Soft Spot: A Hale Street Novella

by Amy Knupp

  Vegas nodded. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back. "Sun feels good, doesn't it? I could get used to this balcony, for sure."

  They sat there in the relative Monday morning quiet, and Asia registered the sounds of the street around them. A car pulling up and parking in front of the dress shop at the end, birds chirping in one of the ornamental trees, someone calling a greeting to Lurlene, who'd been outside with her ferret when they'd walked from the Wentworth Hotel, where Will Darden had given her the apartment key, to here. There were no neighbors screaming at each other. No TVs across the hall blaring some stupid talk show. No doors slamming. It was nothing like the place she'd called home for the past three years, and she loved that about it.

  "I was thinking," Vegas said, bursting into the silence, "that we should do something for Kennedy, Hunter, and Jackson. Maybe a dinner party to thank them for moving my stuff."

  Asia stiffened at the mention of Jackson. At the thought of sitting down to a meal with him. It would be heaven and hell at once.

  "We could maybe do some sort of stir-fry dish," Vegas continued, "chicken and veggies, some rice on the side, and we could buy a box of fortune cookies—"

  "I don't think so," Asia said.

  "I thought you liked stir-fry."

  "I do."

  Vegas turned her head, and Asia could feel her scrutinizing her.

  "They're your friends," Vegas said. "I don't see why—"

  "Jackson keeps asking me out." Her sister was the first person she'd told, and she realized she'd been dying to tell someone. Unfortunately, saying it didn't make the situation go away.

  "What?" Vegas sat up straight and hit the floor with her palm. "Asia, you didn't tell me." Excitement vibrated through her voice.

  "I said no. Multiple times."

  That seemed to stun her sister quiet for a few seconds.

  "You said no. To that hot, hot man." Vegas shook her head, as if mourning a great loss. "Can I ask you a question?"

  "When have you ever asked if you can ask a question?"

  "Are you switching teams?"

  "Am I— No! I like men."

  "How can you not like him?"

  That was the question, wasn't it?

  "I wish I could not like him." Asia stood, went to the balcony, and glanced toward the apartment over the bakery, where Jackson's sister Kennedy lived. Then she looked the opposite way, to the apartment on the end on this side of the street, where Jackson's other sister, Sierra, lived. Two doors down. She couldn't help wondering how often he visited them. Would he see them today, before his trip? Just the thought of catching a glimpse of him twisted up her insides with anticipation.

  And that was exactly why she couldn't get any closer to him.

  "So you do like him?" Vegas didn't bother to hide her confusion.

  "I could," Asia clarified. "A lot."

  "Enough to get your heart crushed like a bug again if—"

  "When it falls apart."

  "My sister, the eternal optimist."

  "Why do you think I'm still single? Why are you?"

  "Because we go for douchebags?"

  No use arguing with that.

  "The only two relationships I've had that lasted more than a few dates—"

  "With douchebags," Vegas inserted.

  "They couldn't handle Mom. And they had questionable backgrounds just like us."

  "Asia, douchebags can't handle challenges. That's part of what makes them douchebags."

  Asia couldn't help grinning — and she couldn't debate anything her sister said.

  "Jackson isn't a douchebag." Asia watched as Hudson Bennett emerged from his law office and walked to his next-door neighbor, the bakery. "He's the opposite. I can't even imagine him dealing with Frannie Knowles. Remember when Donny and I took Mom to the ER for what turned out to be stroke number two?"

  "He dropped you and Mom off at the door and took off, right?"

  "Never to be seen or heard from again. He probably had to fumigate his car to get Mom's alcohol smell out."

  "He wasn't right for you anyway," Vegas said, standing and joining Asia at the railing. "I'd hazard a guess that Jackson has better manners, at the very least."

  "Yeah, he'd see us into the ER and ease his way out as soon as Mom was admitted."

  "She's been okay for a while now, hasn't she?" Vegas asked, running her fingers over the thin braided "band" tattooed on her left ring finger. "Almost a year since stroke number three?"

