Two Weeks (15 page)

Chris doesn't respond, and neither do I. Our eyes lock and I can see the unadulterated fear on his face. But the further I look into him, the more I see that I can't do this, even though I'm pissed. I imagine his three kids and wife, stuck in that tiny shithole apartment here, living paycheck to paycheck.

They're stuck in Red Lake, and this is the only job he's got right now since the economy sucks. I finally calm down.

I realize that yeah, I
could
deliver a fatal blow, but I don't want to. That's for the ring, not here. I take a nice deep breath. I'm not vindictive, even though I feel that way sometimes.

My sudden patience is surprising. Almost as surprising as my volatility when he brought up Ally.

"Nothing's wrong," I say. "We were just messing around." I turn and face the manager for the first time, trying to lend credence to my statement. I fake a toothy grin, but Chris still looks shocked. The manager is exclusively paying attention to me, however.

He's a short, bald man presumably in his mid-forties. I'm not sure if he's from around here or somewhere else since the store has changed ownership a few times even though the family name on the outside never changes.

The manager scoffs and shakes his head. "Chris, can you
try
to keep things a little more professional around here? Remember, you're at a job, not at the bar with your buddies."

"Yessir," he says both mechanically and obediently. I feel bad for him.

The manager leaves just as quickly as he arrived.

"Thanks for covering for me," Chris whispers.

"It's fine," I say. "Sorry for grabbing you."

"Maybe I had it comin'," he says solemnly.

"Seriously, it's fine. But I've got to get out of here, Chris." Once again, he's doing a great job at apologizing, but still not doing his actual job.

"Right." He scans all of the items as quickly as humanly possible, not even stopping to check my ID for the wine. I lift it so he can see it.

"I don't need to see that," he says. "I know how old you are."

"If he's watching you and you don't check it, he could fire you."

"Dammit, you're some kind of genius or something." He pretends to look at it and then hands it back. I put it away and swipe my credit card. Chris bags up my groceries and I'm shocked at how fast he's finally moving. He's a hard worker when he wants to be.

By the time the receipt prints, he's got everything ready for me. "Have a nice day, Jackson," he says. "And sorry."

"No problem," I say.

I get the hell out of the store before I encounter anyone else. When I'm in my truck, I start laughing, a nervous sort of cackling. What a weird encounter. I'm still shocked at how offended I got thinking about those guys ogling Ally. It was all that I disliked about Red Lake exploding in my face at once.

Then again, I'm proud of the restraint I demonstrated when he basically pushed me to my limits. I'm not sure where it came from.

I fill up with gas and grab a six pack of beer from the store cooler inside.

After I arrive home, I text Ally to find out when she's coming. She tells me six, so I throw the stuff in the fridge and chill out for a little bit. I want to have everything ready by the time she arrives, so I'll get started soon.

***

Ally

A
lthough I tell Jackson six, my mom starts cooking earlier than I expect. I decide that I don't want to walk out to go eat somewhere else right as they start eating, so I have to adjust my plans.

My wardrobe is fairly limited—this trip was only supposed to be three days after all. Thankfully, I brought half my closet in case indecision kicked my ass. I still have a nice variety of cute dresses.

I decide to wear the denim dress I've got buried in the bottom of my suitcase. I'm thrilled when I find it, a thrift store discovery that's finally being put to good use. It's a little short, but that's okay.

I tell my mom I'm taking off and then I sneak out the side door before my dad arrives home. I decided that I'm going to tell them the truth the next time they ask.

So now I'm trying to make sure they
don't ask
because I'm certain it'll be a little awkward.

I sit in the rental car and drop the windows for a minute to let the hot air out. The shower I took post-gardening has already been undone in just a few short minutes outside and I'm thankful I remembered to wear deodorant.

My intention to text Jackson before leaving is undone by my forgetfulness.

After the short drive, I park behind Jackson's truck. I figure he's in the garage training, but when I approach the door, I notice the lights aren't on. I'm an hour early.

I head to the back porch and tap on the glass to get his attention. Jackson is sitting in the living room, beer in hand. He looks shocked to see me.

