by Kara Isaac
“Barad-dûr.”
He hobbled back to the table. One round down.
The rest of the round passed in a blur. Everyone else got everything right. No surprises there.
Two rounds later, he managed to pull another rabbit out of the hat and was now matched against his uncle. His team was down by two points after Hans had gotten the answer wrong to a question Jackson didn’t even understand.
Allie looked at the question card and then at him, her eyes trying to tell him something, but he had no clue what. “Jackson, which female character did J. R. R. Tolkien introduce in The Hobbit?”
There was a rumble of discontent from the other table. “That can’t be two points. That’s a gift,” someone muttered.
He knew this one, he knew he did. He looked at Allie’s outfit and the name flashed into his mind. “Tauriel.” He said it loudly, confidently. Not only had he not made an idiot of himself against his uncle, he’d get his team back in the game thanks to the feisty leader of the Woodland Elves.
Allie visibly winced as a chill settled across the room.
“That is incorrect. Louis?”
His uncle looked at him with pity. “It’s a trick question. There are no female characters in The Hobbit, except a couple of passing references to Belladonna, Bilbo’s mother.”
“Correct.”
No. What were the chances he’d be able to convince his uncle the painkillers had muddled his brain?
“We want to trade.” Esther’s voice rang out. “He’s a fraud.”
* * *
Tauriel. Of all the characters he could’ve chosen, it had to be her.
Fans had only just managed to reconcile themselves to Arwen’s prominence in the films, and she at least had been a creation of Tolkien’s, appearing in the appendices to Lord of the Rings.
Tauriel had been a hundred times more controversial. Not only because she was entirely invented by Peter Jackson and his writing team for the sake of the movies, but because the actress Evangeline Lilly said in an interview that people who knew Elvish had “too much time on their hands,” which had gone down like a sack of cement with those who considered themselves true followers.
It was the look on his face that had almost undone her. For a second, he’d truly believed he had the answer and had managed to get his team back into the game. His whole face had been transformed.
Then the way it had crumpled when Louis had delivered the real answer . . . She’d have to have been heartless not to feel sorry for him, especially after little Miss Arwen added her jibes to his humiliation.
She looked down at her cards. After another three rounds in which the other team had pulled even farther ahead, Jackson stood in front of her again with Ethel, looking defeated before she even opened her mouth.
They were now into the three-pointers. The questions only people who had pored over the books and appendices would have a chance of being able to answer.
She looked at Ethel. The dark horse who had so far gotten everything right and was in the lead. Everyone else had gotten a question wrong at some point—even Sofia, the walking Tolkien thesaurus.
“Gandalf was revealed as a keeper of one of the three Elven rings. Who was it that gave him this ring?”
The woman didn’t even pause to think. “Cirdan.”
“Correct.”
Allie flipped to the next card and looked at the question. In what battle was Fingolfin killed?
She pulled in a breath. Jackson wouldn’t even know who Fingolfin was. Turning to him, she created a question and hoped he would remember their passing conversation. “What token was used by Gondor to signal urgent help was needed from allies?”
He looked at her. The seconds ticked over. He didn’t remember. Then an odd expression passed over his face. “A red arrow?”
She blinked. He had. “Correct.”
Behind him, his table erupted into cheers.
* * *
She made that question up just for him. He would’ve been suspicious anyway, but he knew it for sure because he caught a glimpse of the word Fingol on the card she was holding, which was neither in the question or the answer to the one she’d asked him.
His team had still lost, but he was okay with that. Winning would have felt too much like cheating, especially after his Tauriel debacle.
Across the room, Allie was chatting with Sofia, but her gaze would occasionally wander his way and a smile played upon her lips that made him want to kiss her senseless.
Which made the ankle and the crutches a blessing in disguise. It also made him feel like the world’s biggest heel for what he was about to do, but having spent the day stuck in his hotel room, staring at the gorgeous view while pondering his options, he didn’t see any other way.
This is what I have to do, right, God? His attempt at a prayer was clumsy. It had been a long time, but despite the news from home last night, he’d woken up in the morning with a disconcerting certainty he needed to at least give the faith thing a shot. It couldn’t possibly make things any worse than he’d already managed on his own.
Finally wrapping up her chat, Sofia left the room and Jackson hobbled toward Allie.
She met him halfway.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
“Thanks for the question.” His palms were clammy. He was stalling, trying to delay what he knew he had to say.
She arched an eyebrow. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Gosh, she was so beautiful. Her hair was done in some kind of elaborate side braid, which was all very nice, but it was the knowing smile on her lips and the mischievous gleam in her eye that undid him. She had the power to make him forget about Nicole, the farm, his mom’s cancer, all of it.
Suddenly he realized he had been staring at her when it was his turn to speak. “About last night—”
“So, there’s something—”
They both spoke at once, their words piling on top of each other.
Usually he would be all “ladies first” but not this time. If he didn’t speak now, he might not say it at all.
