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The food reference echoed for a second longer than normal in his head, but Jackson shoved it aside. It had been over a week since he’d decided to put the pedal to the metal and concentrate on the job in Carly’s backyard rather than the heat in her sexy smile. The whole thing should’ve been easy, since he’d only caught shadowy glimpses of her through the windows here and there as he’d finished the job. He hadn’t even had to worry about facing her for the final walk-through, since Carly’s roommate, a tall brunette who looked like she’d sprung from the catwalk of some upscale runway, had taken care of it instead. So really, Jackson should be breathing a sigh of relief that there hadn’t been an awkward encounter. Getting jacked up about a woman, not even one who kissed like that, wasn’t on his agenda. It couldn’t be.
So, why couldn’t he get her out of his head?
“I thought this was supposed to be a small family get-together. How is it you suddenly need a canopy tent that takes up half the yard?” Shane’s question jogged Jackson’s thoughts back to the here-and-now of his mother’s backyard.
“Two words: Brooke and Autumn. I swear my sisters could make a three-ring circus out of a trip to Joe’s Grocery.” Jackson picked up the metal bars that made up the corner post and started fitting them together, waiting for Shane to mimic his movements with identical parts for the opposite side before continuing. “This thing surpassed ‘small family get-together’ last week. Now it’s a full-blown epic event. My ma’s been getting food ready nonstop since yesterday morning, and I doubt she’ll take a breath until people start flooding in through the back gate.”
At least there was one thing Jackson couldn’t complain about. Given his mother’s track record for gatherings like these, the food at this not-so-little shindig was going to be off the rails, and he planned to take full advantage of the down-home spread. Between the barbecue and the beer, he’d be all set.
Don’t forget about the fake girlfriend.He rubbed a hand over the sudden unease that had parked on his sternum like a Buick and measured Shane with a careful look.
“You know, I’ve been thinking. Maybe this Jenna thing isn’t such a good idea. Maybe…”
“Jackson? Are you and Shane okay out there?”
Jackson clapped his mouth shut, swallowing the rest of his words. “Absolutely. We should have this thing put together pretty soon.”
His mother leaned out the back door wearing a food-splattered apron and an ear-to-ear smile. “Okay. I should have some of this chicken salad ready to go in a bit, in case you two are getting hungry. Just come on in when you’re done.”
Jackson’s stomach growled as she retreated to the kitchen, which had to be bursting at the ceiling joists. “Well, at least we’ll be eating well for the next week or so.”
“Tell me about it. Bellamy’s made four pies in the last twenty-four hours, and had two more in the works when I left. It’s total kitchen insanity over at my place, too.” Shane finished putting together his half of the metal skeleton and stood back to examine his handiwork. “So, you were saying something about Jenna?”
“You know what? I’m probably blowing it way out of proportion. We’ll all hang out, have a good time. No big deal.”
“Bellamy asked me about it after you left the other night.” Shane’s eyes skipped over Jackson’s for a brief second before he turned his attention back to unfurling the canvas for the canopy.
Jackson exhaled through his teeth. “What’d you tell her?”
“That you have your reasons for not wanting to get serious with anyone.” He yanked one edge of the cream-colored canvas over the corner post of the tent frame to fasten it in place, and the action gave Jackson a minute to decide how to proceed. He opted for the standard, easygoing approach that was as much a part of him as the swirl of his fingerprints.
“Look, I don’t have anything against serious relationships. I mean, other people fall in love and get married all the time. It’s just notmything.” Jackson gathered the opposite end of the canvas, attaching it to the posts on his side with a series of efficient tugs. In this case,not my thingroughly translated tono way in hell, but it wasn’t as if Jackson could really say that out loud, especially to Shane, who was clearly crazy in love with Bellamy.
Shane didn’t lift his eyes from the tent. “At the risk of getting my ass kicked for saying so, you’re not your father, you know.”
Jackson stopped short, a fistful of canvas twisting in his palm. His answer shot out before he could reel it back.
“Well, nobody really knows that, do they? After all, I look exactly like him. That probably wouldn’t be so bad, except from time to time, my mother flinches when I walk into a room.” He snapped the canopy over its corresponding corner post so hard, in hindsight he was shocked it didn’t tear.
“It doesn’t matter who you look like. You’re not him,” Shane insisted, his voice low.
Fuck this. He knew his friend meant well, but he was so not having this conversation. “If it’s all the same, I’d rather not stir things up and find out.”
Unfortunately, Shane’s response was measured and steady, which meant Jackson wasn’t going to get out of this as easily as he’d hoped. “I’d just hate to see you miss out on a really good thing because you’re caught up in what your old man did over twenty years ago. Just because he—”
“No.” Jackson held up a hand to cut Shane off. Enough was enough. “Look, I know you have good intentions here, I do. But with the exception of a little guilt over fooling my mother from time to time about my relationship status, I’m happy doing what I’m doing. I’m not too jaded to see that being serious works for some people, and I’m glad that it does. All I’m saying is that I don’t want it to work for me, okay?” The overhead sun beat down on Jackson like a vengeful marching band, and he swiped his forearm over his sweat-laced brow.
Shane pulled the final corner of the tent canopy over the frame, knotting the ties into place with a series of smooth tugs. “Okay,” he said. “My mistake.”
The hitch in his dark eyes as he focused his glance on the finished canopy suggested that Shane’s remorse was genuine, and Jackson shifted at the sudden pinprick of guilt left in its wake.
“No worries, man. You want to help me anchor these stakes in the ground? I’m starving over here,” he replied, trying on a small smile. The hollow feeling that invaded his gut every time anyone brought up the F-word loosened its grip, and the thought of his mother’s chicken salad made the blurry image of his father even more indistinct as he pushed it from his mind.
“You? I’m shocked,” Shane said, rumbling out a laugh.
“Yeah, yeah. Pick up the pace, grease monkey, or I won’t leave you any chicken salad.”
Shane dutifully gave Jackson the finger, and the two laughed and joked until the tent was secured into place in the backyard. As they headed for the house, still jawing back and forth, Jackson couldn’t help but run a hand over the ache that had settled right beneath his ribs.
