by Penny Reid
Rae gave me a little smile, like she found this delightfully odd.
Taking this as a good sign, I went on. “See, one thing I’ve learned over and over again in my line of work is that how a person is raised informs their convictions.”
Rae nodded, leaning back in her seat, watching me.
“Their ideas about the world are formed based on their own experience and the people they know personally. Sometimes, these ideas are so deeply held that evidence and facts to the contrary feel like an attack. This is what it’s like with my mother and red meat.”
Now Rae frowned. “She thinks if people don’t like steak, it’s a personal affront?”
“No, no. Nothing like that. You can talk poorly of red meat, you can be a vegetarian or a vegan—none of that bothers her. She considers those your beliefs, your choices. Fine with her. But if you tried to change her mind, or if she sensed you were judging her belief in the importance of the American cattle industry? Don’t bother speaking to her again.”
“Huh.” Rae’s thoughtful stare moved beyond me to the window. “I guess I feel that way about certain recipes or approaches to acting. It’s like, you have your way, let me have my way, and don’t push me about it.”
“Right, but recipes and acting approaches typically don’t have an impact on the environment, health and wellness, and so on.”
Her eyes cut back to me. “Have you ever argued with your mother about it?”
“Just once. I was in college and thought I could convince her with facts. I didn’t want to change her mind so much as get her to admit there was a valid alternate perspective and that red meat might’ve been the cause for my headaches growing up.”
“What happened?”
I shrugged, chuckling. “I learned my lesson.”
She grinned, studying me, but then her grin waned. “And she forgave you? For arguing with her about a belief she holds so dearly?”
“Of course. I’m her son.” I slid my hand from around her shoulder to her hand, picking it up to kiss each of her knuckles. “She loves me, even if I disappoint her, even when I drive her crazy.”
Chapter 24
*Raquel*
“The American dream is a term that is often used but often misunderstood. It isn’t really about becoming rich or famous. It is about things much simpler and more fundamental than that.”
Attributed to Dorothy Dandridge
Approximately twenty minutes into the evening with Jackson’s family, I felt incredibly silly for being so nervous.
First, his mother was just the kindest, funniest, sweetest, most patient carnivore I’d ever met. When I’d given her the steaks, you would’ve thought I’d given her the moon. But I understood. The steaks were my way of communicating to her that I accepted her, and her beliefs. I wasn’t going to walk into her house and argue with her. I was there to build a relationship, not sabotage it before it started.
Second, Jackson’s sister, her husband, and their baby surprised everyone and arrived fifteen minutes after we did. Just like Jackson’s mom, his sister had embraced me and seemed genuinely happy to meet me. Initially, the surprise had thrown me for a loop. But then Jackson and Jessica had bantered and bickered—
“What are you doing here?” Jackson had grumbled after his earlier excitement when she’d walked in, putting his hands on his hips.
“I’m here for the steak. What are you doing here? And dressed like that?” She’d turned her nose up at him, giving his outfit a once-over. “Shocking.”
“You know we’re here to have dinner with Mom and Dad, and there is nothing wrong with what I’m wearing.”
“I mean, I’m not going to be the one to tell you it’s indecent, but okay. Live and let live. And are you sure your dinner was tonight? Because I’m pretty sure—”
“You are a sneak.” He’d pointed at her, but he couldn’t hide his smile. “What did you do? Hop on a plane as soon as you found out I was bringing Rae over?”
“No! Of course not.” She’d gasped, looking exceptionally offended. “First, I rubbed some coconuts all over a banana and had myself a pina colada. And then I hopped on a plane. Get your facts straight, big brother.”
I could guess what she’d meant by coconuts and bananas. She’d sent a wink to her handsome redheaded husband while speaking and passed the baby to him. Then, they’d kissed.
Jackson seemed both disgusted and delighted by his sister, and this dynamic persisted throughout the evening, which could not have worked out better. Jessica’s—and baby Liam’s—presence had pulled attention away from me, allowing me to settle in and observe first before being expected to engage.