I'm shocked to catch him
relaxing
. I grin and try to open the door, but it's locked.

"Lemme in!" I shout as I tap on the glass.

He puts his beer on the table and runs over to me. "Sorry," he says through the glass. I hear the lock click and then the door slides opens.

"Hi," I say, immediately hugging him. I'm kind of surprised when I do it. "Sorry I couldn't work out today."

He hugs me back, matching my intensity. "It's no problem."

"When am I gonna see you fight?" I ask.

"This Saturday. Unless you've got other plans." Our hug slowly ends until we're just standing on the doormat.

"You think I've got something else to do around here?" I ask.

"That dress is incredible, by the way," he says, ignoring my statement entirely.

I shirk at his direct compliment, but really, it makes me feel great. "Well, your whole body looks incredible," I say with an ingratiating tone.

"Thanks," he says. "I've tried to get it down to a science. It's not just narcissism—it's a personal goal." He motions for me to come in. It's hot as hell and we're standing inside with the door open. The air conditioner is probably engaged in the biggest fight of its life.

"I see that," I say playfully.

"Okay, so my plan was to cook for you. To have it all done before you got here." He grins at me. "But that clearly didn't happen since you showed up early."

"What's on the menu?" I ask.

"Steaks, broccoli, and fingerling potatoes. And salads."

"That sounds awesome. I'll help you cook then." I'm excited since I'm usually too busy to cook. However, my mom's skills rubbed off on me in a serious way and I haven't forgotten what she taught me. "Only if you've got a beer for me, actually."

"Absolutely," he says. He pulls one out of the fridge and hands it to me.

"Thanks." I twist off the cap take a sip. "Let's get to work."

I work on the potatoes while he lights the grill and marinates the steaks. I preheat the oven and ask him for instructions. "What were you going to do with them?" I ask.

"I guess olive oil, butter, rosemary, salt and pepper. And anything else you can come up with." He continues working on the meat as he rattles off the ingredients.

I chop them into small pieces and line the pan, drizzle them with olive oil, and then add the seasoning.

"This is much easier with two people," Jackson says. I catch glances of him trying to perfect his marinade through dainty little tastes. Even though preparing meat
is
kind of a guy thing, he has a domestic, almost feminine charm as he works. "As much as I wanted to surprise you, I'm glad to have the help. I think I'm in over my head."

I laugh at his honesty. I'm shocked that this is my life right now, hanging out and cooking with Jackson Ames. I came home less than a week ago and everything changed in my life at basically the exact moment I arrived.

I wonder how long this will last.

"I'm glad to help," I say. "This is easy stuff."

He nods and doesn't waver from his task. When he appears satisfied with his efforts, he dunks the steaks in the mixture he concocted and then takes them to the grill. I finish the potatoes at roughly the same time and put them in the oven.

We handle the broccoli as a team. He makes a cheese sauce in one pan and I cook the broccoli in another. After that's done, we each make a salad out of the greens and sit down at the table to start eating while we wait for the rest to finish.

The salad is simple, but it's fresh and satisfying, a nice start, especially with everything else we'll be eating. It's some kind of natural ranch dressing and it's really flavorful. The greens are actually a little spicy.

Jackson checks on the steaks periodically. "How do you want yours cooked?" he asks, brandishing the greasy spatula from the grill like a sword.

"Medium rare," I say.

He smirks. "My kind of woman."

"Whatever," I say. "I just don't like it burnt to a crisp."

He disappears again. As I wait, I wonder how often he cooks a meal like this. I wonder what he eats when he's alone.

The door slides open a few minutes later and Jackson carries in the pan holding our two juicy steaks. I can smell them immediately and my mouth starts to water.

"I forgot—there's white wine in the fridge too. Why don't you pour us a couple of glasses? They're in the cabinet next to the sink."

I happily fulfill his request, pausing only to grab the potatoes from the oven. After everything is done, we fill our plates and sit down at the table.

Everything is just as delicious as it looks, which means it's amazing. We end up with far more cheese sauce than necessary for such a small batch of broccoli, so we cover the steaks with it too.

