by Maisey Yates
Wren had gone and made a Cooper and a Maxfield hooking up a thing of no particular consequence.
But now Cricket knew there was consequence after all. And anyway, she’d been twelve when she’d imagined her place by Jackson. When she’d imagined fitting into a life with him.
And it made sense now. That mystical feeling of connection, the idea that she would fit in with his life, with his family... He was her half brother. Of course. Their connection finally made sense.
A twelve-year-old couldn’t be in love. The truth was just that the connection she’d felt to him had gotten muddled because she hadn’t known.
It was pride she felt for him. That was all. A desperate longing for a place where she fit.
That was all it was.
That was all it could be. All it could ever be.
Get a grip, Cricket.
“Well.”
“Did you still want to go to the store?”
“You know. I was actually thinking I might whip up some food. Some dinner. So why don’t you go to the plumber, and I’ll handle all that here.”
“You cook?”
“Of course I do,” she lied.
She had either been going down to town and getting a burger for dinner or eating frozen pizza for weeks now. But he didn’t need to know that.
“All right. I’ll see you in a bit.”
“See you in a bit,” she repeated decisively. He walked out, and suddenly it was easier to breathe. He walked out, and suddenly, everything inside her chest eased.
She scurried back into the kitchen, and opened up the fridge. Wren had brought her some groceries, and she’d been ignoring them. But now, staring at the leafy greens and wrapped steaks, she felt that she had to figure something out. She picked up the phone and called her sister.
“How do you cook?”
“That is a broad question,” Wren said.
“Well. You gave me all this food. And I don’t know what to do with any of it. And I just told Jackson that I would cook dinner.”
“You’re going to cook him dinner? Honestly, Cricket, are you sure you don’t have some kind of crush on him?”
That would have been a horrifying thing for her sister to ask six months ago.
It was worse now.
“I do not,” she said ferociously, ignoring the tightening in her stomach. “I don’t. That would be...ridiculous.”
“All right. I’ll walk you through... What were you thinking you were going to do?”
“Make steak.”
“Right. Fantastic. What else did I get you?”
“I don’t know. Green stuff. Green beans.”
“Okay. I will walk you through very simple pan-fried steak and green beans. Do you have potatoes? I’m pretty sure I brought you potatoes.”
“Meat and potatoes,” Cricket said. “Perfect.”
And in the end, she barely broke a sweat over the whole thing and managed to put together something that smelled pretty darn decent.
“Thank you,” she said to her sister.
“Seriously. Are you okay? Because I feel like this is the most we’ve talked in...ever.”
“I don’t know,” Cricket said. “I mean, I know I’m okay. I just don’t really know how to explain us not talking. Except... I spent a lot of years hiding. Running as fast as I could through childhood. Through that house. I hated it there. I always did. I never felt at home. I never felt like one of you. I don’t want to be mean, but nothing with James really surprised me.” She couldn’t quite bring herself to call him Dad. “He wasn’t cruel to me, nothing like that. It’s just that he didn’t care about me at all, and there was something in that way that he dismissed everything I was that... Nobody ever saw me—and it wasn’t your job to. I was a kid and you were teenagers, and then you were having lives. You went off to school. I didn’t do that.”
“You could have.”
“Maybe,” Cricket said. “But I didn’t know what I wanted anyway. I guess that’s the thing. I’ve never fit. And I’ve been searching for the place where I do. I think I might’ve found it.”
She might have found her family.
“And now it feels... I don’t know, I feel more like talking.”
Because even if Cash Cooper was her real father, her mother, Wren and Emerson were still her family. But if her suspicions were right, Cricket could finally disavow that piece of herself that had never really fit. It would all suddenly make sense.
“I can understand that. I always felt like I was being wedged into a life that I didn’t fully want. I embraced it, and I care about the winery—I’m happy to work on it now—but, you know, I’m working toward my architectural engineering degree because it’s something I always wanted. But I always knew I couldn’t because Dad didn’t want me to do it, because it wasn’t useful to him.”
“Believe me,” Cricket said. “I do understand that being in his sights wasn’t necessarily better. I really do.”
“I know. It’s not a competition. A tough childhood is a tough childhood. Whether you’re in a nice house, whether your dad pays attention to you... Doesn’t really matter. It is what it is. I mean, we were better off than a lot of people. But it doesn’t take away the things that weren’t great.”
“I know. Anyway. I... I think I’m going to be happier.”
“I’m happier,” Wren said. “I think Emerson and I weren’t really that much different than you, when you think about it. We started our own lives. Really and truly. And even though we are still maintaining our stakes in the wineries, we have more than that. We are more than that. The winery was never for you. And it’s a good thing that you’re finding the thing that you want.”
Cricket nodded, and then after exchanging farewells, hung up the phone. Just in time for Jackson to return with a whole bag full of supplies. He had his cowboy hat on, his jacket. He was such a striking figure. Because he was an emblem. Of what she wanted. Of the life she was hoping to find.
