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“Hi,” he says. “Jackson Finch.”
My heart quickens as he drops my hand. He studies me for a beat longer before he swings his chair back to the computer, resuming his typing.
“Pleasure to meet you,” I say as Emily coaxes me out of the office. She closes it quickly and rushes off.
We both exhale. Hers must be relief. Mine is to try and cool down.
He is the handsomest man I’ve seen in a good while. Some people avoid closed-off people, but after a lifetime of seeking others’ approval, I see it as a challenge. I’ve been called weird enough in my life so it doesn’t faze me.
“That went better than I expected,” Emily says as we reach the end of the hallway.
“It’s now my mission to say hi to him every morning.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to. He seems lonely.”
“He’s not. He likes to be alone. He’s just…”
“Grumpy?”
“Yes, that’s a great word.”
“I love grumpy,” I say. “He just needs sunshine.”
“My brother needs the Sahara Desert if that’s the case. Come on, I’ll introduce you to my other brother Cameron, who is much more outgoing. He’ll talk your ear off.”
“Can’t wait,” I say. I hear something and turn to see the door close to Jackson’s office. My heart drops, but I still smile.
Jackson Finch is my new project. I willmakehim like me.
2
Jackson
Iwake up to vigorous knocking at my door.
“Oh shit,” I say, sitting up, the headache hitting me in my temples like a sledgehammer. When I stand, I stumble, bracing against the wall.
I don’t remember falling asleep on my couch, but it happened. Sundays are my day off from the brewery, so I stayed up late drinking whiskey and going down Internet rabbit holes. It’s ten o’clock, and I wanted to get to our garage gym by at least nine.
Fuck me.
I open the door to find my mother. Scowling.
When I first moved home, I rented a small apartment off Main, while this apartment stood empty. My mother wore me down, and I eventually moved into their refurbished garage apartment this summer. It’s less than ideal because my mother knocks on my door several times a week. I usually answer, because if I don’t, she uses her key. Or calls the police.
“Jackson Rollins.” She used my two names. I’m in deep shit.
“What’s up, Mom?” It hurts to open my eyes completely.
“The monthly employee barbecue is today. Did you forget?”
“I tried to,” I say, shaking my finger. “Thank you for reminding me.”
“Are you going to grace us with your presence?”
While many businesses try to say their employees are family, my parents took that dare and said “hold my beer” this year. We’ve become one of the best places in Goldheart to work because my dad treats his employees well, and one of his tactics is lots of free food and alcohol. After a suggestion from Emily, we now have monthly events (sometimes more) that I bob and weave away from like I’m an elite dodgeball player.
