Jackson's Love (Lake Hope Book 3)

by Mel Walker

  Secondly, why are he and Aaron being so coy about this chef? Does the chef even exist, or is this the latest ploy by lovestruck Aaron to get me and Jackson together?

  Mia has been unsuccessful for months, so maybe she enlisted her man. If this is a wild goose chase, there is going to be hell to pay. I don’t have time for games. My students arrive at the lodge in less than seventy-two hours.

  “Is there really a chef? Or is this a figment of Aaron’s imagination?” I ask, wanting to cut to the chase. If he says no, I’m walking out, meal be damned.

  His shoulders slump as I lean on my toes, ready to push my chair back and make an exit Angela Bassett would be proud of.

  He nods and my heels return to the floor, my exit delayed—for now.

  “Yes,” he mutters, and I wonder why the dramatic phrasing. I don’t know if I have the energy to pull every three-letter word out of him as if I am performing a root canal. Hell, I doubt Sydney has the energy to deal with this.

  As he goes silent yet again, I remember my yoga philosophy and try to stop looking at the world in terms of my needs and wants. I place my hand back on the top of his, its warmth calming me down immediately.

  “It’s okay, Jackson. I can tell whatever this is, it weighs heavy on your mind. Do you want the last roll?”

  The corner of his eyes crinkle as he snaps his neck in my direction. “What?”

  “I’m going to give you all the time you need, but you aren’t the only one coming off a twelve-hour day.” I butter the roll as he stares at me as if trying to solve a mystery.

  “The chef is here in Destiny Falls, but he’s here looking to reboot his life.” I lower the bread as the truth tumbles from his lips. “He kind of lived life at a thousand miles an hour for a bit and burned himself out in the process.”

  I nod, afraid to speak and send him back down the rabbit hole of silence.

  “He hasn’t cooked for real in months and isn’t sure if he’s ready for that life again.”

  “And you and Aaron know him?” I ask.

  “Aaron knows of him.”

  It’s like talking to a lawyer. I must carefully phrase every statement. Luckily, I happen to have lots of experience dealing with lawyers. “So, you are friends with him?”

  He nods. “Yeah. I know his every thought. I can talk to him and see if I can have him ready as a backup if you can’t find a chef.”

  I cut him off. “If he’s available, I don’t need him as a backup. I need him now.” I shift in my seat, and I wave the waitress away as she sets down our salad and holds up the pepper grinder.

  “I need him, like, yesterday.” A chill races through me, and I kick myself. Could they be playing coy to protect my feelings? Is this chef a female? Could it be an ex of his? Is it possible he still has feelings for her? Damn, could I have one of Jackson’s girl crush exes responsible for the kitchen all week long? I bite down on my lower lip so hard I’m afraid it may burst. “It’s a guy, right?” I hold my breath and wait for his response.

  His cheeks fill with color as that dazzling smile flashes for a split second. “Yeah, it’s a guy. Was that a hint of jealousy showing? Do you think I would let any of my exes anywhere near you?”

  “Exes? I’ve always pictured you a virgin waiting for me. You’re breaking my heart.” The line slips out before I can stop it. It’s my turn for my cheeks to fill with heat.

  The tightness in his muscular shoulders finally relaxes as that irresistible smile I make up daily excuses to visit the cafe to take in appears for the first time since I’ve sat. “Well, I would.”

  My embarrassing line and his smile make me lose context of his response. “Would what?”

  “Wait for you,” he says with a sincerity that nearly melts my heart. “That is, as long as you wait for me.”

  Damn, direct shot to the heart. I search for a response in the bottom of my salad. I stuff my mouth in order to avoid a reply. I push away every inappropriate thought that bobs to the surface of my cloudy head. I chew in silence, not caring that my cheeks are so full that I must resemble a cow.

