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I’m about to offer more—I don’t know what, exactly, but something—when he shakes his head.
“Nothing you can do, thanks. Except…maybe it would feel good to get this shit off my chest to someone who doesn’t have a horse in the race.”
“Your family?”
He nods. “Them, accountants, investors. I’m not looking for advice, but I’ve been holding everything in for so long, I feel like something’s gotta give.”
“Don’t let the fuckers win. Talk to me. Maybe you’ll feel better.”
He smiles at that, and haltingly, grudgingly, he begins to talk. “Cone of silence?” I nod. He nods. “It’s what I alluded to the day of your interview. Our accounting is off. We have expenses that don’t make sense. I’m having trouble getting my dad to talk about them, and I think he’s the only one who knows where the money was spent.”
“He won’t tell you?”
“He…no, he won’t.” He opens his mouth, and I wait for additional explanation, but he shakes his head. “It’s complicated. He may have made a mistake. I don’t know. Maybe keeping me in the dark is his way of protecting me.”
I nab two fries, dip them in ketchup, and offer them to Jackson. His lips part, and I gingerly pop them inside, thumb grazing his bottom lip as I do it. I feel his breath hitch, and it makes my heart beat faster.
Swallowing down the urge to touch him again, I look away, dip two more fries in mustard, and eat them myself.
Two of the cars that were in the lot near us have left, and we may be the only ones still here. I’m aware of my looming commute home, but this feels like stolen time with a man who holds his cards close.
“Anyhow, the clock is ticking, and I need to find a way to find profits no one has thought of or creatively balance the books so shareholders don’t pummel us. And I’m pretty much in it alone.”
“That’s stressful.” I’m starting to understand why he’s so surly and grumpy all the time, and it makes my heart twist in my chest. It’s a lot for anyone to carry around.
“Yeah.”
“Can you talk to your siblings about it? Maybe they know things that can help since you’re all managing different parts of the business.”
“I don’t want to involve them in my problems.”
“Jax…” His hand flinches under my finger when I use his nickname. Before I can lift it away, he turns his hand over and wraps his fingers around mine. It feels like a bullet left a gun aimed straight at my heart. Like my hand is his lodestone, keeping him tethered and comforted in this moment. A lifeline.
I’m certain he can feel my pulse quicken, but he says nothing. So I continue. “You have a stronger work ethic than probably anyone I’ve met. You can figure this out. If you need me to come earlier in the morning and take Fiona to school, I can do that if it gives you more time to work.”
“No.” his growl leaves no room for interpretation.
“So, how can I help?”
“You already are. I’m grateful to have you taking care of Fi—it’s a tremendous load off. The rest…I’ll get to the bottom of it.”
He crumples up the wrappers from our burgers and offers the tray of fries to me a final time. I shake my head, and he takes our trash to a bin. I feel the void when his hand leaves mine, but he seems to pay it no mind, so I tell myself the meaningless gesture was temporary comfort. For him, not me.
I have more questions, but I can tell he’s shared all he plans to for now. It gives me insight into why he’s so tightly wound, so I tuck away the information like gold nuggets.
We settle into the Jeep, and he pulls onto the road. I look behind us, where I see only darkness, and I feel certain we’re going the wrong way.
“I’m new to Napa and all, but isn’t Buttercup that way?” I point over my shoulder.
“Yeah. I’m taking you to Berkeley.”
I shake my head, thinking I must have misheard him. “What? No. My car’s at the winery.”
“Okay, but your day’s already gone off the rails because of me. You’re tired. Let me drive you the rest of the way, and I’ll send a car for you tomorrow to come back to work.”
“Jackson, that’s absurd. I’m good to drive. I’ll grab a cup of coffee on the way.”
“No. End of story.” He makes no move to find an exit ramp and turn us back in the direction of the winery. This man is as stubborn as a mule.