Because he represented something that fit. That was it. That was all it could be, and she had to really know that, understand it.
Had to understand what the extra thump of her heart meant. The jitter in her stomach.
She had to.
She had no choice.
“Smells good,” he said.
Deep pride swelled in her chest. “Really?” She cleared her throat. “I mean. Sure. Impossible to mess up a decent steak.”
Except she had a feeling it was very possible and if she hadn’t been receiving instructions the entire time, she would’ve definitely done so.
“Well, I didn’t realize I would be receiving payment in the form of steak.”
“I do try. Food first,” she said. “Then you can get to the plumbing.” She served their plates and sat across from him. In the tiny kitchen, it felt incredibly...domestic.
It was such a world apart from the life she usually lived. She’d grown up with a grand banquet hall set for every dinner. Her dad all the way down at one end away from the rest of them. This little square table with peeling red paint felt homey in a way dinners never had. And Jackson smelled like soap and skin, close enough for her to get the scent. It was simple. Down-home and perfect in a way she’d always wanted things to be.
There had been a time when she’d dreamed of this. Sitting at a table with Jackson. Asking about his day, having him ask about hers.
Her Jackson fantasies had run the gamut over the years, but they’d always led to one conclusion. The only place for her was beside him.
That had terrified her before six months ago, because—as she’d gotten older—she’d realized what her feelings must mean, and she’d been unhappy with them. Ready to perform an exorcism, in all honesty.
She didn’t want to get married and be miserable like her mother was.
It had been a relief to discover the real truth behind he
r feelings.
“What were your dinners like growing up?” she asked.
She was hungry. But not for steak. She wanted to know him. His family. What his life was like, and how hers might have been.
“Well, something like this. I mean, we started with a house that was pretty similar to this. It expanded as time went on.”
“And that changed things? I mean, for all of you?”
“I guess so. I’m probably the only one who really remembers the change. Who really remembers what it was like before. Or... I don’t know. Creed probably does to an extent. Not Honey, though.”
“Right.” So that wouldn’t have been different. If she had grown up with them, she would have been like Honey. She wouldn’t have known what it was like to have normal family meals around the table. She knew that being wealthy was a privilege. It wasn’t that. It was easy to romanticize things you didn’t have. Easy to look at them in a simple way. She knew that too.
She wasn’t stupid.
She’d spent a lot of time by herself. And as a result, she’d spent a lot of time thinking. She thought a lot about the way other people lived. The way families looked on TV. And while she knew there were other struggles involved in their lives, she also knew that some of the good things they showed on sitcoms were real.
“So you got a big table, probably then,” she said.
“What does the size of the table have to do with anything?”
“You know, on TV,” Cricket said. “When everybody sits around this little, cheerful table. Just like this. And they have some kind of casserole. It’s always casserole. And I don’t even know anyone who’s ever eaten a casserole.”
“Yeah, can’t say as I’ve had a lot of casserole experience myself.”
“Well, there’s always a casserole, and they’re all sitting together, and reaching for the dishes, and talking. And we didn’t have a table like that. It was big and long, this banquet hall. As if there were fifty of us, but there wasn’t. And my dad would always sit down at his end, miles away. And that’s just... It’s a metaphor. Really. For my family. All spread out, all engaged in their own thing and not paying attention to each other. Oftentimes we would even have different food. We had a chef. And we could basically put in an order for whatever we wanted at the beginning of the week. We would sit there in the same room and basically all be...separate. And sometimes I just wanted a small table. Because I thought that would fix things.”
“Well, we might’ve gotten a bigger table, but we all sat down at one together.”
“Oh,” she said, feeling wistful. “You all really love each other.”
“You love your sisters,” he said, and she noticed he skimmed over her question.
“I do,” she said. She looked up at him, taking a chance at meeting his gaze. “My siblings are the most important people in my life.”
His lips curved upward, and something in her stomach shivered. She didn’t like it. She didn’t like the feeling at all.
“Well, I... Anyway. I don’t know. I’m just curious. About how other people grew up.”
“Did you go over to anyone’s house when you were a kid?”
“Not really. My sisters went to private school. They were away from home a lot. They sent me away for a while, but I hated it. I wanted a family, and being at school with strangers didn’t help at all. Dorm rooms and formal dining halls and all of that. I just ended up walking the grounds alone. They brought me back. They enrolled me in a school in Gold Valley. But they didn’t really want me associating with any of the local people. So I had friends. But only at school. My parents didn’t let them come over. They didn’t let me go over there. The stupid thing is, I’m not sure my dad would have actually known what I was doing if I hadn’t asked for permission. But I’ve never really known how to live.”
Except, she was deceiving Jackson a little bit. And that made her feel... Well, that made her feel marginally guilty. It wasn’t the most honorable thing, but her deception was all in service to something bigger.
