by Joelle Duff
I saw him eyeing the empty seat across from me, and for a second I wondered if he was going to actually ask me if it was taken.
Instead, he skipped the question altogether, and just sat down.
I raised my eyebrow at him. “So,” I said, clearing my throat. “This is weird.”
He smirked, which sent my heart into overdrive. I could almost hear it sputter to a stop, and I hated myself for it.
“What is?” he asked, that fucking crooked smile still on his face. He tilted his head to one side, as if he were goading me into losing it, right then and there.
It pissed me off, and I glared at him. There was no way that I was going to let him turn me, Melanie Devlin, queen of practicality and level-headedness, into a hormonal teenager.
“Why are you here Jackson?” I asked, trying to keep my voice level, if not filled with the irritation that I so desperately wanted to feel.
“Why not?” he shot back, raising his eyebrow right back at me. And then he took his sunglasses off. Goddamnit, he took his sunglasses off.
I poured myself another glass of wine, and drained half the glass quickly. “I’ve been in California for exactly five months, and I have yet to see any celebrity. At all. And now, here you are. Again.”
The smirk on his face softened, but he still stared at me with those eyes. Those incredible, deep blue eyes.
“I wanted to come see you. Apologize for what happened on Saturday. See if I could make it up to you.”
“You already apologized to me on Saturday. There was no need to come find me.”
“I know, but I still feel bad. I can’t get the look on your face out of my head. I feel like an ass.”
I frowned, and played with the rim of my wine glass. “How did you know where to find me anyway?” I asked, keeping my voice down when I saw a group of girls come down the sidewalk. I watched as Jackson looked down, and to his right, keeping his face hidden from them. Thankfully, they were too busy talking amongst themselves to notice the star in their presence.
“I asked Meredith what bakery you worked at. It wasn’t that difficult; I figured you would have to be here sometime. Unless they fired you, which I’m really hoping they didn’t.”
I shook my head. “No, my cousin owns the café. I told her what happened, and she just laughed and told me not to worry about it. Apparently it was much more amusing to her than it was to me,” I said bitterly.
Jackson choked out a laugh, and I glared at him. “Sorry,” he said, his eyes gleaming. “I don’t mean to laugh at you. Really, I don’t. I just can’t get the image of you covered in frosting out of my mind. It was cute.”
I couldn’t help the blush that crept up my neck. Did he really just call me cute? I finished my wine, and quickly refilled it. At this rate, I was going to need to get another bottle.
“Aren’t you going to offer me any?” he said, gesturing to the bottle.
This man. This infuriating, sexy man. “Seriously?” I asked. “You crashed my solo date, and now you want me to share my wine with you? Get your own wine,” I said, pulling the bottle from his reach.
His laugh echoed down the empty street, and filled every crevice of my body. I could feel it ringing in my ears, its warmth radiating all the way down to my toes. It was infectious, and I couldn’t hold back the laugh that struggled to break free. It came out strangled at first, but eventually we were both laughing. Laughing together, laughing at each other. Laughing at the ridiculous image of me, covered in cake and frosting, looking all sorts of pathetic.
And then suddenly, he stopped, and I was left alone in my hiccupping giggles. I looked up to where he still sat across from me, and found him looking directly at me, through me. He wasn’t even smiling anymore, just staring right through my soul.
I flagged down the waitress quickly, and asked for another bottle and another glass. She barely even glanced in Jackson’s direction, and headed back inside.
We stayed silent for a few minutes, while I nibbled on a piece of cheese and avoided his gaze. Finally, I heard him clear his throat.
“Where did you come from?” he asked, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms.
“What?” I asked, slightly confused.
“You said you’ve been here for five months. Where did you come from?”
I looked at him warily. I was almost afraid to tell him, for fear that he’d laugh at me again. “Kansas,” I said finally. “I moved here in February.”
Jackson nodded, as if he was thinking about something.
“To bake?” he asked, motioning to the café and bakery next to us.
I looked behind me slowly, not really meeting his gaze again. “You could say that,” I just said. I could see him frown from the corner of my eye. “Where are you from?” I asked, hoping he wouldn’t push me anymore. I wasn’t ready.
“Here,” he said with a shrug. “Well, about an hour north of here, in the suburbs.”
“I guess that would make it easy to break into the industry?” I asked, though I immediately felt stupid for asking. I had absolutely no idea how easy or difficult it was for him to ‘break into the industry.’
He didn’t seem to mind. “Yeah, you could say that,” he said, smiling at me. I felt that heat creep up my neck again, and I tried to rub it away quickly.
“Do you like it?” I asked cautiously. He hadn’t mentioned his career to me, but he had to have known how difficult it was to ignore that little detail.
“Of course I do,” he said, thanking the waitress when she came back, and he poured himself a glass of wine. “Well, most of the time, anyway,” he amended, half frowning. “I guess you could say that the good outweighs the bad when it comes to my choice of career. I enjoy acting. I just don’t like what comes with it.”
I was the one to frown this time. I imagined that it must get difficult, always being recognized and stalked and having your picture taken. It sounded exhausting.
“At least you found something that you’re good at, and enjoy. That has to count for something,” I said.
