake she’d made before. Not that this was Jackson. Other people besides her mother called. Josie, Bryn or even her father. She answered. “Hello?”

  “Hey, it's me,” Jackson said, as if he called her every day. Sinking into her office chair, she pressed a hand into the jiggly feeling in her stomach. She could hear background noise, as if he was driving in traffic.

  “Do you know it's bad to drive and talk on the phone? In fact it's against the law.”

  “Thank you, Emily.” A grin radiated through in his voice. “I'm in the neighborhood and your refrigerator is on my mind.”

  So romantic, right?

  Business, Emily. This is business.

  “Excellent. I'm here.” I’m always here. Writing. Lusting for chocolate. She looked down at her sweatpants. “How close are you?”

  “Give me ten minutes. I’ll be there.”

  “See you soon.”

  Oh, my word. Her heart pounded as she charged around the small apartment. Alarmed, Sasha curled up on the blue sofa. When Mama went crazy, it was best to keep out of the way.

  After she changed from her sweatpants to jeans, she topped them with a large pink shirt.

  “Is everything neat in the living room?” she asked Sasha. Emily sure hoped so. She liked things tidy, but she had a cat with long white hair and a pale gray tail. Opening a cupboard, she grabbed one of the sticky rollers. Eric used to complain about Sasha’s hair all the time. A few swipes on the blue sofa, her large comfortable chair and ottoman and she was ready.

  After dabbing on a bit of lip gloss, she swept her hair into a ponytail. The doorbell rang and Sasha threw her a startled look.

  “It's just Jackson,” she told her pet, running a hand over her Sasha’s silky head.

  Just Jackson. She was starting to like the sound of it. Comfortable and familiar. Sometime it was good to have a male friend in your life. No pressure, just fun.

  But she didn’t remember checking her makeup in college before meeting Jackson for a study session.

  Her socks slid over the tiles as she dashed to the door. Buzzing him in, she opened her upper door and peered down. “Hi.”

  His dark hair framed a frown. “Do you look through the peep hole in your door before you open it?”

  “Hey, I knew it was you.”

  Jackson gave an exasperated sigh, toeing off his boots. “Be safe. These old buildings often have an intercom. If you’re not expecting anyone, please don’t just open the door.”

  “Have you had a lot of home invasions in Sweetwater Creek?” she teased.

  No smile from the man. “That’s not the point. There must be an intercom. They’re ancient but some work.” He searched the hall wall and found the button behind the basket of artificial flowers she’d hung up.

  “Mine doesn’t work.” She’d tried it when Josie and Bryn stopped by to help her unpack.

  Setting down his tool chest, Jackson took out his phone and tapped. “Another thing for my list.”

  She was on his list? “Oh, you don’t have to...”

  “Sorry I haven't gotten here sooner,” he said, all businesslike as he put his phone away, picked up the toolbox and moved into the kitchen. “It’s been crazy lately.”

  “No problem,” she said breezily. “It's not as if you have to do this.”

  “A promise is a promise.”

  Emily liked the way he said that. She pictured her mother and Charlotte Whipple getting all giggly.

  Which would be silly and she wouldn’t encourage it.

  Jackson had carried a rich earthy smell in from outside, and she drew in a deep breath. The sun beamed through the kitchen window that led out to the small balcony. Her plants would sit out there when spring came. And then there was the bird feeder, always very busy.

  Shrugging off his jacket, he hung it on the back of a kitchen chair. “Okay to put this here?”

  “Sure.” While he was studying the refrigerator, she let one hand fall gently on the arm of the jacket. Her palm heated.

  She was being stupid. Step away from the jacket.

  When Jackson widened his arms to grip the refrigerator, muscles rippled under his T-shirt. How would those arms feel around her? And where had that thought come from? “Have you ever had this out?”

  “What?” It was hard to concentrate. “The refrigerator? Heck no. The thing’s huge.”

  Jackson chuckled. The rumble resonated deep in her stomach.

  “You’re right.” Getting a good grip with both hands, he began to walk the huge appliance forward. The way he twisted those shoulders was masterful. “These old beasts are a lot to handle.”

  “Right.” Gulp. “I can imagine.”

  As he eased out the refrigerator, Emily peeked behind it. All kinds of disgusting stuff coated the floor. �
�Looks like no one’s been back here for a few years. I’ll get the vacuum.”