Both Jessica’s husband and Mr. James—I mean, Sheriff James—were polite, but quiet. I got the sense this simply reflected their nature. They weren’t coolly polite, or distant, or unfriendly. More like, they didn’t express their opinions as freely as Jessica, Janet, and Jackson.
Speaking of which, I marveled at Jackson’s boisterousness around his sister. He was not like this with me. When just the two of us spent time together, Jackson would flirt, sure. But mostly he was serene, a little shy, funny but also intense and sincere.
Actually, his father reminded me of the Jackson I knew, the contemplative way he seemed to absorb the conversation around him, only speaking when he felt it necessary to correct a misconception or ask a thoughtful question.
It was neat to see both Janet and the sheriff’s influence on their son, to spot the parts of them reflected in him.
Toward the end of dinner, whether it was my second margarita or the hint of Jackson’s smile I noted in the sheriff’s grin, I felt deep affection stir within me for these people I didn’t know very well but felt convinced I could grow to seriously love.
“Duane, would you help me clear the dishes?” The sheriff stood, lifting his chin toward his son-in-law.
I stood before Jessica’s husband could, picking up my plate and Jackson’s. “Oh, let me help.”
“Oh, no, Rae. You’re a guest today, but next time you’ll be family. Please don’t worry about it.” Janet sent me an imploring look, then sent the same look to Jackson, like he might be able to talk me out of clearing dishes.
“Actually—” Jess chimed in, handing her plate over to me “—let Rae and Daddy do the dishes. It’ll give them a chance to talk. Y’all haven’t let either of them get a word in edgewise or sideways or overwise or underwise.”
“Yeah, Duane. Why can’t you be quieter?” Jackson folded his arms, sending a narrowed stare to his brother-in-law.
The redhead glared at Jackson, saying nothing, a reluctant smile tugging at his mouth. It was obvious there existed a mutual respect between them, if not always a mutual like.
Jessica then launched into a diatribe about Jackson’s propensity to interrupt, which Janet attempted to referee, which left the sheriff and I to clear the dishes. Smiling at the sibling’s antics, I followed Jackson’s dad into the kitchen and to the sink, setting the plates down on the counter. After three trips, we’d cleared the entire table.
“Let me do the dishes,” I said, reaching for the first dish and searching for a washcloth or a scrubby thing.
“Oh, now. That’s not a good idea. If Janet saw you doing dishes, I’d be sleeping on the couch tonight. Here—” he walked over to a drawer and pulled out a towel “—why don’t you dry, and I’ll wash. I don’t know why, but in the hierarchy of chores, drying is more respectable than washing.”
“Okay. Sound good.” We exchanged a friendly smile, and I accepted the towel, positioning myself next to the sink.
It was at this point I realized they had a dishwasher—which he opened and began to load.
I huffed a laugh, folding my arms. “That’s—that was sneaky.”
He sent me a sly-ish grin, and he looked so much like Jackson in that moment my heart jumped.
“Just keep me company. I don’t want to go back out there with the loud people. I need a minute.” Finished with the first dish, he bent to pl
ace it in the dishwasher, adding, “And you’re not loud, are you?”
“I guess I’m not.” I leaned back against the kitchen counter and allowed my attention to wander, noting all the details that made this a home instead of a film set. The paint wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t messy or chipping. It was just old and careworn. Papers and newspaper clippings were stuffed in well-used cookbooks that sat beneath cabinets. A teapot with a chip on the spout. A blender that hadn’t been cleaned after use. A range with one broken burner. A burn mark on the counter. Someone must’ve placed a hot pot on the butcher block before realizing their error.
“That was Jess.”
“Excuse me?”
He tilted his head toward the burn mark. “Jess made the mark there on her last night in town. She and Duane came over and made us dinner. She put the pot in that spot, and it left a mark.”