Jackson smiled again, and I couldn’t pull my eyes away. It was a sincere smile, one that reached his eyes. “Absolutely. I wouldn’t want to do anything else in the world.”
I thought for a moment. “But, if you had to choose something else, what would it be?” I asked, honestly curious.
“I’ve never really thought about it before,” he said.
“Really?” I said, surprised. “You never had a backup plan, like being an accountant or going to law school?”
Jackson made a face at me. “Oh, God no. I could never be happy sitting in an office all day. I could barely make it through high school, let alone college.”
I stared at the wine glass in front of me, wondering if I should just leave now. My situation was almost too different to even justify sitting there with him. I had to fight to get through high school, and college was never even an option. Regardless of how much I’d wanted it.
“To be honest,” Jackson said, interrupting my thoughts of abandoning him. “I really never had a backup plan. I always kind of just knew that this was what I wanted to do. And I knew that I would do whatever it took to get here.”
I didn’t say anything right away. I was too busy trying to convince myself that what he said didn’t matter, though I knew deep in my soul that it did. Apparently I was quiet for a little too long, because Jackson decided it was time to start asking the hard questions. The ones I wasn’t yet ready to answer, even to myself.
“So, if you didn’t move here to bake, why did you?” he asked, looking directly at me. This guy did not play around.
I shrugged, trying not to let my anxiety show. “I guess I just needed a change of scenery.”
“Did you come with someone?” I could almost see the question in his eyes. I hadn’t really let myself believe that he was interested in me, why would he be? But why would he be asking if he didn’t really want to know the answer. I guess the real question was whether or not I wanted to give him the answer.
I licked my lips, glancing back up at him. “No,” I said firmly. “I’m all by myself.” I tried not to emphasize that last point too much. He didn’t need to know the dirty details.
“Wow,” he said. “That’s brave.”
I let out a humorless laugh. “It sounds much more exciting than it is, really.”
“Do you like your job?” I couldn’t really fathom why he would want to know, why he would care. I almost refused him an answer, again, but the look in his eyes was nothing but genuine. Earlier in the conversation, and on Saturday, it was like he was almost teasing me, but not anymore. Definitely not anymore.
“Not particularly, but I should. I should be grateful for having a job at all.”
“Why don’t you apply for a job that you would like to do somewhere else?”
I smiled sadly. “It’s not really that easy,” I said quietly.
“I’m never a fan of doing something you don’t like,” Jackson said, obviously unconvinced.
I didn’t say anything after that, just finished my glass of wine, and Jackson let me. Eventually we started talking about everything else: the party on Saturday, after the cake fiasco. My cream puffs (apparently even Jackson had tried them). His newest movie that he was going to be traveling to Europe soon for to start promoting.
For some reason, that last fact made me sad. I had no right to be sad; I was lucky as it was to just be sitting there then. I had no hold on him, and I shouldn’t have had any expectation that I would see him again. Or that he would want to see me again.
When the sun started setting, and we’d been sitting together for over two hours, the waitress stopped by with the check. Even they closed early on Monday nights.
“How do you like LA so far?” Jackson asked as he pulled the check toward him. I frowned, and reached for my purse. I wasn’t about to let him pay for my wine. This wasn’t a date. Well, it was supposed to be a date, but most definitely not with him.
I shrugged, reaching across the table to grab the check, but he swatted my hand away. I glared at him again, and he just laughed. Again.
Finally, resigned, I leaned back in my seat and crossed my arms. “Well, it’s not Kansas,” I said, “which is definitely not a bad thing. I haven’t really had a chance to explore the city yet, but I’m sure I’ll like it when I do.”
“You’ve been here for five months and you still haven’t been to the beach? Or Hollywood? Or Disneyland?” he asked, shocked.
“Not really,” I said, taking the final sip from my glass. “I typically stay in the general vicinity of my apartment.”
“Which is where?”
I motioned around me. “Right here. I live in the loft above the bakery.”
“Oh,” he said, surprised. “I mean, it’s a quiet neighborhood, sure, but it isn’t too far to West Hollywood or Santa Monica. Haven’t you been to either?”
“Not really. I don’t have a car, which makes travel a bit more difficult.”
Jackson frowned again. He was doing that a lot today. “Now, that’s not okay. Let me take you out again. It can be something for you to look forward to.”
I bit my lip. I knew there was no way I could say yes. Our little impromptu date (if it could be called that) was fun, but I couldn’t let it go any farther than that. For so many reasons.
“I appreciate the offer Jackson, I really do. But I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
“And why not?” he asked, unashamed.
“It’s just not a good time for me. I’m sorry,” I lied.
I was surprised at the look of disappointment that came across his face. I was nothing special, as I’d been told plenty of times in my life. Why on earth would Jackson Traver want to see me again?
“Well, if you change your mind, I would love to see you again. Let me give you my phone number. You can call me any time.” I watched as he wrote his number on the receipt and slid it across the table to me. “I had a great time today Mellie.”
I took the piece of paper off the table out of courtesy, and smiled back at him.