  His request isn’t hypothetical nor rhetorical as he straightens his back and waits patiently for a response. I’m not sure what else he is looking for me to say, so I say the obvious. “Jackson, this is a really big deal. I’ve fronted the cost of the entire week from my business account. This is the first time I’ve ever even attempted to do something like this. If it goes sideways on the first try, I may never recover. Hell, I could lose my regulars, and the studio would be in jeopardy as well.” The longer I speak, the greater the realization grows on how big a hole the collapse of this week will mean. “The chefs I had lined up already know the facility, the menus, the property, and a million other little things like how to operate the goddamn dishwasher. Whoever I find is already behind, and I don’t have time to vet an unknown. If you know a chef that Aaron already vouches for and he’s available, I’ll be forever in your debt. Hell, yes, I’d even go out on a date with you if that’s what it will take. Name your price, Jackson. I need this, I need you to do this, I need you.”

  I hate pleading. I hate having the success of my business based on the whims of another. My past is filled with disasters, almost every one of them involving me trusting and relying on someone else. Hell, trusting someone close to me ended in my worst disaster. But here I am once again.

  His brow furrows for a split second before he flattens his expression once again. “When do you want him there?”

  I sit back in the chair as tears well up in my eyes. I blink them away as my voice cracks. “Wwwhat?”

  “How soon do you need the chef at Lake Hope?”

  I twist in the chair, not sure what just happened. I take a quick glance around the restaurant and my hands find their way to my lap. “The vans arrive Monday morning at 8:00 a.m. I need the chef there twenty-four hours prior. Sunday at eight to do a walk-through and get familiar with everything. Send me his contact info, and I’ll have a room at the lodge registered for him.”

  Jackson’s lips separate as he pauses. I sense him editing his reply as the words tumble out his mouth. “You can put the room under my name for now. He’s really private.”

  I blow out a breath. I thought we had pushed past this cloak-and-dagger stuff. I bite my lower lip. I have a chef, don’t push it. “Can I at least get a first name for him?”

  “Zach. He goes by the name Chef Zach.”

  I shake my head side to side; something is still off. I’m not sure why Jackson is being so cagey, but I have no choice but to trust him. I know in my heart he wouldn’t do anything to hurt me or this retreat. I shift away from mystery chef and roll down my mental checklist. “Will Chef Zach be bringing a sous chef?”

  Jackson lifts his fork and finally digs into his salad. “Not necessary. Aaron has volunteered to be Chef Zach’s second.”

  I sigh in relief as I cross off the need for a sous chef. I don’t dare ask Jackson how much Chef Zach is going to cost me. I trust that he’ll negotiate a reasonable rate. I’ll probably lose money on this week, but at least it should be a success. Just another loss leader for a struggling business.

  I lift my fork but still don’t feel a sense of relief. “So, what made you decide to push your friend out of semi-retirement?”

  Jackson’s gaze locks in on me as he licks his lower lip. He has no idea what that movement does to me. “Three little words that I’ve been waiting for you to say to me forever.”

  My heart races to the three words I fear he heard—the three words I know for a fact I didn’t say to him.

  “Relax, Dana, it’s not those three.” He lifts his wineglass. “It’s when you said, ‘I need you.’” He takes a swig as he stares at me over the rim of his glass.

  I mirror his movement, taking a sip of liquid courage, knowing that at the end of the day he needs me too.

  Chapter Eight

  Jackson

  My hands grip the steering wheel and I squeeze hard and picture them wrapped around my own thro
at. I’m an idiot. My Seattle days of self-sabotage flash through my mind and I feel myself slipping down the rabbit hole, yet again. New city, same idiot.

  It’s early Sunday morning, and I’m driving up to Lake Hope to meet Dana and Mia at the lodge at eight this morning. How did I get here again? That’s right, because I’m an idiot.

  After we settled on Chef Zach at the dinner, Dana was more than happy enough to fall back into our normal routine—flirtatious surface banter which kept us in smiles and safe zones. Each wanting more, but fearful of stepping across the invisible fence around us. I know why my barricade is there, but hers remains a mystery to me. A divine, delicious, beautiful mystery who consumes my thoughts and has me risking things I had promised I would never do when I arrived in Indiana.

  Our dinner easily melted into after-dinner drinks. Previously I had only slurped up snippets of Dana’s time, usually between her classes as she stopped into the cafe. Having her in front of me, without the burden of the ticking clock of an impending class, made me greedy. I nearly told her about my complete origin story. I nearly told her about Chef Zach. I nearly hopped over that fence. But I didn’t.