  Asia held in a scoff. "Depends on your definition of okay." Of course Vegas wouldn't know the day-to-day. "When's the last time you visited her?" she asked, knowing the answer wasn't in Vegas's favor.

  "We visited her on Christmas," Vegas said. "Took her the fruit basket."

  "And left within fifteen minutes."

  "Hey, that was a record. Normally she and I are fighting within five, maybe seven minutes."

  True story. And one of the main reasons Asia didn't normally bring it up or insist her sister go with her on her frequent check-ins.

  "Her version of 'okay' and someone like Jackson's version of 'okay' … not even in the same zip code." Asia stepped away from the railing, gave the balcony one more look, imagining a comfy, cushioned lounge chair to the right of the door, and went back inside. She'd made up her mind. She loved this place. It was up to Vegas.

  Her sister followed her in and closed the door. "Why not give sexy Jackson a chance? You already said he's different."

  It wasn't the right kind of different, Asia knew, and she was tired of going back and forth. Just thinking about their alcoholic, drinking-herself-to-death mother — literally — wore Asia out.

  "I need to get to the center. Have you seen everything you need to see here?" she asked.

  Vegas nodded, turning to take in the place one more time. "Let's haul."

  "You going to the center with me? I'll buy your lunch."

  "I've got a hangnail to tend to."

  Asia rolled her eyes and smiled. "You score high on predictability, anyway," she said as they walked out of the apartment. She worked to force Jackson out of her mind. Tried even harder to ignore her sister's suggestion to give him a chance.

  Chapter Seven

  A week later, Asia was still riding the high of making her first official new hire when the front door of Clayborne's opened and Jackson sauntered in just after six p.m.

  In a rush to look busy, as if her whole world hadn't just done a freeze-frame at his appearance, she knocked over the nearly full water glass Robin, the new hire, had left on the bar after the interview. Ice-cold water missed her file folder but nailed the short, multicolored skirt she'd paired with a deep purple tank. In spite of it, she broke out into a sweat and hoped it didn't show — the sweat or the water.

  Heart racing, she took a shaky inhale and flashed a casual, controlled, not overly happy smile as he walked up and sat on the barstool directly in front of her.

  "Hey, Asia," Jackson said. That's all. Just two little words, and Asia's blood heated at the sound of his voice.

  "Hey." Her smile widened a little of its own accord. "Von can get you a drink," she said, jumping into business mode and gesturing to the short brunette woman at the other end of the bar. "I need to put this away. I'll be right back." She hurried off to the back, rushed into the storage closet turned teeny tiny office that she and the other two assistant managers shared. Sliding the folder into her slot of the organizer on the desk, she sucked in oxygen, hoping it would level her, slow her heart and quell the shakes.

  That exit wasn't her finest hour, she realized. Running away from a guy like a scared rabbit … no doubt the quintessential turn-on. Of course, she didn't want to turn him on, she reminded herself.

  He's just a guy, she silently coached as she tried to collect herself. Think of him as just a customer. You wait on good-looking men all the time.

  Except … not ones who kissed her like they had a direct connection to her soul.

  She shook her head, thinking how out there tha
t idea was, grabbing a tissue from the desk, and dabbing it on the wet spot on her skirt. They could really use a mirror in here.

  Running a hand through her tousled hair, she closed her eyes momentarily and prepared to walk back out there as if she didn't have a worry in the world.

  "Just a guy," she muttered under her breath, and she emerged from the office and headed back toward the bar and the — dammit — super-sexy, killer-kisser guy who watched her approach.

  "Guinness, huh?" she said stupidly, gesturing toward his drink as she went back behind the bar. She remembered he'd ordered it in the past when she'd been his server.

  He raised his glass, then took a drink.

  "Did you want something to eat?"

  "Yvonne's got me covered," he said with a nod toward the bartender.

  "How was your trip?"

  "Busy. Promising. It's good to be back though." Jackson gave her a meaningful look, and there went her heart again.

