by Sarah Gay
He jerked his head up. “Yeah?”
“What’s going on? You’ve got this expression on your face like you got caught with your hand in the cookie jar.” She set the water onto the table, then stepped to the counter to fill her plate.
Her phone occupied his peripheral vision. It required serious effort to ignore it. “We didn’t have a cookie jar growing up. My brothers and I didn’t have much in the way of homemade sweets.” If he could distract her with a sob story, then maybe she wouldn’t notice her phone.
“No cookie jar?” she asked with wide eyes, her jaw dropping open as they walked to the table and sat down.
Jack scooped up a forkful of beef and said, “It was traumatizing. I’m not sure how I made it out alive.”
A smile played at Becca’s lips. “Good one. And very original.”
“Thanks. I tend to be quick on my feet.” He lifted his fork in the air. “And quick in the kitchen. Let me make y’all dinner tomorrow to thank you for having me tonight.”
“You cook?” asked Becca and her father in unison, their eyes lighting with excitement.
Jack laughed. “Yes. I cook. After my parents separated, it was just me and my brothers at home until late into the evenings. We didn’t have money to order pizza,” he said, pointing to his plate with his fork, “—so we figured out how to make the food in the pantry and garden taste good. Rob, my older brother, went on to be a chef.”
“That’s impressive,” Becca said, touching Jack’s arm.
Her touch brought their kiss to the forefront of his mind, how her moist lips pressed into his, causing his head to spin.
Becca pulled her hand back, severing the pleasant thoughts. “We’d love to come. Wouldn’t we, Daddy?”
“Can’t.” Her father looked down at his watch. “Need to be in bed early.” He tapped the face of his watch. “In fact, I’m gonna hit the hay in a few minutes.”
The doorbell chimed and everyone looked at each other. “People still ring doorbells?” asked Jack. “Isn’t that practice somewhat archaic and borderline intrusive?” He knew good and well who was ringing the bell.
“Think positive thoughts,” said Becca, disappearing down the hall. “Maybe it’s a bottle of homemade jam. Yum.”
Mental note: she likes sweets.
“Mark!” Becca exclaimed, but Jack couldn’t tell if her inflection meant she was happy to see the guy, or merely surprised.
Royce’s face hardened. “Rocky, my man,” he called to Jack, as he pounded the butt of his fork into the table. “Her mama likes this guy, but I like you. Play your fight song,” he directed Jack, pointing to an AV unit on the wall as he hummed the beat to the theme song from Rocky.
Chapter Five
Becca froze as she stared at Mark on her front doorstep.
“Hi,” she coughed out.
His round face took on an amber glow under the soft light of the antique bronze sconce. He wore a dark suit and held a bouquet of flowers in his hands. He seemed like a nice guy, but she didn’t go for the nerdy type that was wound so tight they’d pop at the mere mention of a needle.
How did he find me? She’d only met him twice before, the first time at an art walk event for her mom’s studio last month, and a week later when he’d come into her store and bought a few African purses. Mom’s behind this, she seethed internally.
He nodded to her in greeting. “I hope you don’t mind me stopping by unannounced.”
She struggled to find her voice, highly aware of the awkwardness of having him at her front door while Jack sat in her kitchen. “No. I’m just a little surprised. I…I wasn’t expecting you.”
He held the flowers out to her. “I heard white lilies were your favorite.”
“Thanks, Mark,” she said, bringing them to her nose and taking a whiff of their sweet aromatic scent. “But, I…I…” she stammered.
“I don’t mean to pressure you,” he said, dipping his chin into his neck. “I got your voicemail and respect everything you said. I just wanted to drop these flowers off as a gesture of friendship. I wish you every happiness. But,” he paused, touching Becca’s cheek, “if you ever need a shoulder to cry on, or find yourself searching for love again, please consider me as an option.”