"This steak is awesome," I say. "The marinade is out of this world. It's zesty and spicy and lemony and sweet all at once. You barely soaked it too."

"It was my dad's favorite recipe. He lives on through his marinade."

"No kidding," I say. "It's perfect with the cheese too."

The mood is great. Time flies by.

Jackson suddenly rises from his chair. "Let's go sit outside and watch the sunset," he says.

I nod and stand up. We do a brief clean up job and refill our wine glasses

When we get outside, it's definitely cooled off. It's still muggy, but it's quite pleasant. We sit down together on the cushioned hammock swing, and I lean against him, cradling my wine glass between my fingers.

Jackson wraps his arm around me and together we stare at the beautiful, golden orb as it slowly descends in the sky. "I'm so glad I'm here," I say. I'm a tad bit drunk, but not wasted since we ate so much.

"Me too," he says. "I'm really glad you stayed."

"I can't believe how beautiful this is." I'm in awe at the incredible display in front of me. The reflection of the sun against the water is entrancing. The surface of the pond gently shakes, distorting the straight path of the beams of light. "You should charge admission for this view," I say.

"Who should I charge?
You?
" He laughs and it shakes my body since I'm against his arm.

We sit in silence for a while, listening to one another breathe. It's hard for me to even fathom how romantic and wonderful this whole evening has been. It makes me realize that there was
never
a period like this with Max. He wasn't capable of it. It wasn't in his DNA.

We never slowed down to savor anything.

I'm thrilled to be here with Jackson, and despite Liz's morally-questionable suggestion to use Jackson as a mere rebound, I'm just glad she got me to stay here with him. I actually feel like I'm on vacation for once.

I'm not constantly checking my phone.

I'm not constantly checking my email for some work emergency.

I'm just
here
.

"I wish we could go swimming," I say, not aware of what I'm getting myself into by saying it. "Why don't you have a pool?"

"I have a
lake
," he says matter-of-factly. "We can swim in the lake."

I stare over at the water. I've never really been the outdoorsy type, but I'm curious. "Is it, uh, clean?" I ask.

"It's totally fine," he says. "I've swam in it plenty of times."

For some reason, as much as I want to do this, my mind is still looking for an escape. "Well, I don't have a bathing suit with me."

Jackson turns and faces me, wicked look in his eyes, wicked smile on his lips. "We could
skinny dip.
" He says the words with the same level of maturity as a horny teenage boy describing porn.

I'm suddenly filled with an unparalleled sense of excitement. "Uh." I finish off the glass of wine and set it down before continuing. "What if someone sees us or something?"

"Nobody is going to see us. It's dark."

"But what if there's a stalker with a night vision camera?"

Jackson playfully flexes his bicep. "I'll beat the shit out of him." He stands up and stretches out his arms and then discards his shirt on the bench like he's unwrapping a present—just for me. "C'mon."

My heart is pounding. I've never done anything like this before. It's so subtly exhibitionist. There's a nervous excitement propelling me forward, but I'm still vacillating as far as he's able to tell. I like toying with him.

"I'll go first," he says. "And I won't look when you get in."

I bite my tongue. "You promise? I
can
be shy sometimes. Especially when I'm naked in public."

He laughs. "Of course I promise. If promising gets you naked then I'll—"

"Shut up," I snap. I stand up, but I don't move yet. "You're sure it's not full of snakes or piranhas or something?"

Jackson cocks a brow at me. "Do you think I'm trying to kill you or something, Ally?
And myself?
" After he catches my sardonic smile, he shakes his head. "Wait, don't answer that."

I start laughing, only stopping when I again realize how gorgeous and perfect he is. The glowing moonlight gives everything an ethereal sheen, and I can see the perfect chiseled silhouette of his torso. He's studying me carefully. The muscles tense up in my gut, anxiety spilling forth into my body.

His eyes seem to notice the tension I'm feeling, like they were waiting for it the whole time. It feels sensual, yet I'm trying to make him believe it's mere giddiness—like I just accepted a stupid dare and have to go through with it now to save my adolescent honor.