Allie stopped talking and stood waiting for his direction. He shifted on his crutches. God, please let there be another way. He threw up one last urgent prayer. He’d been doing variations on it all day, but so far no divine intervention had shown up.
He sucked in his breath. Do it, Gregory. Just get it over and done with. Like ripping off a Band-Aid. “About last night. I um . . .” He wound his fingers around the plastic handles and gripped them tight.
Allie tucked a strand of stray hair behind her ear. “Jackson, there’s something I need—”
“Allie, please, I kind of need to say this.”
She stilled. “Okay. I’m listening.”
He forced the lie out. “I think I may have given you the wrong impression last night.”
She tilted her head. “How so?”
She wasn’t going to make this easy, was she? “I, um, may have given you the impression last night I’m interested in you. As more than friends.” He fumbled the line worse than a kindergartner playing his first football game.
No kidding, dude. And what might have given her that impression? The fact you could barely keep your hands off her? Or that if Kat hadn’t shown up, you would’ve kissed her and you both know it?
He waited for her to verbally tear him into bite-size strips, as she was so proficient at doing.
Instead she just looked at him, a collision of emotions playing across her face. “And you’re not.” It was a statement, not a question.
“No.” He managed to choke the single syllable out. Barely—since every atom in his body was calling him out as the big fat liar he was.
“Okay.”
Okay? That was it?
“That’s it?”
Her brow furrowed. “Um, t
hanks for the clarification?”
Awkward silence.
“So, um, you had something you wanted to say?”
She shook her head. “Nope. Not now. Need any help with your stuff?”
He tried to search her expression for a hint of disappointment or hurt, but he got nothing. Either she had missed her true calling as a world champion poker player or he’d totally misread things and had never been out of the friend zone.
Given that he’d spent the entire day agonizing over what to do, he should’ve been thrilled. Instead, as she flicked him a wave over her shoulder as she left the room, it felt like she’d taken his heart with her.
* * *
“He said what?” Kat almost spat out her apple juice.
“ ‘I may have, um, given you the impression I am, um, maybe interested in you as more than friends.’ ” So, she might have thrown in a couple of extra ums, but if she didn’t try and make light of the conversation, she might cry.
Allie propped her moccasin-clad feet up on the coffee table, then realized she’d assumed the identical position she’d been in the night before when Jackson knocked on the door.
Twenty-four hours and another lifetime ago.
She’d worn the Tauriel outfit partly because she sensed he liked it. How pathetic was that? At least he’d barreled ahead and gone first before she could tell him about Derek. Because that wouldn’t have been awkward at all. Hey, so, just thought I should mention I’m married. That’s nice, because I don’t fancy you at all. Ack.
Kat put her glass down, broke a line of chocolate off the block of Berry & Biscuit they’d torn open, then passed it to her. “I hope you were like, ‘Dude, guys buy me out a pizza joint all the time. Why would I read anything into that?’ ”
Allie laughed for real this time.
Kat snapped off a square and popped it in her mouth. “Do you think he meant it? Sounds like his ex did a bit of a number on him. Maybe he just freaked out. I was there. He was not looking at you with just-friends eyes.”
Allie snapped off a row for herself. “Well, whatever eyes he was or wasn’t looking at me with last night, his vision has obviously cleared today. I can’t believe I even rang the lawyers this morning.”
“Good girl.” Kat held her hand up for a high five. “What did they say?”
“Just that they were expecting a ruling any day now.” They’d been saying that for months, but she’d decided to go glass half-full and give them the hotel’s address just in case they were right this time. “Probably cost me two hundred bucks to open my file.”
She popped the chocolate into her mouth. Left it on her tongue to dissolve into creamy soft goodness.
She should be feeling relieved. Problem solved. What had been starting to become very complicated was now uncomplicated.
It didn’t matter if he meant it or not or what his reasons were. It never would have worked. For fifty thousand reasons.
So they’d shared a few moments. A bit of chemistry. She’d had that before and look where it had gotten her.
A box of tissues appeared under her nose. She pushed it away. “I’m fine. I’m good.”
The tear trickling down her cheek betrayed her. She swiped it away and got angry. “What is this? I don’t even know why I’m crying. I’ve known the guy for two weeks. Seriously, what is this?”
She looked across to see Kat grinning at her with chocolate-coated teeth.
“Why are you smiling?”
Kat tried, and failed, to wipe the smile off her face. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t be, but it’s like you have ‘ta-da, breakthrough’ flashing above your head in big neon lights.”
“Have you been drinking? Like, a lot?”
Kat reached over and grabbed her hands. “Allison Shire, you know I love you like crazy, but I have spent the last two years with a shadow of the Allie I know. It was like the day Julia walked into your class, you shoved real Allie somewhere deep down and put a lid on her. Do you realize I have never seen you cry over Derek? Not once. You find out your husband is already married and not a tear. So as far as I’m concerned, hallelujah, praise the Lord for Jackson Gregory. I may plant a big kiss on him when I see him tomorrow because that guy has finally managed to crack the freaking nuclear bomb–proof barricade you’ve been hiding behind.”
