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He nodded. “The part about her wanting you to be with someone to be happy, yeah. I think my mother would breathe easier if my life included some things that it doesn’t, too. I’m happy being who I am. But she doesn’t see my bigger picture the same way.”
“That’s a perfect way of putting it, actually,” Carly agreed. “Okay, yes, I’m a little homesick, but at least I have a job out here. I’m running my own kitchen, on my own terms. And the experience will make me that much better when I do go back to New York, so it’s worth it. I’ve just got to get through this crap with Travis first.”
A muscle ticked in Jackson’s jaw. “Yeah, he sounds like a real prize.”
“It sounds cliché, but I was young and stupid. He charmed the hell out of me, and I fell for it hook, line and sinker.” She paused, letting out a laugh as the unintentional pun registered.
“You get one bad fishing reference per day, so this time, I’ll let you slide,” Jackson said, re-setting his lure with an easygoing smile. He turned to cast, the hypnotic whir of the fishing line sliding over the reel just as it had for the last half hour as she’d talked. Being out here was oddly relaxing, and the just-right combination of sunshine and lakeside breeze on top of it seemed to reach down and pull the tension right from Carly’s shoulders. Which was nothing short of a miracle, considering the topic of conversation.
“So, what now? I mean, your lawyer said you can still proceed with the divorce, right?” Jackson asked gently enough, but she still had to fight back a wince before answering.
“Yeah, that part’s pretty cut and dried. I filed on solid ground, and there are people who can corroborate Travis’s affair.” The word tasted bitter, like coffee that had been on the burner for way too long. “Sloane and I managed to knock about half the stuff off the list of things he wanted back. I’m convinced he already has some of the other stuff, but is claiming he doesn’t just to drag the whole thing out. At any rate, my lawyer filed the paperwork showing I complied in a timely manner, but there are no guarantees the judge will move to proceed. So, for now, he’s getting what he wants.”
Frustration bubbled in Carly’s chest, pushing her thoughts right past her brain-to-mouth filter. “You know what sucks about it the most? I actually believed in marriage and happily ever after once. I thought Travis and I were going to take the culinary world by storm and live our dreams, but instead I just got taken for a ride.”
“Better that you found out when you did, rather than further down the line,” Jackson said, but she shook her head in a tight swing.
“What would really be better is if I’d never believed in it in the first place.” Carly’s words echoed over the lake, sending a ripple of disquiet up her spine. God, she really was jaded. But if she’d never fallen for Travis’s empty promises, she wouldn’t be in this mess.
Jackson reeled his fishing line all the way in, lifting it out of the water. Instead of re-casting, he put the fishing pole down carefully and came to sit next to her on the bench seat across the back of the boat.
“Maybe. But you can’t change that now, so there’s really no point in worrying about it.”
Carly sighed, leaning against his sun-warmed frame slightly, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders to pull her closer. The tough, land-on-your-feet part of her told her to end the embrace. If she wasn’t going to indulge in a pity party for herself, she sure as hell wasn’t going to let someone else throw one, either. But as she melted against Jackson’s body, the steady calm of his chest pressed to her side, she felt a smooth wave of comfort roll through her, filling up even the tiniest places.
And she didn’t want to let go.
“Easy for you to say,” Carly mumbled into his T-shirt, nestling closer. “You’re not the one getting divorced from the world’s biggest jackwagon.”
Okay, she really needed to stop feeling so sorry for herself. She shifted, fully intending to let Jackson go and put her game face back on, but he surprised her by holding her even closer. He leaned into the corner of the bench seat, pulling her back to his chest, and chuckled into her hair.
“Nope. But that doesn’t mean I can’t help you out a little while you are.”
Carly’s insides tightened, her heart skipping in her chest. “You are rather helpful,” she murmured, letting him brush his lips against hers. She relaxed in his arms, her body going liquid as he kissed her, then pulled back to give her a smile.
“Just a little food for thought.”
* * *
In the end,although the idea of peeling every inch of clothing from Carly’s hot little body right there in broad daylight was enticing as hell, Jackson forced himself to pull away. As badly as he wanted her, getting caught naked by some unsuspecting tourist family—or worse yet, the local coast guard—was just a bad plan. Plus, what she needed was a shoulder to lean on. The rest of his anatomy would just have to wait. He commanded himself to overlook her slightly puffy lips, saying a silent prayer of thanks when she re-twisted her sensually mussed hair into a tidy knot on top of her head.
“Hey, are you hungry? I brought lunch.” Carly brightened as she reached for the picnic basket he’d tucked away in the oversized storage console. His stomach growled in an audible rumble that made her laugh. Christ, he wanted to eat that sound instead of whatever she’d packed, just take it in and swallow it whole so he could have it inside of him.
Okay, right. He needed some sustenance, because clearly, he was losing his mind.
“I’m always hungry. What’ve we got?” He stood behind the wheel of the boat, maneuvering back upstream a bit. They’d managed to drift pretty far down into the eddy, and Autumn’s husband Chris would be right pissed if Jackson ran his boat aground, no matter how pretty the woman distracting him might be.
Carly’s face lit up even further as she rummaged through the contents of the basket she’d moved to her lap. “Italian pasta salad, brick sandwiches, and oh! Amaretti for dessert.” She waved a cellophane bag of buttery-brown cookies with a flourish.
“I’m sorry, did you say brick? As in, give me some mortar and I’ll build you a house, brick?” Jackson killed the engine, having gotten them far enough upstream that he could easily drift for a while without being in the way of passing watercraft.
“Relax, I’m a chef, not a stonemason. The sandwiches are made with cold cuts—sopressata, pepperoni, and capocolla, to be precise—but in order to fit all of that plus the Provolone, the roasted red peppers and the greens on there, I had to hollow out some of the bread and put bricks on the sandwiches overnight. The weight compresses the ingredients slowly, without mashing them to a pulp.”
Jackson’s brow hiked at the surprising heft of the sandwich she passed his way. “Jeez. This thing must weigh two pounds.” His taste buds joined his stomach in a jig of anticipation.
“Yours probably does,” Carly agreed, taking out another sandwich that was half the size of the one in his hand.
He laughed. “My appetite precedes me, then?”
