“And that right there? Her biggest seller. The ladies really go in for it.”
“Does it work?” Jesus, did he really just ask that?
Ethan shakes his head quickly, the kind of jerky motion one makes when they’ve swallowed a bitter pill, then casts his gaze to the floor. His mischievous smile has been replaced with a sheepish one.
Is he embarrassed?
“Well?” Jackson presses.
“I’m sure you understand,” Ethan says, lancing Jackson with his eyes, “we’ve been married for nearly two decades. I love my wife, but—”
He doesn’t need to finish his thought; everyone knows about the seven-year-itch, the sparks dying down, the humdrum of marriage.
Jackson can feel his pulse threading through his neck. The thought of Ethan being unsatisfied is an enormously overwhelming one.So much opportunity.
A bolt of sunshine slashes through the clouds, spilling golden light across Ethan’s perfect cheekbones. As in the men’s room at the Boat House, Jackson yearns to lean over, kiss him right now.
“Lemme show you the rest,” Ethan says, tromping from theroom.
Wordlessly, Jackson follows, his eyes tracing Ethan: the small of his back, where his shirt is damp with sweat; the delicious sliver of a gap between his beltline and skin, exposed where his shirt creeps up above his hips; leather suspenders clasping his pants, holding them up.
Jackson imagines snapping those off, tugging Ethan’s pants down.
He’s drunk with these thoughts as they walk the few paces to the woodworking shop. When Jackson follows him inside the open-air structure, he sees Ethan has more than just a table saw; he has a proper workbench glittering with tools, a circular saw, and assorted pieces of furniture in various stages of production.
Sitting on one of the worktables, a thick Bible is splayed open.
Jesus Christ. Literally.
“This will be the top of the desk I’m making for Chip Chambers.” Ethan glides his hand across a slab of wood that rests on a pair of sawhorses.
“Nice wood!”
“Yep. Solid piece of maple. As you can imagine, the Chambers areveryparticular.” Ethan rolls his neck, rolls his eyes.
Charleigh may be territorial, but she’s not all that particular; she pretty much leaves all design decisions up to Jackson, which he loves. It’s because, unlike the other wealthy people in this town, Charleigh comes from nothing. And even though she actually possesses better taste than most, she’s modest about it.The other wealthy folks here, though, can be downrightastonishingin how demanding they are, how full of their own opinions and importance.
“Believe me, I know,” Jackson replies. “What are you thinking of for the legs?”
“Ah, they, of course, wanted something tacky. Spindly legs with feet like a dragon’s, but I talked them out of that. Convinced them that mid-century was the way to go. Timeless, clean lines, dovetailed joints—”
“Love it. That’ssoto my taste, too.”
Ethan walks toward something. “But this—this is what I really wanted to show off to you.” His hands palm a gorgeous piece of wood; his playful smile is back.
Jackson practically floats across the space.
It’s an oval-shaped piece, the color of honey, with intricate scallops cut out at the edges.
“This is absolutelydivine,” Jackson gushes. “Maple?”
“Close. Alder. I’ve been saving this piece of wood ever since we lived in Minnesota. Here, come closer.”
Jackson moves right next to him.
Ethan circles so that he’s standing behind Jackson. Reaching around him, he lifts the wood from the bench, angles it to make the sun hits it just right.
Jackson gasps.
