by Cindi Madsen
“Ivy? My face is up here.”
“I know,” I said, then I continued to stare at the crotch of his jeans, adding an exaggerated lip bite.
Jackson put his hands on my waist, turned me toward the door, and nudged me into the hall. “There will be time for playing out all those dirty thoughts tonight, but for now, we work.”
“Who’s the dictator now?” I joked, adding some extra resistance, because it meant having his hands on me.
Within a few minutes, we were up on a ladder, the old light fixture that served as an insect graveyard hanging down, wires exposed.
Since the shorter ladder was only one sided, I was up a rung higher, with Jackson on the one lower, his body pressed against the back of mine, which was distracting to say the least.
“Just match up the colors.” Jackson pulled the black wire out of the new, sleek light fixture that complemented the bronze accents we’d put throughout the house, then he twisted it to the black wire hanging from the ceiling and put a plastic cap on it. He repeated the process with the white wire, and then he stripped the end of the green wire and held it out to me. “This will connect to the screw on the grounding bar. I’ll let you try it, since this is the hardest part.”
I glanced over my shoulder at him. “You’re not trying to electrocute me, are you?”
His hand slid around my waist, his fingers splaying on my lower stomach. “I wouldn’t electrocute you now that I’ve finally got you right where I want you—which is in a relationship with me, for the record.”
“But if I would’ve refused and stormed out yesterday? Or, you know, if you would’ve just let me break it off like I tried to?”
“Then all bets would be off,” Jackson said with a wicked smile. “Good thing I shut that down. Just like I shut off the electricity to the bedrooms this morning.”
I touched the bare wire to the metal plate and mimicked getting shocked.
“Funny. Now twist the end around the screw.”
I wound it around and then pushed the light fixture into place. My arms started burning from holding it up, but I wanted to prove I could do it myself, even though it was nice to know I had backup, just in case.
After all the screws were secured, I slowly let go, afraid it’d come crashing down.
But it stayed. Jackson smacked my ass. “Good job.” He hopped down and extended a hand, which I took, because well, I liked holding hands more than I thought I would. “Think you can handle the rest?”
“I know I can.”
“I’ll be finishing up the tile in the shower. Holler if you need me.”
As he turned around, I smacked him on the ass. After all, turnabout was fair play. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”
His laugh echoed down the hall.
Day One of being in an official relationship after five years without attempting any kind of coupling was going remarkably well. Which I knew wasn’t a huge milestone for most people and that the beginning was the happy puppy love stage, but for a relationship pessimist, I was feeling rather optimistic.
…
“Why do you have a giant table in your car?” Jackson asked as he stepped inside the house. He’d gone to grab dinner about twenty minutes ago.
I took the box of pizza from him, walked it into the kitchen, and set it on the counter. “I sometimes buy old furniture and fix it up. Repurpose it or whatever. Did you ever notice the coffee table in my condo?”
“Vaguely.”
“It used to be that ugly dark-brown wood. It’s why I knew how to fix up the vanity in the downstairs bathroom to give it more of that antique look.”
“So you just do it as a hobby? Or when you need furniture?”
“Yes.” I grabbed two paper plates and slid him one. “But I’ve also sold some on Craigslist. It was one of the reasons I thought I could take on this renovation project. I thought it’d be like that, but on a bigger, higher-stakes level. And it was. Just bigger and higher stakes than I’d bargained for.”
Black Widow came in, noticed we were eating without her, and whined like she was near starvation, even though I’d fed her this morning and she had dry cat food in her bowl. But she was nursing kittens and I was a sucker, so I set down my pizza, opened a can of wet food and dumped it in her dish, then washed my hands and returned to my dinner.
“Did you call about that job?” Jackson asked.
“Yeah. I have an interview on Thursday. The guy I talked to was, like, super excited. Almost freakishly so. Like those infomercial dudes who sell shit at three a.m. You know they can’t possibly be that excited about a glorified vacuum or being able to chop vegetables really fast. But I’m trying to keep an open mind.”
“Hmm.” Jackson seemed to be deep in thought, and I nudged him.
“What?”
He leaned a hip against the counter. “I’ve been thinking about your job dilemma, and at one point, I thought I might be able to find you a position working for me. I could use someone to do admin stuff, but only part time, and I don’t think that’s anywhere near your dream job. I also worried that…” He ran a hand over his jaw.
“That you forgot how to finish a sentence? Because you did.”
I expected a smile, but his expression remained serious. “Most of the jobs I take on are through companies who’ve already got set floor plans, so it’s just carrying them out. I don’t do that many reno projects, and while I’m not saying you’re incapable of wielding a power saw or a nail gun, I couldn’t turn you loose with one, either—especially a saw. I happen to like all your fingers.”
“I hardly use this one…” I held up my ring finger. “But my pinky I need for lifting when I drink tea, and my middle I need for obvious reasons…”
Finally, I got a hint of a smile. He shoved the last bite of his pizza in his mouth, wiped his hands on a napkin, then wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me closer. “I want you to find that dream career, and I’d like to help you, but I also know you have this stubborn personality that resists help. Or that you might think it’s a pity job and get pissed I even offered it.”