Becca’s mind internalized her irritation. His audacity and presumptive dialogue had her feeling like she was in a satirical play that mocked romance novels. She wanted to yell, For heavens sakes! I barely know you. That’s a speech you’d give to someone you were breaking off a long-term relationship with, but she’d been raised better than that. “Thank you, Mark,” she said with a reserved smile.
Music played in the kitchen. Becca tipped her head to the side and scrunched her nose when the theme song to Rocky transferred to a speaker above her head. She tipped her face up and stared at the ceiling. “I didn’t know my house was wired with an audio system,” she said in confusion.
“Then who turned that on?” asked Mark, suspicion playing in his eyes.
“I did,” said Jack in a deep voice that resonated confidence. “Jack Jones,” he said, introducing himself to Mark with an outstretched hand.
Mark’s face went ashen, then angry-red. “Mark,” he said in a deeper voice than he’d used with Becca a few seconds earlier.
Becca coughed as the air in the room thickened. “Excuse us, Mark,” she said, hoping to pull Jack back into the kitchen. “Give me a few minutes to put these in water.”
Jack nodded in agreement. Becca walked the length of the hallway to the kitchen before realizing that Jack hadn’t followed behind her. He and Mark remained in a standoff position at the front door. When out of their view, she sprinted through the kitchen, stuck the flowers in her water glass on the table, and turned to run back and diffuse the tension.
Her daddy grabbed her by the arm, stopping her. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” she said, but her body told another story as every nerve in her back tightened.
Her father leaned against the kitchen wall, giving himself a view of the hallway. “Let’s give them a minute. Trust me on this,” he said, motioning for her to join him.
“They get one minute, no more,” she said sternly.
The music ended, allowing her to hear the men’s voices with more clarity.
Jack did the man-nod thing to Mark. “It was kind of you to stop by and check on Becca and her father. Will you please let her mother know how well they’re both doing? We’re all good here. No need to check on us again.”
Becca gasped. We’re all good here? Don’t check on us? She took a step forward to rush out and diffuse the situation, but her daddy touched her arm gently and held up a finger, reminding her that she’d promised to give them a minute.
She narrowed her eyes and mouthed, “Okay,” turning her attention back to the men, barely able to see Mark’s face behind Jack’s body.
Mark’s eyes narrowed. “That might be something you’d like to tell her yourself, if you think Becca’s mom would enjoy hearing from you. Don’t you think you’re getting ahead of yourself?”
“Look,” said Jack in a calm voice. “I’m telling you this because if I were in your position, I’d want to know. Becca’s not into you.”
“And you think she’s into you? What do you have to offer her? Lawn service?” he said with a guffaw. “Hey, maybe you can come and mow the lawn down at my office sometime?”
“Sounds great,” said Jack in a chipper voice. “You own the building and can authorize that?”
A long pause ensued before Mark responded. “You’re nothing but a tan,” Mark barked. “Becca’s going to see right through you someday.”
“You like my tan? Thanks. So does Becca.”
Becca’s mouth dropped open and her fingers curled into fists. Jack did not just say that!
“Minute’s up,” said Becca with fire in her eyes. She looked up at her daddy, challenging him to stop her.
Her father held his palms out in surrender, but his face lit with satisfaction.
Sh
e stomped down the hallway with her arms crossed. “What’s going on here?”
“Nothing,” said Jack.
Mark gave a quick nod. “Becca, I meant what I said. Good night,” he said, turning on his heels and leaving.
As Jack swung the door shut, Becca leaned toward the closing crack. “Thanks for stopping by, Mark, and for the flowers,” she said quickly before the door closed completely.
Jack stepped in front of the door and gave Becca a hard look. “Why are you accepting flowers from that guy?”
“That doesn’t concern you. And what you said to him was rude,” Becca said, placing her hands on her hips.
Jack raised his arms in the air like she should give him a break. “Just two men bantering.”
She gave a slow blink instead, letting him know she wasn’t buying it.
“I’ll make you a deal. Next time I see him, I’ll give him a big hug,” Jack said with a playful grin.