Chapter 5
I stormed out of the restaurant, ignoring the calls coming from behind me. It was dramatic, sure, but I was beyond reason. I was livid. By the time Collin caught up to me, I was already climbing into a yellow cab that I’d somehow managed to hail.
“Please Melanie, I didn’t mean it. Come back inside,” he said desperately as he tried to hold the taxi door open.
I sat in the back of the cab, my hand on the door handle and my eyes closed. I willed myself not to lose my composure, though an uncharacteristically angry Mellie was about to expose herself.
“Collin, let go of the door,” I said quietly.
“No,” he said. “Please, just talk to me.”
“I’m not going to just talk to you,” I spat out furiously. “That’s exactly what I was doing back there, but apparently that isn’t enough.”
“Of course it’s enough,” he said, desperation clear on his face. “I’ve loved getting to know you, I just got caught up back there. I was a completely ass, I’m sorry. But please, let’s just talk about it now.”
I looked at the pathetic look in his eyes, and was somehow completely unaffected. “You’re right. You were a complete ass back there, but you’ve already said everything I needed to hear. Goodbye,” I said, forcing the door closed.
I refused to look back as the cab rolled away from the curb, but I assumed he was still standing there. I’d been called a lot of things in my twenty-three years of life, most of which was untrue and based purely on jealousy and unfounded gossip. But this was different. He hadn’t even made a move to kiss me yet, but I’d convinced myself that wasn’t my own fault. As far as I was concerned, he didn’t even seem interested.
I hadn’t doubted before that night that he was perfect for me. He was everything I wanted in a man, or so I thought. He was boring and unassuming and only slightly attractive. But perfect men didn’t have conversations regarding their sex lives, or lack thereof, with others. Or maybe they did. Even having such a conversation could have been forgivable, but I shouldn’t have to know it had even occurred.
Of course, I wasn’t supposed to know what he’d been saying about me. I’d made the unlucky mistake of going to the restroom at the exact moment that one of Collin’s old fraternity brothers had spotted him across the room. I hadn’t noticed him walking toward our table, but he’d definitely noticed as I walked away in my new, short skirt.
When I’d returned to the table, both men were faced away from me, so it was purely an accident when I overheard their conversation. I wasn’t naïve when it came to relationships as masculine and misogynistic as those between fraternity brothers. I probably would never have even blamed Collin for having a slightly offensive conversation with his old friend, if he hadn’t been the one to utter those severely offensive words.
I looked out the car window, still angry. We were almost to my apartment.
The driver dropped me off in front of the café, and I handed him a bill without waiting for my change. Thankfully the café was open on Thursday nights, catering to the small crowd that wanted cocktails and a late night dinner closer to home on the weekends. I had no intention of even heading up to my apartment. I needed something to distract me.
I didn’t even bother changing, just set immediately to work, furiously throwing in flour and sugar and butter into the mixer and watching it all come together. It was therapeutic, and most definitely took my mind off of the things that I so desperately wanted to forget.
I was in the middle of rolling out the dough for my cinnamon rolls when I heard the squeak of the swinging door behind me. I barely paused, not in the mood to make small talk with Darcy or any of the other girls working that night. They knew better than to interrupt me when I was in a baking mood.
Whoever came into the kitchen didn’t say anything, and for a second I thought that they’d actually left. But then I felt it, heard as his heavy feet made his way closer to me. Coll
in had been thin, tall and lanky, completely unassuming. Jackson was solid, nearly twice my own size, and there was no way I couldn’t feel his eyes on me.
I slowed down my rolling, trying to reign in my breathing. I wasn’t in the mood for anyone tonight, least of all the one man who affected me like no other. But I couldn’t ignore him; I couldn’t help the shivers that came down my spine when I felt him come even nearer. I finally stopped my rolling completely, but didn’t turn around. I closed my eyes, hoping for the second time that night that I could maintain my composure, but for a much different reason this time.
“Can I help?” I heard his rough voice from behind me. It was nothing like the voice I heard in all those movies I watched over the weekend.
I tensed, but finally looked over my shoulders to where he stood. Even on my step stool, which I needed because I was too short to get the leverage I needed to roll out my dough on the counter, he was still a full foot taller than me.
I didn’t move my gaze from his chest, almost afraid to look him in the eye. But he didn’t force me to look at him either. Eventually, reluctantly, I nodded, and stepped down from the stool and into my high heels. I stayed silent as I placed one flour-covered hand on my hip, stretching my other out in front of me with the rolling pin. I finally took a chance and looked up at his face, and saw a small, playful smile come across his lips. He took the rolling pin from me, and kicked the stool gently out of his way.
“Don’t be too rough with it,” I said, leaning my back against the counter next to me. “It needs to stay cold.”
He worked for a few minutes in silence, concentration evident on his face. I didn’t even bother trying to avert my eyes while he worked. Even just rolling out the dough, I could see the muscles in his arms and shoulders flexing. It did things to my insides that I didn’t expect. I’d never really experienced anything like it before, that type of attraction. It made my heart beat loudly, quickly, and for a second I was terrified that he could hear it in the silence of the kitchen.
“What are we making anyway?” he asked, not taking his focus away from the task at hand.