  Nervous energy ate at Asia, made her want to race around from table to table washing them down, maybe sanding them down and refinishing them while she was at it. At the same time, she wanted to lean across the bar, run her fingers over his hands, memorize the feel of his skin, his heat, listen to him talk…

  "So," she said, searching her brain for a topic, "you went on business?"

  "Lots of business. I had a couple speaking gigs, presented at a conference, squeezed in a few meetings with some of our bigger clients. Met with a couple of prospective clients and did some demos of our newest product, which we plan to start testing in the next two to three months… Ah. You don't want to hear all of that," he said, shaking his head at himself.

  She did, but she didn't want to admit it. She could listen to him talk for hours, the smooth timbre of his voice like the most tempting combination of chocolate and liqueur. Beyond that, this man and everything about him fascinated her. She'd never known a CEO of a thriving company before, and she was drinking up everything he revealed about himself like a woman dying of thirst.

  "What about you?" Jackson asked, reaching out and brushing his fingers over the back of her hand as it rested on the counter. Just a second's touch, but it sent a shiver through her. "What did you do all week?"

  She forced her concentration on his question. "The usual. Worked. Convinced my sister to move to a new apartment with me. You don't have to help us move though, I swear. Unless you want to."

  "Just let me know when. I'll see about borrowing the truck." He leaned forward, a half grin tugging one corner of his lips upward. "Did you do what I suggested?"

  She met his gaze, seeking clarification, afraid she knew exactly what he referred to. "What did you suggest?" she asked, playing dumb, possibly sounding flirtier than she'd intended.

  "Did you think about us?"

  Flustered, she scraped her fingernail over a permanent stain on the counter and then straightened. "See, as far as I know, there isn't an us," she said, tilting her head, keeping her tone light.

  "But there could be." He said it with so much animation and exaggerated determination that she couldn't help but laugh.

  "Are you sure you're the CEO and not in sales?"

  "You'd be surprised how much sales is involved in CEOing," he said, then took a drink of his beer.

  She wished she could be annoyed by his persistence, but he made her laugh. Repeatedly. And he didn't have a god-awful ego the way she'd expect the leader of a large company to have. He seemed humble and down-to-earth, and those two characteristics, especially in that kind of delectable package…

  Why not give sexy Jackson a chance?

  Her sister's words echoed through her head just as Von, all five feet one inch of her, came up beside Asia and slid a basket with pretzel bites, cheese sauce, and a reuben in front of Jackson. "Okay on your Guinness?" she asked in her brisk, efficient way. Asia distanced herself from him a little more by taking a step back and letting Von do her job.

  "I'm good. This smells delicious. Thanks."

  "You bet. You," Von said, addressing Asia. "According to Isla, there's a group upstairs who asked to speak to the manager."

  Fabulous. Asia glanced around the main floor looking for Isla and found her taking orders at table number seven. "Something wrong?" she asked Von. "Do you know?"

  Von shrugged. "Only one way to find out. Good luck." She moved down the counter toward a couple of fifty-something women who'd just come in the side door with a variety of shopping bags and were situating themselves on stools.

  "Enjoy your dinner. I'll be back in a few," Asia said to Jackson.

  Ten minutes later, she made her way down the stairs from the second floor, relieved that the group upstairs had wanted to report Isla's excellent service. She hoped they followed through with a big fat tip for the server as well.

  Without thought, she found herself behind the bar, facing Jackson again, like a hummingbird that couldn't stay away from a giant red flower.

  "Everything okay?" he asked. His beer had been refilled, and his food was nearly gone.

  "Everything's good."

  "So…" He popped the last pretzel bite into his mouth.

  "So…" An awkwardness overcame her as she realized she really should be working. Doing something. Anything. However, she found she suddenly didn't remember what her job entailed. Standing here watching a customer eat… That was definitely not in her job description.

  "I was thinking we could start out small," Jackson said after he'd finished chewing.

  Her nerves buzzed with awareness that they were going back to the subject of "them."

  "How about lunch?" he asked.