She told herself to not fall for his charming act. “That was rude,” she said, waving her hands in the air. “Why’d you do it?”
“Someone had to. You could never be with a guy like that. You and me, we get each other.”
She pointed at him. “Stop thinking you got me pegged. We hardly know each other.”
“Then let me get to know you,” he begged, reaching for her.
She took a step back, avoiding his touch.
“Becca, come on…I just did you a favor.”
“You do not get to choose who I’m friends with,” she said, turning her back to him and walking toward the kitchen.
Jack grabbed her hand, causing heat to shoot up her arm. “He doesn’t want to be friends with you, Becca. No more than I do.”
His words cut. She tried not to internalize it but couldn’t stop herself. He doesn’t want to be friends with me? She pulled her hand back and waved it around the kitchen. “Then what are you doing here, Jack?” she asked in a deflated voice.
“I thought it was obvious.” He paused as if waiting for her to say something.
After a minute of fuming she said, “Nothing’s obvious here except you telling me you don’t want to be friends.”
“I didn’t say that,” he said more sternly. “At lunch last week, I said that I didn’t think we could ever be just friends and I thought we’d both agreed on that.” he said, pointing to her and then himself.
“More than friends or nothing at all, is that what you’re saying, Jack?” she said, waving a finger in the air. “I could never be more than friends with you until we were best friends first, and after tonight’s performance, I’m not so sure that’ll ever happen.”
“I guess I’m leaving, then,” he said, opening the back door and storming out, the screen door slamming shut behind him.
She stared outside at him with a pit in her stomach. She ventured out onto the deck, watching him intently as he tromped around her back yard, the stars giving off just enough light to make out his form. He must not have known she was watching, because he didn’t look over at her once, keeping his head down and mumbling.
The amusement of watching Jack kick at the dirt wore off after a few minutes, leaving her with emptiness and longing. “You okay, Jack?” she finally asked.
He jolted to a stop, facing away from her. His shoulders slowly relaxed until his arms rested at his sides. He turned around and returned to her back porch. “Becca, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have confronted that guy, especially in your home.”
His apology melted away the hurt. “You still making me dinner tomorrow?”
There was a long pause before he answered. “If you’ll forgive me.”
She blew out a breath of relief. “What time?”
“Seven,” he said in a calm voice as he walked toward his house.
“Bye,” she called out.
“Later,” he said, disappearing behind a row of pink flowering bushes.
Becca’s heartbeat slowed as she closed the door and leaned her back against the kitchen wall. She tilted her head up and stared at the pink, pastel ceiling, taking in a deep, calming breath. “What just happened?” she asked herself.
“I think you and Jack had your first fight,” her father said, pulling a caramel apple out of the refrigerator.
“Daddy!” she gasped out. “Have you been there listening to us bicker this entire time?” she asked, walking to the counter. “I thought you’d gone to bed.”
“Who can sleep with all this excitement?” he said with enthusiasm.
She pushed the serving dishes to the edge of the counter to pack the leftovers into storage bowls. “Point taken.”
Her father set the caramel apple on the counter. “Do you want to watch Rocky and split this apple with me?”
It was refreshing to see her father in a good mood, even if it had been at her expense. “Why not?” she said, scraping the sweet and sour pork into a glass storage bowl, remembering how Jack had made her laugh when he’d poked fun at it.
Her daddy pushed his bottom lip out and punched the air in front of his face.
“At least someone in this house is happy,” she said.
“That makes two of us,” he said, pointing at her. “You just don’t know it yet.” He lifted Navi up in his arms. “And I’m not talking about your cat,” he said as Navi squirmed in his arms, then jumped to the floor. “She seems off after her disappearance. Is she okay?”
Becca opened the back door and let Navi out onto the locked porch. She wasn’t ready to let her cat wonder around free yet. She did a double take when she saw Jack walking through her backyard, spraying bright yellow paint on the ground. She held a hand to her chest and sighed. Perhaps she’d overreacted tonight. She turned to her father. “Navi will come around. You just need to be patient.”