She looked at him, and the sense of intensity, of longing, grew. She couldn’t feel bad. Not now. She wanted him here. She needed him here. And some part of her knew that. On a deep, cellular level. She knew that.
“Anyway. I’m just kind of making up for lost time. For things I didn’t have.”
“So, you got yourself a little kitchen table.”
“Yeah. And you’re the first person to sit with me here.”
He looked a little uncomfortable with that statement. Cleared his throat. She blinked, wondering what he thought she meant. And then she realized her words could be misconstrued.
“Only that...”
She must’ve sounded panicked, because he held her gaze, his expression steady then. “No drama.”
“Right.” His words made her feel immediately soothed and she didn’t really know why.
She’d first felt this weird sort of connection to him years ago. He hadn’t been as broad then as he was now. He’d been lean and rangy, and very different from his brother, Creed, who was often at winery events, fulfilling much the same job as her sister. Jackson wasn’t a salesman. He wasn’t the kind of guy who was in the front of the house. Much like her. He was behind the scenes. It was also very clear that Jackson was an integral part of his family in a way that Cricket had never felt like she was.
Jackson very clearly had a firm hand in everything.
He wore his authority with ease. It was so different from the way her father was. James blustered about, ordering employees around. All Jackson had to do was walk into a room. She had seen him helping with setup at different community parties on more than one occasion. He was a man who led by example. He was a man, she had always thought, to be admired.
And she had. She admired him greatly.
Wherever Jackson was, her eyes seemed to find him.
It was hard to explain how it had felt to find out there was a high probability he was her half brother.
It had been the death of a dream she’d told herself had never been real.
But it had felt like a real, actual death. Before, she might have pretended she knew he was off limits, but apparently part of her had always secretly hoped...
That connection was so powerful. That sense of need she felt when she saw him.
And the connection had only grown and intensified as she had gotten older.
As she began to realize just how much of a misfit she was with her family.
So really, finding out about her mother and his father...it made sense. And she shouldn’t be sad.
“I’ll help clean up,” he said.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“You said yourself you don’t know how to clean. Anyway, there’s no dishwasher here.”
He took her plate, which was empty, went over to the sink and started running water. She could only stare at his broad back, at the way he worked, smoothly and capably.
And then she realized she was staring at the back of him while he washed dishes with her mouth dropped open. Like he was performing some kind of Herculean effort, rather than just scrubbing a couple of dinner plates and a pan.
She scrambled to her feet and looked around the tidy kitchen. There wasn’t really much to do. Not after the spiders had already been chased away and the cobwebs had been dealt with. She grabbed the broom again and began to sweep the floor, even though there was no dirt on it.
But she needed to do something, and she wasn’t going to go stand over by the sink.
“Cricket,” he said. “Why don’t you dry?”
Well, apparently, she was going to go stand by him.
She moved over to the sink, and he thrust a dish towel in her direction. She grabbed it, her fingertips brushing his. His hands were rough.
She’d never touched him before.
She’d dreamed abo
ut it.
About his hands.
She hadn’t known just how rough they would be.
She felt the lingering echo of that touch and she did her best to try and ignore it. He was warm too. She could feel heat radiating from his body as she stood beside him. Her shoulder vibrating with it as they stood with just an inch between them while she dried the dishes that he set on the side of the sink.
She looked over at him, and he turned his head. Then she immediately looked back down at the dish in her hand. She was acting weird. And he must realize that. He must know that things were weird. But she imagined he had no idea why.
She could tell him. She could tell him right now.
You don’t even know why. Do you get what you’re doing?
This wasn’t the reaction a woman should have to her half brother.
A pit of despair grew in her stomach.
She was supposed to know better. She was supposed to have fixed this.
No. She couldn’t tell him her suspicions yet. It would only cause problems. It would only... It would ruin things. Everything. She couldn’t take a chance on springing all this on him too soon.
So instead, she cleared her throat, mirroring the same gesture he’d done only a moment before, and carried the plates to their rightful spot in the kitchen.
“Well, I’m going to head to bed,” he said, turning and gripping the edge of the counter. The muscles in his forearms flexed, and she made a study of the red paint on the tabletop. Of all the places that it was chipping and wrinkling.
“It’s early,” she said.
“Not really.”
Then he brushed past her and left her standing in the kitchen. The room suddenly felt much larger without him standing in it. And that left her with a whole lot of questions she couldn’t quite form. And even if she could, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answers.
Three
This was Jackson’s favorite part of the day. When the sun hadn’t risen yet, and he put the coffee on. As strong as he could make it. When the world outside was quiet, and still. When the whole day had a wealth of possibilities in it.
Once upon a time, he’d spent mornings like this with his mother at the kitchen table. His father wasn’t one to enjoy mornings. A rancher he was, but he also was always half stumbling out the door after the first rays of light had begun to filter over the mountains, his coffee in a to-go cup, his eyes bleary.