“See?” Jack says, pointing to their silent exchange. “You’re already getting lost in those eyes. Let me call the band.”
“Fine,” Madi says. “But it’s not calling, right, Siena? Haven’t you been emailing with them?”
“Yeah,” I reply. “I’ll forward the thread to you.”
“Great.” Jack pauses. “What exactly am I emailing the band about?”
I type his name into the cell. “Just to check that they have everything they need and know where to go the night of the reception. They cost an arm and a leg, so they’d better.”
“Should’ve saved some money and had Austin do the music,” Jack says.
“We discussed that option since Madi and Rémy’s first dance song is one of his originals,” I say, changing the color of the cell to reflect that Jack is handling it, “but he’s on tour. He’s the only one in my family who won’t be here.”
He leans in closer toward me, and my Jack sensors are whirling around like crazy as he peers at the screen.
“Did you black out my cells?” he asks.
“Your name is in white,” I say defensively.
“Real subtle, Sheppard.”
“What? Black Jack. It just makes sense.” I glance at Madi, wondering what she’ll think of the sort of terms Jack and I have settled into over the past couple of weeks. But she’s smiling at me like she appreciates me giving him a hard time.
Jack shakes his head. “Okay, Black Jack it is. What else can I do to help?”
21
JACK
After dividingup the tasks for the wedding, the work begins. Madi and Rémy head to their room to triple-check they have all the documents they’ll need for the civil ceremony at the city office that will take place the day before the wedding.
“You surviving?” I ask after shutting the door behind them.
Siena’s staring at the spreadsheet, the tip of her thumb between her lips. “What?”
“You look like you’re about to select-all and change everything to red.”
She laughs and shuts the laptop lid. “Just familiarizing myself with the new plan.”
“And dying a little inside. Admit it.”
She gathers her laptop in her arms. “I’m not! I really appreciate everyone’s help. Yours included.”
I close the lid of the container with the cut strawberries. We made a good dent during the meeting, but we still have a whole other case left, and time is running out. Soon they’ll be rancid strawberry puree. “Listen, I know how hard it is to delegate. That’s basically my job. I’m the brains behind the idea, but I don’t have the skills to do most of what it takes to make it happen.”
“I thought you were the eye candy.”
I grin at the jibe. It’s evidence things are somewhat normal between us. Which, to be clear, they aren’t. Not for me, at least. Unless it’s considered normal to think about and want to wrap your arms around a person every 2.5 seconds. “I’m a man of many talents.”
“And a master of none.”
“Ouch, Sheppard,” I say with a smile. “I promise to be a master of the tasks I’ve been assigned for the wedding.” It won’t be hard. My jobs are pretty easy. I feel a little like a toddler whose mom has given him some unnecessary, easy assignments just to get him to stop asking to help her with the important stuff. But I shouldn’t complain. I’d rather excel at the easy stuff than mess up the hard stuff. This is Madi’s wedding, and aside from the fact that I want it to be the happiest experience possible for her, it’s as important—maybe more important, honestly—to Siena, and her feelings have begun to matter to me. A lot.
Which is why I’m really trying to be happy about her date with Philippe. If it’s what she wants, why would I stop her? It’s not like anything can happen between us. Anything more, I should say. In fact, as far as Madi knows and for all intents and purposes, nothinghashappened between us.
* * *
Everyone isbusy working on our respective tasks for the evening, including me catching up on some work with the exercise app. Siena crunches numbers, surrounded by a plethora of receipts when I come out of my room around seven o’clock, feeling peckish.
