by Marina Adair
He faltered. “Dinner. With me. Isn’t a smart move?”
And then because she couldn’t lie to save her life, she said, “Sex isn’t a smart move.”
Jace let that settle. It was a direct hit he hadn’t seen coming, and the implication burned deeper than he could have imagined. “I didn’t say, ‘Hey, are you free tonight for sex?’ I wanted to take you out to dinner.” He caressed her cheek then stared into her eyes, hoping she could see how serious he was. “To talk, Charlie.”
He watched her throat work as she swallowed. “With us, isn’t it the same thing? You ask me to dinner, we talk, have a few drinks, then end up naked in a stairwell.”
Jace dropped his hand and took a small step backward because she was serious. And mad. And truth be told, she was right. But not completely. He did want to spent time with her, see where this insane connection between them could go, and, yeah, if it led to sex, he was game. But that wasn’t the only reason. The other night something between them shifted. Things he’d assumed were long ago forgotten somehow resurfaced, and even though he had zero ideas at the moment on how this could work, he couldn’t let go of just how perfect it had all felt. Couldn’t let go of the idea that maybe this time they could make it work.
“Are you saying that you don’t think I’d want to take the woman I married out to dinner, to talk and catch up, hear about her day?”
“I think what happened in Atlanta was amazing. But we’re home now. Back to our real lives. And I think we need to be real about this.”
“As opposed to our pretend lives?” Jace said, maybe a little louder than he should have. But every fucking second of it had been real to him. More real than anything that he’d experienced in the last four years. And he’d thought it had been real to her, too.
“Don’t get me wrong, it was fun and exciting.” Fun? Exciting? His stomach burned at the words. It had been a hell of a lot more than that. And he’d thought she felt the same way. “And it was the closure we both needed.”
Jace stopped. Brakes pushed so far into the damn floor he felt his body jerk. Obviously, he was wrong. On so many things. “So that’s all it was. Closure?”
It was. Holy shit, to her that’s all it was. Charlotte had the worst poker face, something he used to think was endearing, but right then it was like a fucking wrecking ball to the gut. What he’d thought of as a start to something, she chalked up to closure. And why should she think any differently?
“So what was I?” His voice sounded bitter. Angry. But he didn’t care. “Some check in your Risk List?”
“No, of course not,” she said, and rested a hand on his chest, but he didn’t believe her. “I just think that what happened is best left in Atlanta.”
It took him a long moment to speak. To find the words past the ache, because he was the one used to doing the walking. Being on this side of it sucked, because everything inside him was fighting the good-bye.
“I disagree,” he admitted, looking at the confusion in her eyes. “And I think deep down you do, too.”
She studied him so intensely Jace felt every bad decision, every regret, every mistake he’d ever made bead up on his forehead. Because she was looking at him as though wishing beyond all wishes that she could find that one thing she needed to say yes. And he hoped to God that she found what she was looking for, because there was something about her that got to him, made him feel things he’d stopped feeling when his parents died. And he didn’t want it to stop. Didn’t want to go back to feeling hollow.
Didn’t want to go back to being that waste-of-space shithead punk that everyone else saw. He’d busted his ass to become a better man, and he wanted Charlotte to see that man. To be proud to be seen with that man. “All I’m asking for is to take you to dinner. Have that talk you promised me.”
Now she was pissed off. He could see it in her expression, the way she primly pursed her lips. The softness he’d seen swimming in her expression was replaced by a distant and resigned smile.
“And you promised me forever.” She scooted out from under his arms, and even though she only walked the few feet to her desk, it was as though she’d just moved to another state. “But since I follow through on my word, let’s have that talk.” She spun around to face him, that steel magnolia facade back in place. “I’ll start. I just have one question. Are you opening your shop in Atlanta?”
“If the loan comes through.” Which was why they couldn’t waste any more time playing games.