The sparkle in her dad’s eyes told her he’d had a hand in tonight’s drama. “Great advice. I’ll pass that on to Jack,” he said with a devious smile.
Becca clicked her tongue. “Daddy, please tell me you didn’t encourage Jack to confront Mark.”
He held his arms out at his sides with his palms up. “Becca, would I do that?”
Becca slumped into the wicker chair and sighed. “You’re killing me, Daddy.”
“I’ll make it up to you, where’s your popcorn?” he said, opening the cabinet under the sink where she kept the cleaning supplies.
Becca closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Heaven, give me strength.”
The sun had almost fully set, but Becca hadn’t paid attention to the sky on her walk until she’d reached Jack’s house and the horizon filled with red and orange.
She stood on the sidewalk, facing away from Jack’s house and stared to the west, awaiting her favorite time of dusk. It wasn’t the few minutes before the sun dipped under the horizon, like most people on the planet. She preferred the moment just before the upper rim of sun dipped under the horizon, when, if the conditions were perfect, a distinct green spot, sometimes described as a green flash, appeared for less than a second—the last light of day.
Not today, she told herself as the sun ducked under the horizon. She hadn’t ever seen the spot of green light in a city as populated as McKinney, but she could always dream.
“Becca,” Jack called to her from his front step. “Enjoying the sunset?”
“Yes,” she said, turning toward his house with a hop. She stared at his beautiful physique as she strolled up his driveway. “Have you ever seen that tiny dot of green at sunset?”
“Yeah, but it’s been years. I caught it at sunrise once when I was on a cruise ship in Alaska.” The faint scent of men’s cologne lingered on his front steps as if Jack had been standing there for a while. He held out his hand to help her up the steps.
His warm touch melted away her anxiety after their disagreement last night. “Hold on,” she said, stepping inside his house. “It happens at sunrise as well?”
“Yeah, but it’s timed in reverse. The green light appears just before the orange and red colors rise, in o
pposite order of the colors at sunset.” Their eyes locked. “About last night…”
She cupped her hands in front of her chest. “I’m really sorry about that.”
“My bad, not yours” he said, wrapping his arms around her and giving her a quick, tight squeeze, then releasing her. “Don’t apologize. It was my fault. One hundred percent. I hope this meal will show you how sorry I am for treating your friend like I did.” He released her. “I overstepped my bounds and I want to make it up to you.”
If he only knew that she wasn’t even friends with Mark, but it was too late for that conversation. She took in a deep breath and sighed. “Is that homemade bread I smell?”
“That’s only for starters,” he said with a wide grin, leading her through the house to the back door.
As they walked down the hallway, her sight was drawn to a long shelf. It had been empty the last time she was inside, but it now held several hats. She stopped to check out the surprising variety. “You have so many hats,” she said, touching a baseball cap that looked like it had seen a hundred games.
“One for every occasion,” he said with a smile.
The shelf held several worn baseball hats, the brown leather outback he’d worn in the photo Holly had texted her, a cream Stetson hat in felt and one in straw—like the one Jack had worn the day he’d worked in her yard without a shirt on. Becca touched the straw hat with one hand as she wiped the fresh perspiration from her forehead with the back of her other as she glanced over at him, knowing what was beneath his white T-shirt.
“You like my hats?” he asked, leaning against the wall and motioning to the shelf.
“Wait,” she said, more to quiet her own heart than to stop him from talking. “What’s this hat for?” she asked picking up a brown leather cowboy hat with buffalo nickels fastened to its band—the same exact hat her benefactor cowboy had on when he’d paid for her business license.
“That hat,” he said, taking it out of her hands and placing it on his head, “is for talking to the ladies.”
“That hat looks like it belongs in a pickup truck.” She swallowed hard, her anticipation escalating as she stared at him in his cowboy hat. “Have you ever owned an old pickup truck? Something like a huge black Ford a few years back?”