“Sounds like me,” I said, and his smile broke free.
“I could give you a jumping-off point and some experience, but there’s the other thing. It’s hard enough not to suffocate you just doing the dating thing and spending so many hours in this house. Add working together, and I’m afraid you’ll run for the hills.”
I pressed my lips together, turning over his worries, and I couldn’t say I disagreed. One of the reasons I hadn’t killed him during our remodeling adventure was that I got to make the final decisions, since in the end, it was my project. That wouldn’t be the case on other jobs. I’d like to say I was a big enough person for it to not get in the way of our relationship—hard to believe that was a valid worry I now had. Who had I become?
A recovering pessimist who really likes this guy holding me and looking at me like he’d give me the world if I asked him to.
The point was it was going to be hard enough to make this thing between us work as it was, and I still wasn’t sure I could. That I was even capable of it. Add working together day in and day out, and that seemed like a recipe for disaster. “You’re right. Except I’d run for flat ground. Hills and I aren’t friends when running’s involved.”
He nodded.
“And, yeah, it would feel a bit like a pity job, and I can get my own job.” Despite the fact that he full-on said that, I found myself fighting off feeling insulted.
“I was kinda hoping this project taught you that it’s okay to ask for help.” He gestured around the room. “Look at all we’ve accomplished together. It’s because we were here to support each other and keep each other going. You don’t have to take on everything alone.” He locked eyes with me. “It’s okay to need other people, Ivy. It’s okay to ask for help.”
I scratched the back of my neck, not liking this line of conversation, although I did see his point. “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
To Jackson’s credit, he tried to fi
ght his victorious smile, even though he didn’t quite contain it. “So I’ve been wracking my brain for the last week or so, but as you were talking about the furniture refurnishing thing, it made me think of this lady I’ve worked with a few times. Her name is Betty-Joe Crocker, and—”
“Wait. Her name is Betty Crocker? Is she a culinary heiress? Because if you’re trying to hint to me that I should become a chef, first of all, have you seen me cook? That’s right,” I answered before he could, “because I don’t. And second of all, never gonna happen, so keep on dreaming, buddy.”
Jackson tilted his head, his expression asking if I was done.
“Well, you never know. First you think I’m relationship material and the next you think you can make me a cook or a baker. Does the word delusional mean anything to you?”
“Betty-Joe’s business revolves around estate sales,” he said, clearly deciding he might as well charge on with it before I could make more jokes about becoming a domestic goddess. “I’ve been leaving her card behind for people who need furniture. You should talk to her. Maybe it’ll end up being nothing, but there’s no harm in meeting her, right?”
I wasn’t sure how estate sales and my thing went together, but it was nice of him to think of me, and he was right. It couldn’t hurt. “Sure, I’ll talk to her.”
“Cool. I’ll get you her information.”
That seemed to satisfy him, and I took a moment to think back to what he’d said about how much we’d accomplished together. From here I could see into the beautiful finished living room, and if I glanced over my shoulder, I could see into the dining room. The entire downstairs transformation was astounding, to where sometimes it still struck me that Jackson and I had turned an old run-down house into something so beautiful. It’d taken a lot longer than fast-forwarding through the tiring workdays to throw up a quick swipey effect, but it made me appreciate the jaw-dropping after that much more.
We only had a few final touches to make the upstairs match, and suddenly I wanted to slow it all down and find more to fix, because I didn’t want to be done. “Do you ever find yourself wishing a job could last longer?”
Jackson slipped his hand into my back pocket. “Never. I’m always in a race against time, and then something goes wrong, and the schedule is screwed, and people get pissed or sad or sassed, which is a combination of both.”
“Sassed. I like it.”
“But this job…” He curled me closer, and his lips sought out mine. He pressed me tighter to him, until it was hard to tell where he ended and I began, and it still didn’t feel close enough. I poured my longing for…I wasn’t even sure what exactly…into the kiss, drawing it out. Rolling my tongue over his, running my fingers through his hair, savoring his warm body and the way his scent invaded my senses and made me so aware of every inch of him. He let out a shaky breath when we came up for air and whispered, “This job, I sorta wish would last forever.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Jackson and I had just finished a run to the home improvement store—hopefully our last one, since after going there nearly every day for little items and exchanges, I never wanted to step foot inside it again.
Jackson grabbed the door we’d bought, and I was balancing all the bags, still laughing about Jackson’s off-key singing to the radio—Zayn may be able to hit those high notes while being male, but Jackson most definitely could not—when I noticed my mom sitting on the steps of the porch. Shit.
“Mom. What are you doing here?”
“Me? What am I doing here?” She stood, hands on hips. “What are you doing here, Ivy Lynn?”
Busted.
Jackson stepped past her and set the door down. I thought he’d go inside and leave us to hash it out, but he came back down the porch steps and put his hand on my back, a little lifeline gesture that said, I’m here if you need me. I had a feeling I would, my desire to avoid needing someone be damned.
“I’ve been renovating the house so that Dixie can sell it for a higher profit,” I said. “How did you know I was here? Did she tell you? Are you guys talking again?” A glimmer of hope shimmered through me, whispering that maybe this was a good thing. Maybe our patchwork family could be put back together.