Unfortunately, for him, Charlotte didn’t agree. She was making an escape plan all right. One that would include scheduling all the overtime she could, taking inventory of what was in her pantry so she wouldn’t have to go into town, could insure she wouldn’t have to see him, would be able to ignore what was happening between them until he left.
Then her eyes narrowed. “Let me get this straight. You come in here, interrupt my workday, insult me, wanting, what did you say? More?” They narrowed even further, until they were two slits of pissed-off female. “Well, you know what, Jace? You don’t get more if you aren’t willing to put in the time.”
“First off, Atlanta is a few hours from here. And second, we still have a few weeks.” Which as far as Jace was concerned was the perfect amount of time to see where this could lead. To figure out how to make this work. Because he was certain now that being together was the only way either one of them could ever find happiness.
“I’m not looking for a drive-by relationship, especially with a guy who already has one foot out the door. Been there, done that, have the skid marks on my heart as a reminder,” she said, and the quiver in her voice ricocheted around Jace’s chest.
“Actually,” he stepped forward, “I have both feet firmly planted. Right here. In your office.”
“For how long?” she whispered, looking up at him in a way that tore open his damn soul. “A few weeks. Then you’ll be, what? A few hours away.” She shook her head. “I’m not interested in a few of anything.”
“So you’re not interested in a few,” he asked, equally as soft. “Or you’re not interested in more?”
Her gaze leveled him. “I’m not interested in starting something that is going to be hard to end or opening myself up to be…”
He waited for her to finish, for her to finally say how she felt, even though, sick bastard that he was, he already knew. It was in the way her face creased as though trying to hold it together and how her glossy eyes flooded with sadness. He’d hurt her, the kind of bone-deep hurt that never really goes away. Something he’d always known, had struggled with since walking out that door, but seeing it firsthand was painful.
Rather than hurt him back, she smoothed her hands down her coat and with a steel gaze said, “Frustrated.”
An emotion he knew intimately.
Jace wanted to stay with Charlotte, but her home was here, in Sugar. And even though he couldn’t imagine walking away from Charlotte again, he couldn’t survive living in a place where there was a different set of expectations for behavior placed on him that other people didn’t have to overcome.
And wasn’t that a fucked-up scenario? Brett had said the shop was his dream, but Jace had lots of dreams. The most important one being Charlotte, whose carefully constructed life was here. And yeah, he knew that the potential for one, if not both of them, to wind up hurt was high. But after Atlanta, he knew that walking away would slowly tear them both apart.
So, he might not be able to live in Sugar, but that didn’t mean that they couldn’t find a way to make this work. People did long-distance all the time.
Charlotte was already back to looking at the file on her desk, not so subtly dismissing him, a clear sign she was not ready to admit that.
Fine with Jace, since he was more of an action-oriented guy anyway. So he walked over, getting so close she had no option but to look up, and when she did—man oh man, he felt everything inside of him come to life.
He reached out and cupped her cheek. “It doesn’t matter if I open my sh
op, or if you pretend that this is going away. It’s not. Not anytime soon.” And to prove his point, he traced her lower lip with his thumb, which trembled slightly under his touch. “And neither am I.”
Chapter 9
I just have to try harder!”
Hattie McGraw choked up on the lug-nut wrench, pulled back, and was ready to swing when Jace stepped in. He grabbed the top of the tool a mere second before impact.
“The only thing you’ll accomplish swinging like that is to throw out your back or destroy the rim,” Jace said, holding firm when his grandma tried to finish her swing, which was likely to take out the back tire and a good chunk of his new paint job.
“Throw my back out,” Hattie scoffed, straightening to her full height of five-foot-nothing. “I hold the town’s Mail Box Baseball record in the sixty and over category.” Since Jace was not exactly sure if she meant speed or age, he quickly relieved her of the wrench. “Even got my bat bronzed.”
