Except Radish.
Poor pup.
He polished off his last bite. “Good pie. Y’all recycle?”
He didn’t avoid Anna and her picking up on purpose. It was more of an on-purpose-accidental thing she was out in the backyard while he cleaned the living room. He should’ve been thinking about getting home to let Radish out, but his brain kept puzzling over why sane folks bothered with love. His daddy and Lance and Kaci included.
He reckoned Mamie might be able to explain it to him, what with her writing all those books about love, but he made a point of not using the L-word in front of her.
Didn’t take him too long to put the living room to rights, so he went in to help dry dishes. The ladies were outside talking. Anna was laughing. The sound made something in his chest go all soft.
“Appreciate the help,” Lance said. He handed over the last of the grill tools for drying. “Know what’s good for you, you’ll knock off before the girls get back in.”
Right smart guy, Lance was. Would’ve made a good wingman except for the settling down part.
“Pass on my thanks to Kaci,” Jackson said.
But Lance got a grin a guy didn’t usually like to see on his wingman. “Anna’s gonna want your address.”
“Just a trick to get her to play.”
That chuckle didn’t go so good on a wingman either. “Girl likes to settle her bets.”
Smart thing to do was walk away and not look back. But a few minutes later, walking past her Civic, Jackson tucked his number and address under her wipers anyway.
He’d never met a woman who’d pay that bet. Wasn’t fair, and they all knew it.
Still, she’d had a look.
And she’d offered to write his momma a thank-you once upon a time.
Might be some perfection in this after all. Didn’t muchmatter to his kitchen one way or another if she paid up, but he liked watching her try to figure what to make of him.
Wouldn’t mind seeing if he could figure out what to make of her.
Payingup on a bet wasn’t usually so nerve-racking. There was nothing personal about forks and knives and mixing bowls, so why did the idea of organizing Jackson’s kitchen feel so intimate? She wouldn’t be rummaging through his underwear drawer or his toolbox.
There went that pesky heart again. She hadn’t had an adrenaline rush like this around a guy since, well, the first time she saw Neil. And all she’d done was think about Jackson’s tools.
And underwear.
Damn heart. This was only a dumb bet with a goofy guy who was friends with her friends, and that muscle in her chest could stay out of it. This waspracticeflirting.
Nothing real.
She adjusted her left hand on the wheel so it was at exactly ten, in line with her right hand’s two o’clock, and felt marginally better. She’d organize his kitchen, keep out of his more personal belongings, and scurry back home before she got any more ideas.
This waspractice, and he was military. She had plans. Get her degree, combine that with her experience at RMC to find a good job back home, buy a cute little cottage, adopt a couple of kids, and live happily ever after.
That pang of regret that she couldn’t have her first choice in life would probably always be there, but she’d make the most of her life yet.
Jackson lived in a yellow-sided, two-story house in an older neighborhood a mile or so from her old home. An ancient Chevy truck sat in the driveway. The rear window featured two decals, an Alabama logo and Calvin peeing on a Ford logo.
Her heart gave another thump at the shadow passing in front of the door.
She wanted to give it a thump right back.
Instead, she climbed out of her car, armed with her purse, label maker inside, and headed up the driveway to the curved walkway.
