In one fluid motion, Jack puts his arms around me, dips his head, and pulls me in. The kiss crashes over me, like a swell of raw, liquid emotion.
This is not the impromptu, tentative kiss of two days ago in the kitchen. This is the kiss of a man who knows exactly what he’s doing and what he’s asking for. I lean in further and kiss him back, wanting to give him the answer his unsaid question demands.
When we finally pull out of the kiss, Jack takes my hand and we walk into the main house. From the entryway, I can see his mother’s silver-and-gemstone mirror hanging as a sentinel in the kitchen.
“I know the day is just getting started, but I’m really glad you came with me today, Kate.”
His words warm my heart. I’m already glad I came also—and it’s only been an hour or so—but it’s more than just a little reassuring to have confirmation that he feels the same way. My head still feels a little loopy, kind of like I took too much DayQuil or just stepped off a carnival ride. I haven’t figured all this out. Regardless of any instability in my head, my heart is glowing.
“Me too, Jack. I think it’s going to be a good day.”
“It’s going to be a great day. The sun is shining, the water in the river is the perfect early summer temperature, I have a great girl that I can’t wait to get to know better beside me, and…” He rummages in one of the paper sacks he just ran outside to retrieve. “I have sparklers left over from New Year’s with my niece.”
It’s a bit of a shock to discover this side of Jack. Sure, I figured he was a nice guy, but in a Silverback Gorilla sort of way. Even Saturday’s light kiss was sweet and tentative, but it had a business-like, abrupt conclusion.
But then came this morning’s kiss. All emotion…and, well, fun. I want to kiss him again. I hope that’s on the agenda today—maybe even more than once.
I wonder which is the real Jack Cooper? The precise, Silverback businessman? The enthusiastic kisser? Maybe Jack is both—and far more complex than my girlish office crush has ever given him enough credit for.
“Would you like something to drink, Kate?”
“Sure.” The question jars me out of my slightly convoluted train of thought. “What do you have?”
“Well, there’s bottled water, but that’s too healthy and boring for a holiday celebration. The fridge is still stocked with soft drinks from earlier in the weekend.” He opens up the refrigerator and pulls out the produce drawer at the bottom of the unit. “But, if you happen to like fresh-squeezed lemonade, I can accommodate that too.” He raises a clear plastic bag full of yellow, round lemons.
“Oh, I would hate for you to go to any trouble.”
“It’s no trouble, Kate. I asked you to come out here with me so I could learn more about you. If I have to squeeze some citrus fruits myself to learn that you like lemonade, then I think that’s time well-spent. So?
“So what?” I can’t help myself. This new side of Jack keeps making me smile.
“So, do you like lemonade?”
“Well, yes, but…”
He faces me and lightly brushes his fingertips across my mouth. His gesture definitely invades my personal space.
But I like it.
And I like him.
“Sssh. Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”
Too funny. I say variations of that all the time. “Quoting Shakespeare as a lemonade-sales technique? Okay, you’ve sold me.”
“Good. Now, sit on that stool while I work my magic.” He waves me over to a barstool around the back of the kitchen island.
I sit down on a stool, the same stool I perched on Saturday when we started discussing his mother’s cross on the wall. Jack pulls out a knife and a cutting board and begins to slice the individual lemons into juicy halves.
“You’re pretty handy with a Ginsu there, Mr. Cooper.”
He lifts the knife and brandishes it in my direction. Light from the large windows at the end of the room bounces off the metal blade. “This isn’t a Ginsu,” he says, with mock indignation. “This is German forged steel. Would Alton Brown use something off an infomercial?”
“Ha. I suppose that you’ve got me there. So, did Food Network teach you how to make this lemonade?” I pick up a lemon and try to squeeze it into the pitcher on the counter, but Jack playfully slaps my hand with the broad side of the knife.
“Put the fruit down. You’re a guest.” I lay the partial lemon back with its citrus brethren, and he continues. “No, this lemonade recipe is special. My mom taught it to me. She always used to put a splash of club soda in it and said it made the lemonade ‘sparkle’.”
He paused for a minute to give the lemonade a stir, a trial sip, and a pinch more of fine, white granulated sugar. When he’s satisfied that it tastes perfect, he pulls two glasses out of the cabinet, fills them with ice, pours some of the “sparkling” lemonade in each, and garnishes both with a thin round of lemon.
“You know, Kate, I never realized I needed to start using my mom’s death as a reason to live my life the right way, not an excuse to run away from all the things that were important to her. I tried to forget her. But the truth is, I can’t. And I don’t want to.” Jack hands a glass of lemonade across the island to me. “No matter what does happen between us—if we never see each other again after the zoo opens, if we stay friends, or if this date happens to lead to something else entirely—please don’t ever forget how grateful I am to you.”
Although I don’t yet know Jack well, I can tell that this is a special moment for him, and I feel privileged to be a part of it. “Jack, I am truly happy for you. It’s important for you to be able to talk about your mom. Even on Saturday, when you were trying to hold some things back, I could tell how special she was—how special she is—to you. I promise, I won’t forget about this weekend.”