“Oh.” I considered this information for a moment. “It’s kind of ironic, she goes her whole life without burning the counter, then on her very last day in town she leaves her mark.”
“No, no.” He chuckled. “She’s burned the countertop plenty of times. That one is just the latest in a long history and path of her destruction.”
The way he said this made me laugh, and my laugh pulled a smile from him as he continued. “I usually remove the marks once a year or so, sand it down, polish it back up, but that one. . .” He loaded two more dishes into the washer, saying as he stood, “It might be the last one she makes in this kitchen, so I want to keep it.”
My heart jumped for a different reason this time, and in a different direction. It climbed up my throat, making speech difficult. I wondered, did my father keep the marks his children made in his house? Did he treasure them? It’s hard not to compare. I didn’t want to compare. But how could I not?
Time to change the subject.
Clearing my throat, I walked around him to the side with the dishwasher, taking the cup from his hand and loading it, needing to do something. “So, uh, why do you think Jackson wanted to be a sheriff’s deputy?”
“Have you asked him?” He set the next cup on the counter.
I placed it next to the first. “I did. He said he didn’t feel like he had any innate talents except for patience with people and process.”
“Ha! That’s true—I mean, it’s true he has an innate talent with people and process, but I take issue with him saying he doesn't have any other innate talents.”
Glad to hear the sheriff’s response, I nodded. “That’s what I said too.”
“But it sounds like Jackson.”
We shared a smile that felt quiet with understanding. Man, I really like Jackson’s dad.
“I’d say something pretty significant about himself that he left out is his—his compassion, and his empathy. He’s always been incredibly empathetic, even when he was a kid. He notices things other folks don’t.”
“Like what?” I recognized this about Jackson as well, but I wanted to hear his dad talk about him.
“Like . . .” The sheriff seemed to think matters over for a moment, as though searching for the perfect example. “Like Jackson notices when his mother starts getting arthritis in her fingers, so she can’t peel apples for apple pie anymore. He teaches himself how to peel apples faster than her. This last year, she managed just one for every four of his.”
Yeah. I just fell more in love with Jackson James.
But the sheriff wasn’t finished. “On a similar vein, he notices that my hands shake a little bit when I peel my eggs and end up with half the egg white and a mashed yolk.” He lifted up his hands so I could see the slight tremor, suds dripping from the palms. “So once a week, I’ll find ten hard-boiled eggs, all peeled, waiting for me in my fridge at the office.”
Inexplicably, my eyes stung. Jackson is getting a blow job tonight for being an exceptional human being.
“Those are just two examples.” He laughed lightly, dipping his hands back in the soapy water. “Of course, there’s more, but I don’t know if he wants me tattling on him.”
I watched Jackson’s father wash the next plate and the next, before something compelled me to say, “I met Jackson for the first time at Sienna and Jethro’s wedding. And when we walked out of the wedding tent, he immediately put his jacket around my shoulders.”
“He probably thought you were cold.” He nodded, as though a man giving a woman his jacket happened every day here.
“And since we’d left before dinner was served, he took me to get food.” I smiled at the memory. “Because he thought I might be hungry.”
He set a new pile of dishes on the counter. “So, you see what I mean.”
“I do,” I said, loading the plates. “You raised an exceptional son.”
He glanced over at me, pleasure shining in his eyes. “I hope I meet your mother one day.”
I reared back an inch, his statement confusing and unsettling me. I searched my mind, wondering why this sweet, gentle man would ever want to meet my mom. “What? Why?”
He shrugged, like the answer was obvious, but he said it anyway. “So I can tell her she raised an exceptional daughter.”
Even though Jackson had invited Dave to stay and have dinner with everyone, he’d declined. “Just call when you’re ready to be picked up, or I’ll be here at ten thirty, which ever happens first.”
