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Gavin shook his head. “I asked, but all he said was he’s a personal acquaintance. I can tell him you’re occupied, if you like.”
Her thoughts whipped to the way Jackson had come to see her on the sly all those weeks ago, to tell her the truth about that night in his mother’s garden.
Maybe it was her turn for a little truth-telling now. She steeled herself with a deep breath. He wouldn’t let her down. She’d given him a chance when he came to her with his feelings, and he’d do the same for her. Carly felt sure of it.
“Adrian, take the pass. Bellamy, tonight’s your lucky night. You’ve earned that grill, for a few minutes, anyway.” Carly watched with satisfaction as Bellamy’s green eyes went as round as Napa Valley grapes on the vine. In sharp contrast, Adrian’s gaze narrowed to I-don’t-think-so slits.
“Something about this feels off,gnocchella.” The gravel in Adrian’s voice made his disdain clear, but Carly wiped her hands on her apron, undeterred.
“It’s fine, Ade. Jackson and I have something to work out, but I mean it. It’ll be fine.” She squeezed his wrist, but couldn’t be sure if it was for his reassurance or her own.
“If you’re not back in five, I’m coming out there.” Adrian snatched a ticket from the queue and barked an order at the line.
“In five, you’ll be plating the last few dishes of the night. I won’t be long,” Carly promised over her shoulder, nudging her way past the double doors with one hip.
The dining room seated only a smattering of people, and as Carly’s eyes adjusted to the ambient light from the copper sconces and overhead fixtures, she scanned the room for Jackson’s familiar features. Coming up empty, she caught Gavin as he returned from checking in with the hostess.
“You said someone wanted to see me?”
He gestured toward the fireplace by the far wall. “Table sixteen. Do you want me to come get you after a minute or two?”
Carly swallowed. Sixteen was a two-top, tucked away in a cozy alcove toward the front of the house. No wonder she hadn’t been able to see Jackson at first glance. “No, no. That won’t be necessary. Thanks, Gavin.”
Carly set her shoulders and made her way through La Dolce Vita’s dining room. The idea of speaking her mind in this case was nerve-wracking to the tenth power, but even though she’d thought she had a gelato’s chance in hell of ever falling in love again, Carly knew without a doubt how she felt about Jackson. And he deserved to hear it, not in the throes of passion, but out loud. For real.
Okay. Now or never. Carly worked up the words, putting them on the tip of her tongue and knowing they were right.
Only what came out of her mouth as she rounded the edge of the alcove was nothing more than a shocked gasp, erasing all the words from her head save three.
Oh, my God.
“Hello, Carly. It’s been a while.”
* * *
After the ninthtime his eyes glazed over, Jackson pitched his pencil onto the small desk in his apartment in disgust and gave up. So much for keeping occupied with work. He couldn’t concentrate. He couldn’t eat. He couldn’t think of anything at all other than Carly, telling him she loved him.
Christ. He had to end it before his organs declared mutiny. Or worse, before he decided not to end it at all.
“Fuck.” He pinched the bridge of his nose hard enough to make his eyes water. Maybe it didn’t have to shake out like this. Maybe Shane was right, and he could make a go of it with Carly.
Maybe he could love her without hurting her.
His mother, in a blue and white nightgown, her eye swollen shut…sweeping up pieces of broken dishes…
“It’s okay, baby. Your daddy just loves me a little too much, that’s all. But don’t you worry about that now…”
“No.”
Jackson stood, his chest tight with finality. He couldn’t risk loving anybody too much. No matter how badly the alternative was going to hurt.
He grabbed his keys from the hook by the phone and was gone.
26
It took a good five or six blinks for Carly’s brain to get on board the reality train, and even then, she felt like she’d been slapped with some kind of really odd practical joke.
“I know you’re finishing up a dinner service, but I was hoping you could spare me a few minutes of your time.” Richard Buchanan, the man who had unceremoniously fired her from Gracie’s eight months ago, gestured to the seat across from him with a well-manicured hand and a self-deprecating smile.
