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The one that had nothing to do with food.
7
“If either one of you tells my sisters I said this, I swear I’ll deny it. But seriously? This party’s not half-bad.”
Jackson rocked back on the heels of his work boots and surveyed the crowd dotting the lush expanse of his mother’s backyard. Waning early-evening sunlight poked through the leafy canopy of trees overhead, scattering the golden tones of summer over the partygoers. People wound their way through the yard, clear plastic cups of iced tea or frosty beers in hand. An occasional burst of noise rose up from the horseshoe pit at the far end of the yard, usually following the resonant metal on metal twang of a ringer.
Beneath the canopy Jackson and Shane had put up mere hours ago, three long, wood-planked picnic tables stood at the ready, dressed up in red and white checked tablecloths like it was their Sunday best. In the true spirit of a small-town gathering, everyone had brought “just a little something” to share with the crowd, and platter after platter filled with top-secret family recipes graced the tables in a wide array of mouth-watering down-home charm.
“You clearly haven’t tried the fried chicken yet. Dig into that, and your ‘not half bad’ will slide right on into ‘I’m never leaving,’” Shane said with an arch of his brow. “And don’t get me started on the biscuits Lily Callahan brought from her new bakery.”
“There’s fried chicken?Andbiscuits?” Bellamy moaned, clutching her stomach. “When did all that get here?” Her green eyes skimmed the nearby table with a look caught betweenoh yeahandno fair.
“Mrs. Teasdale brought the platters out while you were helping Autumn dish up the pulled pork,” Shane replied, taking a draw from his beer.
“Speaking of ‘I’m never leaving.’ You mother’s pulled pork is to die for, Jax. Honestly, it should be its own food group,” Bellamy said.
Jackson scanned the yard, catching sight of his mother sitting at a picnic table with Dylan and Kelsey. The lines on her face seemed lighter somehow, partially erased by happiness, and he smiled at the sight.
“Yeah, she let me dig into it before I hit the grill. This might be one of the best batches of sauce she’s ever cooked up.”
He’d been all too happy to man the grill, flipping everything from burgers to brats and feeding the masses for over an hour as the crowd had grown. Something about the deep, smoky scent of the charcoal sent all of his neurons into total relaxation mode, and the orange-edged glow of the coals combined with the hypnotic hiss of the meat on the grill just hammered the whole perfect-day thing home for him.
“Hey, when was your last Jenna sighting?” Jackson asked, lifting his brows at Bellamy as he fished around in a nearby cooler for a beer. As soon as he and Shane had finished with the tent, Jackson had made up his mind to stop worrying about the whole faux-girlfriend thing for real. His mother deserved to be happy, and if that meant a little sleight of hand on his part, then it was worth it just this once.
“By now she should be on the road, but with the spotty cell service up here, I can’t catch her to find out when she left,” she said. “I know she feels horrible about having to get here so late. Her boss doesn’t normally pull a Cruella Deville, so something awful must’ve gone down at work for her to have to go in today.”
“It’s all good,” Jackson replied with a wave, and he meant it. The atmosphere buzzed with the happy chatter of neighbors catching up, eating and laughing. The air seemed electrically charged with the down to earth goodness that fit Pine Mountain like a puzzle piece, and Jackson drew in a big breath of it, letting it rush through his chest. Man, on a night like this, he felt almost anything was possible.
“So, where’s this girlfriend who’s going to make an honest man out of you?”
Except maybe that.
“Wow, Brooke, you don’t cut any corners, do you?” Jackson asked drily, covering his grimace with a sip of beer.
“When it comes to giving you a hard time, I pull out all the stops,” his sister said with a grin. “So, really. Where is this mystery girl? I’m starting to think you made her up.”
“Huh?” Jackson sputtered, sending beer on a straight shot to his windpipe. Shane whacked him on the back with one hand, covering up what was surely a smart-assed snicker with the other.
“Jenna had a work emergency, but don’t worry. She’ll be here,” Bellamy assured Brooke with a genuine smile, while Jackson proceeded to cough up what felt like a vital organ. God damn, his lungs were on fire.
“Wow, little brother. You okay?” Brooke balanced her daughter on one hip, juggling a huge bowl of potato salad in her opposite palm as she peered at him with concern.
“Wrong pipe,” he gasped, finally managing to clear his throat and stand upright.
“Hey, Brooke. Let me take that for you,” Shane offered, swooping in for the distraction. From his expression, it was clear he meant to get the scoop—so to speak—on the potato salad, but Brooke didn’t skip a beat.
“Thanks, doll.” She handed off her daughter with practiced ease, while Shane gave up a look of mild terror.
“You have to admit, you deserved that,” Bellamy said, then turned to coo at the baby, “Oh yes, he did. Didn’t he?”
Shane held the baby as if there was a live grenade beneath her Pampers and pigtails, and Jackson laughed.
“Come on, dude. Hailey’s not even old enough to be that squirmy yet. Just don’t drop her and you’re all good.” He took the bowl from his sister and wedged it next to a platter of confetti-colored fruit salad, his stomach perking to life with the prospect of round two.
“Okay, hotshot. You want to show me how it’s done, then?”
“Oh, no.” Brooke’s long blond ponytail danced behind her, brushing her shoulders as she shook her head. “I have plans for this one. It seems we’re running way low on ice, and Mom wanted a couple gallons of ice cream to go with Bellamy’s pies. Now that you’re done on the grill, think you can manage a run to Joe’s?”