“Which means you know it’s not about brawn, it’s about the using the right tool,” Jace said, taking Hattie by the hand and escorting her to her seat. “Because the first rule of car care is being safe. And if you’re on the side of the highway, your phone isn’t getting reception, you want to get out there and get the tire replaced fast. Plus, if you’re looking as pretty as you are today, you wouldn’t want to dirty your favorite tracksuit, Grandma. Not if you don’t have to.”
“Well,” she flushed, giving his hand a little pat, then taking her seat and running a hand over the leg of her still clean fuchsia tracksuit. “I guess you have a point.”
“Which is why I suggest that every one of you go out and buy one of these.” He grabbed the electric lug-nut remover he’d borrowed from Brett, who was sitting in the back of the garage next to Cal, both of them sipping sweet iced tea and wearing shit-eating grins.
“Is your tool battery operated?” Brett asked, and Cal smiled even bigger.
The second word spread that Jace was indeed the instructor of the month, both of his brothers registered for the class. So had every single lady in town—and several of the married ones as well. Which was why he shouldn’t have been surprised when he was walking back to his Camaro that someone goosed him, or that when he bent over to demonstrate how easily it fastened to the lug nut someone yelled, “Nice bumper!”
This came from MeMaw Wilkes, owner of the local feed and pet store and his grandma’s poker buddy, who was seated front and center, although she hollered as though she was standing at the bottom of the Grand Canyon.
Jace ignored the catcalls that her comment provoked and said, “Now, to prove just how easy this is to use, can I get a volunteer?”
Every hand in the room went up, except for Hattie, who was still eyeing her wrench.
“I’d love to check out your tool, Jace,” a honeyed voice came from the back, and before he could answer or anyone else could approach the car, Darleen Vander sauntered her way to the front in her mile-high heels and pearls. Red hair swinging, hips swaying, boobs jiggling, she was there to be noticed—and since she was currently on the hunt for husband number four Jace took a good step back. Because Darleen wasn’t just looking for any man—she’d made it clear to anyone who would listen that she wanted a McGraw. And Jace, the last remaining McGraw, was apparently her target.
She’d done everything shy of writing her number on his forehead in the past forty-five minutes. So, ignoring the blatant invitation in her smile, Jace squatted down and placed the tool on the lug nut. “All you have to do is situate it like this, then press the button.”
“Let me try.” Darleen flashed him those pearly whites and a little cleavage as she took the tool and did as instructed. A second later she said, “Oh my. Look at that. Easy as pie!”
“She cheated,” Hattie, the most competitive woman on the planet, called out. “Either that or I loosened it first.”
“Sorry, Ms. Hattie. I just have a soft touch when it comes to a man’s lug nuts.” Darleen straightened and dropped the lug nut into his palm and smiled up at him. “Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. McGraw?”
Normally, Jace would have said yes. A woman like Darleen, stacked, sexy, and ready to go, was right up his alley. Only Jace wasn’t looking for fun, he was interested in something deeper this time around. Sure, he had a thing for leggy debutantes, but there was only one leggy debutante he wanted anywhere near his lug nuts. And wouldn’t you know it, she was the only woman in Sugar who hadn’t shown.
Not to mention that, although Jace and Brett shared a lot of things, similar taste in cars, sports, and fishing, the one thing they never shared was women. And since Darleen had done this whole song and dance with Brett years back, Jace had zero interest.
“I would agree that every person in this room should order one of these tonight,” he said diplomatically. “In fact, for being a good sport,” and because it belonged to Brett, “you can have this one.”
Darleen gave her best pageant smile.
Jace shot Brett a big-ass smile. Brett shot him the bird.
In spite of himself, Jace laughed and felt that smile turn genuine. He was looking out at a few dozen familiar faces who all knew his past, his parents, his loss, and instead of feeling that painful ebb of remorse, he felt surprisingly light.
“Next week we’ll cover how to safely jump-start your car.”
“Do we need to bring our own cables?” Jelly Lou, his old Sunday school teacher asked. “Or do you come prepared?”
“Look at him,” MeMaw said on a dreamy sigh. “The man was born prepared. And I bet he doesn’t need a jump to get started, either.”