  Hence my mantra. Not yours, not here, not now.

  Yesterday Dana checked in with me nearly half a dozen times. An endless slew of texts, emails, and calls as her nervousness of the retreat consumed her. She confirmed the time of Chef Zach’s arrival, directions to the lodge, the inventory of supplies in the pantry—sent three times—the daily agenda, and half a dozen other items.

  I chickened out. Each contact was an opportunity to come clean, yet I had an excuse for each. Not the right time, I can’t distract her, each excuse weaker than the previous. None of them matter now as the day of reckoning has arrived.

  The second I step out of my car, I’ll have to come clean and explain myself once again. I continue to beat myself up, my phone buzzes, the call routed through the Bluetooth in the car—my agent, Robinson. I click the button on the steering wheel as the phone clicks over to the speakers.

  “Rob, what’s going on? This is early, even for you. It’s not the beginning of the month.” Rob has checked in with me at the start of every month, trying to figure out when I’m returning to Seattle.

  “Are you sitting down?” he returns through a laugh.

  “It’ll be illegal if I wasn’t—I’m in the car. What’s up?” I watch the trees fly by, the streets empty at this hour. The calm of the road is a good balance to the drama I know is about to dropped on me.

  “You remember that cooking demo video we shot last year?”

  “You’ll have to be a little more specific. We shot maybe a half dozen.” I recall the whirlwind of video shoots over the months the restaurant opened. We were the hottest thing in Seattle with lines out the door every night. “Which recipe?”

  “The one with the shrimp.” I laugh. Robinson is a brilliant agent. His hustle always on, but he is a shitty foodie. “The quickie one, fifteen minutes I think.”

  I nod and twist the wheel around a blind curve. “Ah yes, the shrimp diablo. What about it?”

  Static fills the air as the hair on my arms tingles, my mind racing to fill in the blanks. “Did you hear me?”

  “The line broke for a few seconds. Can you repeat it?”

  I hear an extended huff, something he’s done more and more with me the longer I’ve stayed in Indiana. “I said, the Food Channel finally got back to us. They are spinning up a new show and want you.”

  I shake my head. Six months ago, I would have been elated. I would have turned the car around and driven right to Rob. However, that was before. “What do you mean they want me? Didn’t they hear what happened in Seattle?”

  “They film in Los Angeles. The city of angels and forgiveness. I must get back to them as they want to fly you out there in a few days. I guess you can kiss that stupid cafe goodbye.”

  My pulse races, the adrenaline flowing through me like the drug it is. My body instantly reacts—my breathing increases, my heart pounds in my chest, and I find myself leaning forward. I’d lived on this rush for so long that I had become addicted. It had taken months in Destiny Falls to detox, yet here it is, back in a heartbeat.

  “A week’s not a long time, Rob. I haven’t been cooking. What type of show is it? What does the audition entail?” Those are the questions on the top of my head. I turn and spot the small wooden sign for the Forever Lodge at Lake Hope. I’m less than a mile away. The road has flattened, and I spot the infamous Forever awning spanning the roadway up ahead, a new addition put in for the movie after it became an immediate tourist attraction.

  “Details—we’ll work it all out. Besides, who ever said audition? They want Chef Zach, no audition required.”

  “Jackson,” I correct him.

  “Yeah, we’ll have to discuss that. They are looking to hire the badass Chef Zach. I need you to fly out to Los Angeles for Thursday. They are looking to start filming immediately.”

  Something is off. Rob had told me some time ago about the slow, methodical schedule of a television production. “Why the urgency? What aren’t you telling me?”

  Once again, he hesitates and I brace for bad news. “You know Chef Peterson?”

  I nod, knowing he can’t see me. Of course I know Chef Peterson. He’s an icon in the industry, has been for over a decade. He is one of the top stars on the network.