  “Good idea.” His shoulders kept working. “You’ll need it for the coils in the back.”

  “What coils?” she called out, dragging the vacuum from the hall closet.

  “The ones that cool the refrigerator.” He proceeded to go into a bunch of mumbo-jumbo. Obviously Jackson knew refrigerators the way she knew the evils of sugar. Only he took appropriate action. She wheeled the vacuum into the room and attached the hose.

  Jackson stood waiting, one muscled arm propped against the refrigerator. “Need some help?”

  “I think I can handle a vacuum.” But could she wedge herself into that small space behind the refrigerator? One glance over the counter told her this could be messy. Gross, fuzzy stuff would probably float in the air. She swept one hand over her recently shampooed ponytail.

  When she turned, Jackson wore the strangest smile.

  She reached up. The scrunchie felt secure. “What?”

  “I’ve always liked your hair.”

  Oh really? He ducked his head as if he hadn’t meant to say that.

  She swallowed. “Thanks. You’ve never said anything about my hair before.”

  “You mean, back in high school or college? I was kind of a quiet guy. Forget I said anything.” His cheeks reddened.

  But she didn’t want to forget it. When she gave her head a shake, her ponytail bounced. His eyes followed it.

  Maybe with maturity you talked about things openly with your friends. Stuff like shoulders and hair. That must be it. Her hands shook when she tried to start the vacuum. It took three jabs at the button. The vacuum fired up with a growl. Sasha headed for cover. Jackson squatted to rummage through his toolbox.

  Squeezing behind the refrigerator, she attacked the coils, whisking the brush attachment over the gunk. Heck with her hair. “Man, what a mess,” she shouted to Jackson above the whirr of the vacuum.

  “It can really affect the refrigerator’s performance,” he called back.

  Who knew? She swept what looked like fuzzy caterpillars up with authority. Her mother would be proud of her.

  The nook that held the monster refrigerator was small and warm. Sweat began to roll from her hairline down her cheeks. If this hadn’t been Jackson, she’d be self-conscious. He’d left to get something from his truck. While he was gone, she finished up. One click and the vacuum whined to a stop.

  Back from his truck, Jackson peeked over her shoulder. “Did you get everything?”

  “Want to check my work?” She elbowed past him, dragging the vacuum with her.

  “Still so touchy.”

  “What do you mean?” Jackson was goading her but she didn’t mind. “I’ve never been touchy.”

  “Right. Like when you insisted on a flower shop as the study model.” He chuckled.

  “Not funny and so wrong.” She propped one hand on her hip. “You said it wasn’t cutting edge enough.”

  That impish smile told her Jackson remembered. “As I recall, you didn’t take that well. Got kind of huffy about it.”

  “Flowers shops are a necessary part of society. My friend Bryn operates one here in town.”

  Wearing a bemused smile, he shook his head. “I thought Professor Hennessy wouldn’t buy it. But he did. You were right, Em.”

  The verbal barbs continued. They bantered back and forth easily, as if they were still in college. She jerked the vacuum back to the hall closet. When she returned, Jackson was studying the coils. “Great job.”

  “Of course.” She swiped the back of one arm across her forehead. As he jumped back in with technical jargon about the coils, Emily just listened and smiled. She knew nothing about the working of motors. Like her mother, she spent more time in the kitchen than in the garage where her dad kept all his tools.

  Since her work here seemed to be over, she whisked the scrunchie from her hair.

  Looking up, she found Jackson studying the messy waves that had fallen to her shoulders. “What?”

  His hand darted out. “Hold still. Something’s stuck.” When Jackson’s fingers lightly skimmed her hair, she felt that touch clear to her toes. What had he whisked away? A cobweb hung from his fingertip.

  “Yuck!” Bending over, she shook out her hair. When she straightened, her long curls fell everywhere.

  “Cobwebs are just nature.” After washing his hands in the sink, Jackson edged the refrigerator back into place.

  Finished with his work, he turned. “You look cute with curls.”

  “Cute?” Their eyes caught. She shivered. “Are the cobwebs gone?”

  “Yep.” Jackson’s attention swung back to the refrigerator. “This beast has seen better days.”

  “No kidding. Harvest gold hasn’t been popular for ages.” How she’d love to have stainless steel or gun metal gray.