  "Lunch?" she parroted.

  "Tomorrow. Come to lunch with me. You choose where."

  "Oh." She stepped closer to the counter. Her gaze got caught up in his intent blue eyes, so close she could see the pattern of denim- and cornflower-blue in his irises. "Um, I can't."

  "Can't? Or won't?"

  "Can't." She didn't normally tell people about her other job. Only Hunter and her sister knew she served lunch to the seniors at the state-funded facility in the heart of, well, the crappy part of town. It wasn't a nice facility by any stretch of the imagination, but there was a time when it had been like a second home to her — during the three years her grandmother had lived there before her death. Asia knew a lot of the residents from back then, all the ones who were left, and she'd gotten to know all the others since she'd started working there two years ago.

  "What about Wednesday lunch?" Jackson said.

  Of course, she couldn't.

  Without giving it enough thought, she said, "I'll pick you up at eleven tomorrow. Lunch will be included, but it's not a date."

  "Not a date?"

  "You'll understand when we get there."

  "Where are you taking me?" he asked, eagerness sparkling in his eyes, and she hated that he would be disappointed, but that was, in essence, the point.

  "You'll see tomorrow."

  "You want me to pick you up instead?"

  She wouldn't dream of taking a car like his Mercedes and leaving it in the center's parking lot for fifteen minutes, let alone an hour and a half.

  "Tell me where your office is and I'll be outside waiting. And now, I should get back to work."

  He took a swallow of beer. "Okay then. It's a non-date."

  Chapter Eight

  Jackson smiled as he walked out the glass doors of his building the next day and spotted Asia's purple car with it's "big fat dent" in the passenger-side door.

  "Did you finally get a date?" Ryan's voice came from behind Jackson when he was about ten feet from the car. His friend and VP was walking in from the parking lot toward the building.

  "This is specifically not a date," Jackson said over his shoulder.

  When he reached the Escort and looked back, he couldn't miss the knowing smirk as Ryan bent down to see who, exactly, was in the car.

  "Uh-huh. From the party," Ryan said as he waved at Asia.

  "Go be productive." J
ackson opened the door and lowered himself to the worn light gray upholstery.

  "Hi," Asia said, a pretty but apologetic smile on her face. "Sorry about the eggplant embarrassment factor."

  "Not embarrassed. Pretty sure Ryan's jealous that I'm going somewhere with a hot blond chick."

  She looked like she didn't believe him but didn't say anything as she pulled away from the curb.

  As she turned out of the parking lot, he stole a sidelong glance at her, taking in her conservative black pants, simple white shirt, and plain black flats. The outfit was lacking her usual bright colors. However, she seemed to make up for that with long, dangling earrings with multiple different-colored daisies and a necklace with a chunky ice-blue stone.

  They were both quiet for a couple of minutes. When she stopped at the first stoplight, he said, "Gonna tell me where you're taking me yet?"

  "You'll see when we get there."

  "No hints?"

  "No hints. I promise you it's somewhere you're not familiar with anyway."

  He studied her. "Mysterious."

  "Don't get too excited," she said, seeming nervous.

  A Dierks Bentley song came on the radio, and she turned it up, effectively ending any chance for conversation.

  Ten minutes later, they were deep into a part of Nashville Jackson hadn't been in for a couple years. They turned off a commercial street, where every other building was abandoned, most of them vandalized as well, onto a road lined with identical boxy apartment houses on each side, all of which looked like they should be condemned. A group of a dozen kids, most of whom appeared to be ten or younger, was gathered on the curb in a circle, and he did a double take when one of the younger ones leaped out into the street and gave him and Asia the finger.

  "Almost there," Asia said, ignoring the kids.

  Two blocks later, she drove into a parking lot.

  "Spring Meadow Care Home," he read out loud. "What are we doing here?"

  Asia parked and pulled the keys out of the ignition. "I work here."

  "You work at Clayborne's."

  "Nights at Clayborne's; Monday through Friday lunch shifts here."