Dave’s knock on the door at 10:30 PM sharp surprised me. Clearly, I’d lost track of time, and I found myself sad to leave.
“Promise you’ll come back soon,” Janet said as she pulled me in for a tight hug.
“Only if you let me cook dinner next time.” I closed my eyes, enjoying the maternal embrace.
“When will that be?” Jess sent her brother a teasing grin. “Maybe we’ll swing by.”
After hugs and kisses and good wishes were passed around liberally—and Dave was given two covered plates for both him and Miguel—we departed, all of Jackson’s family staying on the front porch until we turned onto the main road.
I sighed. Happily.
“Did you have a good time?” Jackson teased, his eyes full of mischief.
“You know I did.”
“Hmm.” Jackson picked up my hand and kissed my palm, trailing his tongue from the center of my hand to my wrist. “Maybe we could—”
The privacy screen being lowered had both of us looking at the back of Dave’s head.
“Hey. Guys. I’m sorry to interrupt. But we have a situation back at Sienna’s place.”
We glanced at each other, and Jackson asked, “What kind of situation?”
Dave made a grunting sound, long and loud. “So, you see, Harrison is there.”
“What?” I leaned forward in my seat, certain I’d misheard Dave.
“Miguel is babysitting him. He just flew in this evening and wanted to surprise you. We convinced him not to interrupt your evening with a phone call, but I promised you’d be back by eleven.”
Jackson tugged on my hand, drawing my eyes back to his. “What do you want to do?”
I grumbled, irritated that after such an awesome night with Jackson’s family, I had to deal with a surprise visit from Harrison. We’d been playing phone tag for over a week. I knew I needed to talk to him, to figure out how to best separate for the benefit of public perception.
“I don’t know.” I crossed my arms, thinking. “I guess I’ll talk to him, get this worked out.”
Jackson leaned closer, his voice dropping. “Get what worked out?”
“You know, how to make a clean break for the public that doesn’t make it look like we’ve been lying for years.”
This earned me a look from Dave, which I caught in the rearview mirror, and I winced.
“Sorry, Dave. It was fake. No one knew but a few people.”
“Well, thank fuck.” Dave shifted in his seat, bunching and releasing his big shoulders. “Excuse my French, but I never could figure out why you two were together.”
“You don’t like Harrison?” Jackson, seeming genuinely int
erested in the big man’s opinion.
“I mean, he’s all right. He’s no you, but he’s okay.”
Jackson’s pleased smile was a flash of pride, but he hid it quickly.
But Dave had more to say. “I didn’t like that he was always stepping out on my girl here. She deserved better, you know? And it never seemed to make sense because, even after his cheating hit the papers, these two seemed to still get along fine. Raquel wasn’t crying over him. So I thought, ‘Hey. What do I know? Maybe theirs is an open relationship.’ Not so uncommon in the business.”
Jackson absorbed this information, bringing my hand to cradle between his. “Thanks, Dave.”
“Anytime, Jackson.” Dave then lifted the privacy screen, likely sensing we needed a moment to talk.
Once it hit the top, Jackson asked, “Do you want me to stay?”
I rubbed my forehead. “Yes. But also, no. I always want you to stay, I always want you with me. But if you stay tonight, then it might make things tense, and then it’ll be difficult to get him to agree to what I want and leave.”
He didn’t look worried, but I thought maybe I detected the barest hint of jealousy glittering back at me behind his deep-set eyes. I also suspected he worked to hide it.
“Jackson, Harrison is a friend. Yes, we dated once, but that was before you and I met. He cheated on me, we broke up for good, and then I met you at Sienna and Jethro’s wedding. Everything with Harrison since has been for the benefit of publicity.”
“I know.” His attention dropped to where he held my hand.
“My goal for tonight is to hammer out a strategy, one that both he and I can feel good about, that will allow us to split publicly without raising suspicions of our ruse or require telling any more lies. It’s over, it’s done, it’s in the past. But . . .”