Without a word, he walks to me and leans down and kisses me softly on the cheek. “Good. We can keep from forgetting together.”
Together.
I think back to all our previous conversations and all the times I thought I was reading too much into things and solidly wedging my foot into my mouth. Could it be that I’m not quite as crazy as I thought I was?
Nah. I have discovered I’ve got quite the knack for making a mess.
But it could also be that Jack Cooper is not the man I assumed he was earlier this weekend.
“I think it’s time to fire up the grill for an early lunch, how about you?” Jack pulls hamburger meat, buns, lettuce, and tomato all out of the fridge.
“Sounds good. Do you have any cheese?”
“But of course.” He turns back to the fridge and rummages in a drawer. “Here’s a new pack of slices. Cielo Blanco Ranch is a full-service grill. We aim to please.”
“Very good to know.”
“Oh, it is. It is.” Jack laughs a little bit—I suspect it’s directed at me and my wry observation. He makes patties, lays them on a paper plate, then sets that separate plate on the far corner of a large cookie sheet where he has laid out all the other burger necessities. As for me, I grab the lemonade and follow him outside to the deck.
While the burgers are grilling, we each sit in hammock-style swings suspended from the top covering of the deck and talk about a wide variety of topics. The conversation meanders its way around from TV and music to books we’ve read, places where we like to travel, favorite childhood memories, and silly things we did in college.
It’s all good, get-to-know-you kind of stuff. I am enjoying the look behind the curtain of Jack’s life and the presence of frequent laughter—coupled with the complete absences of awkward pauses—indicates that Jack is enjoying the same type of discovery about me.
He momentarily gets out of his rope-and-knot swing, flips two burgers off the grill and onto plates, then dresses them. He brings a plate back to me and keeps one for himself.
“I liked your pastor yesterday,” Jack says.
“Oh, Mark? Yeah, he’s great. What I like best about him is that he’s so real—he’s the kind
of guy you’d just enjoy having coffee or watching a game with.”
“I could tell that about him. And you know something about the band that played?” Jack’s eyes twinkled with teasing as the corners of his mouth inched up into a full-fledged grin. “It had this singer who was really cute.”
“Oh, Josh. Yeah, he’s a hottie. Someone tried to set me up with him a while back. Too bad he’s about six years younger than me.”
Jack kicks my swing with one swift pop from both of his flip-flopped feet and sends me twirling.
“Aaugh!” My mock indignation comes out quickly in light of this bi-pedal assault. When my swing finally settles down, I say “You should really come back sometime.”
“I’d like to,” he says in a more serious tone of voice than he used just moments before. “What else do you do with your time?”
“I’m in a Community Action Group.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s about ten to twelve people who meet in someone’s home weekly. We do book studies together and generally act as a support network for the others in the group, and we plan projects to go out and help the community in some way. I have some great friends in my group—we’ve been together for more than a year, I think.”
Jack considers this. “Like what kind of projects?”
“We are actually planning a summer grill-out for our homeless community in a few weeks. Something to bring them a hot meal and a fun time.” His interest in the subject gives me an idea. “You know, you should come with me sometime. Are you busy Wednesday night?”
“This Wednesday? No, I don’t think so.”
“Cool. If you want to come, meet me at my place at six-forty-five and we’ll head over. Jana’s house is just a few blocks down from my apartment.”
“So, it’s another date then?”
A genuine, bonafide, taking-him-to-meet-my-friends kind of date. “I suppose it is.”
“I like the sound of that.” He stands up out of his swing and reached out his hand to take my paper plate and lemonade glass. “I hear the river calling. Shall we?”
I take off running as soon as my feet are out of the chair and on the ground. I feel more playful and happier than I have felt in months…no, in far more than a year.
Today is certainly a Memorial Day to remember.
We spend most of the afternoon lazily floating in inner tubes on the river. The problem with spending a summer day lounging atop a colorful plastic-ish doughnut is that the Texas sun tends to make the rings very, very hot. I feel like a certain killer whale as I keep flipping water all over both myself and my flotation device in order to keep from sticking to my floating ring.
As the sun begins its spectacular orange descent toward the horizon, Jack pulls his inner tube over to the side and picks a towel up from the small dock and dries off. “Paddle over and I’ll help you get out.”
I kick my feet and paddle my cupped hands backward so that I move closer to Jack and the dock area.
“Put your arms around my neck. I’ll pull you out. I don’t want you stepping in that wet grass and mud right there by the dock. It’s a little unkempt down there.”
I do as Jack says and he pulls me from the inner tube. Once I’m on solid ground, he doesn’t make any move to release me. Instead, he lowers his head and kisses me slowly, making every moment count. I’m so relaxed from my day of aimless floating that I feel like I might just melt through his arms and into a puddle on the grass. Without a word, Jack lowers his arms, turns and reaches behind him, then grabs the other towel off the dock. He opens the towel up and wraps it around my arms and shoulders, shawl style.