And on that note: “Thanks for coming, folks.”
Before someone else could ask about his tool or jumping techniques, Jace gave a general wave to the room, narrowly avoided MeMaw and her octopus hands, kissed his grandmother’s forehead, and finally made his way to the back office—hoping to quietly slip out the back door after everyone cleared out.
Only someone followed him to the office. Darleen. She had taken off her sweater and stood in the doorway in just her red dress, a clipboard in her hand and a flirty smile on her lips. “You forgot the sign-up sheet.”
Standing firmly in place, she held up the clipboard and waved it in the air as though asking him to come closer, which would be as stupid as approaching a cornered cougar.
“You could just leave it over there.” He gave a wave himself, more of an anywhere but near me is fine flick of the wrist. “Spencer needs a head count to report back to the sheriff’s department.”
“I could,” she took a step closer, her perfume reaching him before she did. “But then I wouldn’t be able to tell you that I won’t be able to make it to next week’s class.”
“Sorry to hear that,” he lied.
That got him a smile. “Me too. Tribble has a mini-mites golf tournament that day, but Sunday he goes to his dad’s, and I was hoping that you could come and give me a private lesson. Maybe around dinnertime?” She batted those lashes his way. “I would hate to need a jump and not know how to get the engine going, if you know what I mean?”
Oh, he knew exactly what she meant. And if the let’s get busy purr in her voice wasn’t enough to confirm what kind of jump she was after, the possessive way she rested her hand on his arm, tracing his tattoo with her painted nails, left no question.
“Everyone in Sugar knows that Sunday night is family dinner at the McGraws’. Isn’t that right, son?” Hattie asked from behind, and although Jace had been desperately skirting around the topic of attending family dinners, especially this week’s dinner since it was at Brett’s place, the interruption was welcomed.
“Yes, ma’am.” He took the clipboard from Darleen’s clutches and set it on the desk. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
“Good, because missing Sunday dinners is as sinful as fibbing,” she said dryly, and Jace felt the walls start to close in, because now that it was out there, and he’d said yes, it was as good as done.
Jace was going to Sunday din
ner at Brett’s. Which was pretty much like going to dinner at his parents’ house since his brother lived on his parents’ old property. Sure, the house had been demoed and a new one put up in its place, but gathering around the family table, looking out at Sugar Lake, being surrounded by all of that love and the memories was going to be rough.
“Good to hear it.” Hattie gave him a sweet smile, one that was full of gentle understanding. His grandma might be stubborn, and she sure loved to get her way, but she also knew dinner would be hard on Jace. Not that she’d let him off.
Then the sweetness left and she was all judgment and condemnation when she shifted her attention to Darleen—and her hand on Jace’s arm. “Missing dinner is almost as sinful as coveting a woman’s grandson in front of God and witness.”
“Oh, Ms. Hattie, I was just being neighborly,” Darleen said, and sent Jace a sly wink—which he did not return, sly or otherwise.
“I know, dear,” Hattie said, cupping Darleen’s elbow and guiding her away from Jace and toward the exit. “But last time you welcomed home one of my boys, he nearly lost his career and his girl.” Jace didn’t bother to point out that Hattie and her busybody ways had caused more problems than Darleen selling confidential information to the papers about Brett. But since he wanted Darleen gone, before lips started flapping, he just smiled as Hattie went on. “So why don’t you go look after your boy, while I look after mine.”
Without so much as a Night now, Hattie shut the office door on Darleen’s stunned face and turned to stare him down. “Now, you want to tell me what this nonsense is about?” She pulled an envelope out of her purse and walked forward so she could slap it against his chest. “And remember what I said about fibbing.”
Jace took one look at the return address belonging to the County Recorder, then the opened seal, and felt his chest hollow out. “You opened my mail?”
Hattie walked over to the leather couch in the corner and took a seat. “Opened it, read it, reread it, even called you a few names that if they weren’t true God would have struck me dead right where I stood.”