  I hear a door close in the background as I picture Rob in his office. His voice lowers. “It’s going to hit the papers tomorrow, but he’s out at the network. A me-too allegation by one of his sous chefs at his restaurant in Vegas. They investigated, and it looks like that is just the tip of the iceberg. The network is working behind the scenes to distance themselves, starting with pulling all his shows, new and old.”

  “Damn,” I mutter, not sure how to react. The industry is brutal. Long hours, difficult working conditions, a pay scale that is upside-down. Layer on the sexism and diva attitude, and it’s amazing there aren’t more lawsuits.

  Rob’s voice brings me back. “As you can imagine, they have a lot of hours to fill on the schedule, hence the need for new programs. I’ll email you the details about the show. There will be a car waiting for you on Thursday.”

  The edge of the lake comes into view. It pulls my attention with it and reminds me of my other commitment. “Rob, I’m going to have to pass. I’m tied up the next five days.”

  “Seriously?” Rob questions, letting the single phrase seek out the details my response sorely lacked.

  “You’ll be pleased. I have a five-day gig, cooking. So, I can’t come to LA right now.”

  I hear a slam of what I imagine is his fist pounding his small desk. “Let’s not dismiss this out of hand, Zach. This is what we’ve dreamed about. All that work, all those hours of struggles, and here it finally is—the way back. This is the perfect opportunity to begin our comeback.”

  The line goes silent as the weight of his words sit heavy on my shoulders. His use of the word we triggers memories. That when I burned my bridges, it included a substantial amount of collateral damage.

  His voice breaks the silence, the urgency and strain clearly coming across the phone. “We have a few options. We can…”

  I slam on the brakes as the lake fills the roadway. It’s a thing of beauty. I’ve been here only twice before and never at this hour. The sun has just risen over the horizon and is reflecting off the majestic water. It’s enough to make my heart stop. It pushes away the thoughts of Seattle, the thoughts of LA, the thoughts of yesterday. The vision reminds me of Dana—an overwhelming, can’t-be-denied beauty that takes my breath away.

  “Listen, Rob, I’ll give you a call in a few days. Email me what you got, and I promise to look it over. But remember when I said I needed a break.” I spot Mia and Dana stepping out of the lodge onto the porch. Mia is tapping away on her phone as Dana bounces down the steps with a smile a mile wide on her face. “Rob, I’m not sure how long this break is going to last. I’m starting to like myself
once again, and I think this place has a lot to do with it.”

  I know in my heart it’s not just the place, but the people—in particular, one person. I disconnect the call and take in the beauty of the woman who has no clue that I’m ready to upend my entire life for her.

  I remain in the car, enjoying the happy bounce of each of her steps as her long brown legs race toward the car. My gaze locks in on her frayed sky-blue jean shorts, the threads swinging with each step she takes. Slowly, my eyes rise to her barely-there sleeveless tank top which showcases her muscular shoulders and biceps. Her joy electrifies the air. She has been working so long and hard for this day to arrive. I hide, like the coward I am, behind tinted windows that conceal my identity. I hesitate and know the moment I open the door all of this will disappear.

  She reaches the driver’s-side window as I lower it. Her eyes flash with a look of surprise. “Jackson?” She looks past me to the passenger seat. “I didn’t expect to see you here today. Where’s Chef Zach?”

  I turn off the engine as the look on her face turns from surprise to concern. “Is he coming?”

  She locks her knees as her arms cross in front of her and she braces for the bad news that is about to overwhelm her.

  “Dana, we have to talk,” I begin as she lowers her chin and cuts me with a look that cuts right through my chest.

  “What aren’t you telling me, Jackson? No more games.”

  Chapter Nine

  Dana

  This is why it’s so hard for me to count on others. They aren’t dependable; they have their own agendas. Their priorities, like their promises, are more fluid than I can tolerate. I tap my feet onto the hard pavement and listen to yet another tale from Jackson, this one even more ridiculous than his last one.

  “So, let me see if I get this right. Your friend,” I say with sarcastic air quotes thrown in, “is you? Are you okay? Do you suffer from split personalities or some other undiagnosed delusion?” My anger rolls off me in waves, and it’s all directed at the one man in Destiny Falls who I thought I could trust. “Why?”