Fireflies begin to flick and glow in the air. “Come with me,” Jack says.
I feel as though I’m on a wonderful adventure. The hours that I have spent with Jack over the course of the last few days have been more like a movie than my real life. All the awkwardness from my date with Paul has dissolved like the sugar granules Jack stirred into the lemonade earlier.
I can’t help but remember all the effort I’ve spent since I first laid eyes on Jack, trying to talk myself out of my crush on him. I wonder if my need to always have my ducks in a row has kept me from missing out on other movie-like moments in my life over the years.
I like to be in control. But what if I need to go with the flow more?
“Stay put. I’ll be right back.” Jack runs back inside the house and I scrub myself with the towel, trying to finish drying off. My bag is on the far corner of the deck, up near the door, and I walk over to it and pull out a dry pair of shorts and a T-shirt and put them on over my swimsuit.
I’m sitting and swinging in the hammock chair when Jack returns. “Give me your hand.” He places a sparkler in my outstretched palm, then wraps each individual finger around the wire to hold it.
As I stand up, he pulls out a lighter and lights the small firework and then lights his own. “Kate, I just want you to know that you’ve made my whole holiday sparkle. Thank you for coming out here with me.”
Diamonds of energy flit and crackle off of the main body of the sparkler, glowing a deep golden hue. It’s the most fitting personification of how I feel right now, bubbly and alive. Too soon, narrow gray ash is all that remains on the sparkler wire, and we go inside and prepare to head back to the city.
The sparkler’s dance may be over, but I think the real sparks are just beginning.
11
“Chimps supplement their diets with meat, such as young antelopes or goats. Their most frequent victims, however, are other primates such as young baboons, colobus monkeys, and blue monkeys.”
--The African Wildlife Foundation, www.awf.org
Tuesday mornings after a Monday holiday are even more brutal than regular starts to the workweek.
On the way to work, I cruise through a coffee shop drive-through and grab the largest, most extreme coffee I can order off the menu. I’m still on Cielo Blanco time and I need all the help I can get to make my blood start flowing and get my synapses firing.
I’m thankful that no one stops me as I make my way to my cubicle. The morning routine I’ve devised rarely changes. First, I unlock my laptop from its relative safety in the filing cabinet, slide it into the docking station and power the system up, sit down and check voicemail while the computer runs through the boot-up process. There are already two messages on my phone this morning. Both are from reporters, but luckily neither of them is on deadline, so I can wait a few minutes before returning those calls.
Once my laptop is fully operational, I log into my e-mail and scroll through the messages. As it has just been a holiday weekend, the electronic correspondence load is thankfully light. There are two e-mails that just came in shortly before I sat down, however. One is from Jack and the other appears to be a reply from Cindy.
Just seeing Jack’s e-mail address on my screen makes me smile. Unfortunately, seeing Jack’s e-mail address on my screen also makes me think about how much I don’t want the Chimps in the office finding out about my return trip to the ranch. Although we discussed the whole idea of how to handle things a little bit while hanging out yesterday, we were unable to draw a definite conclusion.
The only two things we decided were: first, we will try to keep everything on the down-low throughout the zoo project, but second, we cannot lie to people about it.
Jack and I will be treading carefully across a tightrope, metaphorically speaking, for the next three weeks. There will be much collaboration between our respective offices during the next few weeks as the Capital of Texas Zoo prepares to open. And if I get butterflies in my stomach just by seeing Jack’s name on one single work-related e-mail, well… any girl out there knows the trouble I’m in for.
* * *
To: [email protected]
[email protected]
[email protected]
[email protected]
[email protected]
CC:[email protected]
&nb
sp; From:[email protected]
Subject:Wrap-Up From This Weekend
Attachment:CoTZoo--Ranch Weekend Brainstorming Owners and Actions.doc
* * *
CoT Zoo Team:
Thank you for a productive day of brainstorming out at the ranch. I think progress has been made on all aspects of the entire project. Kate’s “Zoo Who” idea has adaptability and a certain sparkle to it, and each committee seems to have taken that idea and run with it very well. A summary of all the plans that were decided Saturday—and their associated owners and action items—is attached. Thanks again for the great work.
* * *
I will send a calendar invitation for Wednesday afternoon so we can all get together here and report this week’s progress.
* * *
Jack
Wow. If I thought I was smiling before, reading what was contained in that e-mail makes me grin. He credited me publicly with the “Zoo Who” idea—and Al is even copied on the note! This is a great, unexpected coup in my quest to drop the “Assistant” from my title. And what’s more, Jack said my idea “sparkles,” a word that had to be selected specifically for me alone to notice.
Maybe it won’t be as hard as I thought to see where things go with Jack and still be discreet.
* * *
To: [email protected]
[email protected]
[email protected]
From:[email protected]
Subject:RE: Wrap-Up From This Weekend
* * *
Meet in my office in 10 minutes to discuss Jack’s e-mail.
CR
* * *
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