Allie didn’t dare tell her friend this was the second time in less than twenty-four hours the guy had reduced her to tears. For two opposite reasons.
“I cried over Derek.” She had—the day Julia had showed up and shattered her world with the same ease a wave destroys a sandcastle. And then she’d packed her bags, changed the locks, called the lawyers, and hardened up. She was a Shire. And Shires didn’t show weakness. Veronica had drilled that into her children since before they could walk.
Her best friend was right. She’d spent the last two years trying to ignore the hurt and pain. And all it had gotten her was feeling like she’d swallowed an entire weather system and was just waiting for it to unleash its fury.
Reaching over, she plucked a tissue from the box and tried to stem the river now cascading down her cheeks. She was afraid that now she had started crying, she’d never stop.
Twenty-Six
VUDU CAFÉ WAS PACKED. THE noise of the people crowded around tables bounced off the ceiling and walls. A long cabinet ran down the center of the restaurant, holding a range of food that made Jackson’s mouth water just looking at it. He’d asked for the best place to get coffee in Queenstown and the hotel receptionist had not steered him wrong.
Jackson tried to navigate through the fast-moving throng on his crutches, scanning to figure out which line was for people ordering takeout and which for people waiting for a table. He could wait. It wasn’t like he had anything else to do this morning, since the others were off visiting the last set of location sites, and they weren’t crutches-friendly.
Maybe the bustle and some good food and coffee would distract his conscience from how he’d ignored Allie the day before. There didn’t seem to be any middle ground with her. Either his heart was out there or it was barricaded behind a wall of seeming indifference. He was sure a shrink would have a field day with that one.
He was so sure he’d made the right decision, except everything in him screamed that it was wrong.
He blinked and there she was. At the table right in front of him. Sitting at a table for two. On her own. Her attention captured by the packet of sugar she was carefully stirring into her coffee.
Just as he was about to turn away, she looked up and saw him staring at her. A wary look crossed her face. Not that he could blame her.
“Hi.” He spoke first. “What are you doing here?” It came out more accusation than question. Great start, Jackson.
She lifted an eyebrow. “Even tour guides are allowed the occasional day off.” She looked at his crutches, then around the buzzing room. “Do you need a seat?” It was the kind of polite, halfhearted offering made with the expectation the other person would say no. He opened his mouth to fulfill his end of the unspoken deal, but what came out was, “Sure, thanks.”
Jackson sat down, balancing his crutches against the table. Shrugging his jacket off, he hung it over the back of his chair.
What were the chances of them being in the same café at the same time? Maybe there was a bigger plan in play.
He looked down at the table. Picked up a packet of sugar and spun it between his fingers. “I’m sorry I’ve been a bit of a jerk the last couple of days.”
He looked up to see her studying him over the rim of her coffee cup.
“I found out my mom has cancer. It’s . . . advanced.” He didn’t know where the words came from. Hadn’t known what he was going to say next, but that wasn’t it. Good one, Jackson, be that pathetic guy who plays the sympathy card.
“I’m really sorry.” Allie’s fingers reached over and cove
red his and he found himself blinking back tears. What was wrong with him? He didn’t cry. Ever.
He breathed deeply, forced back the betraying moisture. “I need this money. Like, really need this money. My parents, they downgraded their health insurance. And their plan won’t even begin to cover what she needs for treatment.” And it was all my fault, his conscience tacked on at the end.
“I can’t afford any distractions. I have to do whatever it takes to convince my uncle to invest in this idea. If I don’t . . .” His voice trailed off. He didn’t even want to think about any other scenarios.
A smile played on her lips. “So I’m a distraction?”
He couldn’t look away. Trying to deny his feelings any longer was futile, like trying to catch a hurricane with a butterfly net. “You’re a bit more than that.” It was like once the words started, he couldn’t hold them back. “Allie, you undo me. When I’m around you, I forget about everything else. And it scares me more than anything ever has.”
Her mouth parted. “It scares me too.”
His blood thrummed in his ears as he saw in her eyes what he knew was reflected in his. Then a shadow crossed her face.
“Jackson, there’s something I really need to—” Her words dropped over a verbal cliff as she stared at a blond, preppy-looking guy who’d appeared beside their table. “Derek?”
Derek? As in, the guy whose call he’d answered? The guy Allie’s mom had given her a hard time about? Ex-boyfriend Derek?
As Allie gaped up at Derek, something in his gut told him reality was a whole lot more complicated than that.
The guy smiled, but it didn’t come even close to reaching his gray eyes. “Hello, darling wife. Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
The words hit Jackson’s ears like a whip. His what? Almost as if carried by the force of them, his head swung back to Allie. She was still staring at Derek, all color draining from her face. Her hand jerked, knocking her purse from the small table, change clanging against the floor as it fell and scattered around feet and under chairs. She didn’t even look or seem to notice.
One look at Allie’s wide, panicked eyes told him he hadn’t misheard. She looked between the two of them. “Derek, what—Jackson, I—”