Mom let out a huff. “I haven’t talked to Dixie in nearly a decade, and you know that, Ivy. You know why, too. But apparently you’ve been talking to her.”
Guilt pressed in, extinguishing the hope, and I had to remind myself that I hadn’t done anything wrong. Or maybe I had. It was hard to know where to draw loyalty lines with their situation. “I hadn’t talked to her in a few years when I saw the house was for sale, so I called her and told her I’d like to fix it up before she sold it. This house is the only place that ever felt like home to me, and I…” A lump rose in my throat. “I don’t know. I just wanted to say good-bye, but to say good-bye in a different way, I guess.”
“A few years? So you have kept in touch.”
Out of everything I’d said, of course that was the thing she homed in on. “She was like an aunt to me,” I said, but in a lot of ways, she was more like a mother than my actual mom. Maybe that was a disloyal thing to even think, but it wasn’t the first time I’d thought it. “She was family, the only family I was sure I’d always have.” And not even that proved true.
“And what about him? You’re chummy with him, too?”
I didn’t have to ask who. “Rhett was one of the few guys who actually felt like a stepdad, even though he never officially was one. That first semester of college they checked in on me, surprising me with groceries, or they’d take me to dinner. Sometimes Dixie called just to chat. She’d listen as I filled her in on my life, and I needed that. You were too busy to talk a lot of the time, and—”
“Oh. So it’s my fault that you went behind my back?”
“Do you even remember why you’re mad at her? What? She dared to fall in love with one of your castoffs. She felt horrible about it, and she apologized again and again. I could see how torn up she was about it.”
“If she was that torn up, she wouldn’t have done it. And I still don’t buy that she waited until we broke up, because she sure pounced quickly. She was…” Mom’s voice cracked, and tears sprang to her eyes. I’d seen her cry over a lot of guys in my life, but I’d never seen her cry over Dixie, whereas I’d shed plenty of tears over her. “She was all I had, and she betrayed me.” She sniffed. “I guess that’s not true. The both of you were all I had, and you both betrayed me.”
She swiped away her tears and started past me.
“Mom. Come on. Let’s talk this out. You should come inside and see what we’ve done with the place. Dixie has all these scrapbooks that are full of pictures of us over the years. It’s been really nice looking through them and reliving some of our good times.”
Mom shook her head. “I should’ve known better than to drive through this neighborhood. Usually I go out of my way, but today…” She sniffed and shook her head again. “Then I saw your car, and sugar, it broke my heart. I realize you and I haven’t always had the best relationship, but I never thought you’d stab me in the back like this. Just like she did.”
Her words hit true, radiating pain from my heart outward. I wanted to point out that that would be a whole different situation, one that icked me out, but she stormed away, a fan of the last word to the end.
Jackson’s hands came up on my shoulders, and he rubbed at the tension that’d set in there. “She’ll cool off.”
“No, she won’t. She’ll hold this over my head for the rest of my life, bringing it up whenever she needs ammo in an argument.” But the really depressing thing was that she’d still mostly ignore me until she called me up to help her move out of her current boyfriend’s house, and I’d still go.
Maybe we were doomed to repeat the process over and over, learning nothing, neither of us ever finding what we wanted from each other. Out of life.
I wanted to break the cycle. I didn’t know if I’d ever have the kind of relationship w
ith my mother that I wanted to. Most likely, that ship had sailed. I just hoped that it wasn’t completely delusional to believe that not all my relationships had to be crappy just because 90 percent of them had been.
But that dang statistic wouldn’t leave my head, and I wondered again if a rift would form with Savannah if things didn’t work out with me and Jackson. I didn’t want to drive by her house someday, wishing I wouldn’t have ruined things but not sure how to fix it and too stubborn to try anyhow.
Jackson squeezed my shoulder. “Babe?”
“I’m okay.” I inhaled a deep breath. “Mostly okay. I guess a part of me always knew she’d somehow find out and be hurt. I knew the risk, and I took it anyway.”
I put my hand over Jackson’s. Please be different, please be different, please be different…
Chapter Thirty-Two
It was our last night in the house, and everything we’d done today had a bittersweet edge to it, not to mention I was mushier than usual. I’d almost cried when I sat in the reading nook, looking out over the neighborhood and imagining spending hours relaxing and reading as I soaked up the sunshine.
I’d also gotten super emotional over the antique doorknobs Jackson had found at a salvage store. He’d replaced the “perfectly good” doorknobs, muttering and shaking his head at himself, but I think he appreciated the finishing touch more than he would ever admit to.
He’d borrowed a projector from Savannah, hooked up Netflix, and turned our last night into a Netflix and chill situation. No doubt Savannah would claim that was a bad thing, because she was more of an Amazon Prime and commitment girl, but I fully planned on sexy times for the last night in our house.
I guess you could say I’d binged a whole season of Jackson’s body, and even though I knew this was just the season finale of this stage or whatever, I didn’t want it to end.
I placed the bowl of popcorn in my lap and leaned back against the headboard as the movie started up—some action movie with horrible dialogue but extremely pretty people and good special effects.