  “You might have to invest in a new one before long.” He opened and closed the refrigerator door with such seriousness. You would have thought he was estimating gravity.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Checking the seal. You don’t want cold escaping or the unit will keep running.”

  How depressing. She couldn’t take another expense. “I wonder how much refrigerators cost.”

  “Not much. You can probably get one for...” And he threw out a figure that was way above “not much” in her mind.

  Arms folded across that broad chest, Jackson glanced around the dated kitchen. “Of course, you might not be here long.”

  Wow, news to her. “What do you mean? Where else will I be?”

  “I mean, you're renting here, right?”

  “Yes.” Were there plans for this building? Plans she didn’t know about?

  Studying his gray socks, Jackson wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I know you just got home, but after all, look at how you dashed off to Atlanta after...”

  “Macon,” she supplied, getting madder by the minute.

  Jackson’s blue eyes had turned stormy. “Well, what’s changed?”

  Her throat closed. She couldn’t tell him that her heart had been broken so badly that she didn’t know if it would ever heal. And no way would she admit to having panic attacks. What would he think? She was the girl who’d never been afraid of anything.

  “Maybe I’ve changed,” she said quietly. “Maybe life has changed me.”

  The truth was, she was floundering. Who was Emily Sommers?

  This wasn’t at all what she’d planned. But life wasn’t some idyllic TV show, where the girl meets her buddy’s brother at a birthday party and they live happily ever after.

  Maybe the best plan was having your own plan. Her business was her plan, and she didn’t care if people didn’t see it as, well, substantial. Wasn’t that the word Daddy had used. “Is that substantial enough, Emily? Will your website and Facebook page support you?”

  Lips pursed, Jackson seemed to consider his next words, the way he chose the right tools from that tool chest. “Don’t get me wrong. This is none of my business...”

  Arms crossed, she braced herself. Sometimes hearing the truth from a friend could hurt.

  Jackson looked so sincere, his blue eyes turning into that spun cotton candy at the fair. “So this time, you didn’t come home with someone or for someone?”

  Her eyes stung. “You’re right. It’s none of your business.” Opening a drawer for no reason, she closed it again, slamming it shut.

  The look on his face told her she’d gone too far. She felt terrible. After all, the poor guy had come over to help her. “I’m sorry, Jackson. I don’t know where that came from. What about you? You never talk about the past eight years. Hasn’t there been someone special?”

  His eyes shifted away. A muscle twitched in his jaw, like it was tired of working overtime.

  “Yes?” she prodded gently.

  “I was engaged. And no, it didn’t work out. We called it quits before the wedding.” His strong profile was outlined against the sliding glass doors. “My mother
could tell you all about it. She thought Elise was wrong for me.”

  Her heart turned over. “Engaged? That must have been hard.”

  She wanted to hug him but couldn’t. Hurt and lost dreams simmered in that room. Back to the apartment and her plans. “I’m just getting settled here and I’m renting. But I don’t know for how long.”

  “Got it.” He was packing up his tools, probably eager to leave.

  Then it hit her. “Hey, I've got something for you. Do you still like chocolate chip oatmeal cookies?”

  “Some things change but that hasn’t.” Jackson’s smile was back.

  Eager to ease the tension, she hauled the cookies from the freezer. “These are frozen right now.”

  He hefted the plastic bag in his hands, looking strangely cautious. “So you’re baking cookies for me?”

  She put her hands in her pockets. “Yeah, well. I like to bake.”

  “I remember.” He gave her another unreadable look. “I’ll just put them on the front seat in the sun. I have some friends who might like them too.”

  Her mood deflated. “That’s nice. Terrific.” Was he talking about Victoria? Emily fought the urge to grab that bag back.

  But she should be happy for him. Jackson had someone who cared about him. After all, he deserved it, the boy who’d come back home to nurse his mother. How Emily wished she liked Victoria more. “So how did you two meet?”

  “Who?’ His forehead wrinkled.

  “Victoria. Where did you meet?”

  “A Chamber of Commerce get-together. They have a Meet and Greet in the bandshell during the summer.” Jackson lifted his jacket from the chair and shrugged into it.

  “On the square.” Her eyes drifted toward the living room. She’d be able to watch them in the summer from her window. “Sounds nice.”

  And way too romantic. The mental image hurt her heart.

  “You should join. Anyway, I was standing around and she came up to me. Asked me what time it was.”

  “That’s pretty lame.” Oops. Where did that come from?