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Brooke, his second-in-command sister, clucked her tongue and bent down to punch a straw into her three-year-old son’s juice box. “Trythe only.”
Jackson’s defenses stirred around in his gut like a lion shifting in its cage, prowling for a way out. “But living vicariously through you is so much fun.” He parked enough baked beans to sink a ship next to the macaroni salad on his plate, and if he didn’t know better, he would swear the damned thing actually groaned.
“You know, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world for you to meet a nice woman,” his mother said, looking up from the table.
“I already know lots of nice women.” He grabbed another paper plate, shoving it beneath the one in his hand to keep it from collapsing over his work boots.
Why was he suddenly so irritated about the whole thing? If pressuring him to meet someone and settle down was the Super Bowl, his mother had achieved MVP status ages ago. He prided himself on the fact that, while it was sometimes aggravating to dodge her good intentions, his mother’s scrutiny never rattled his composure.
Until now.
Catherine lifted her delicate brows in Jackson’s direction. “Really.” The word wasn’t an accusation, but it definitely wasn’t a question, either. “I don’t seem to recall you seeing anybody for quite a while.”
A strange heat crept up the back of his neck, and the image of the bathrobed woman flickered across his mind for a split second before he spoke without thinking. “As a matter of fact, I’m seeing somebody now.”
Whoa! Where had that whopper come from? And why, of all people, had he thought of the stranger from this morning before he’d spouted it? Jackson didn’t make it a habit to lie, anddefinitelynot to his mother, but the strange and unexpected frustration of being put on the spot must have forced the words right out. Oh, well. It wasn’t like the indiscretion was going to kill him.
Catherine beamed. “Youare? How wonderful! You’ll have to bring her to the party then.”
Okay, so he stood corrected on the it-might-not-kill-me thing.Shit.
“Oh, uh, I only just started seeing…this woman, Ma. She might be, you know. Busy or something.”Way to go, slick. Open wide for that size twelve. You big dumbass!
His mother’s expression flirted with disappointment. “Well, it’s not going to be anything fancy, just a barbecue here at the house. After all, we’d really like to meet your girlfriend.”
Oh, Jesus, now he had a girlfriend. Jackson opened his mouth to tell his mother it had been a misunderstanding, that there was no girlfriend; hell, there was no girl, period.But then he caught the look on her face, so full of rare happiness and hope, and the next words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.
“Sure thing, Ma. What time should I bring her by?”
3
Carly covered her yawn with a haphazard hand as she filled the coffeepot with extra grounds. She sighed into the sleeve of her bathrobe while she waited for it to burble to life, catching sight of her cell phone out of the corner of her eye. The messages icon was bright red, desperate for attention. Carly had been too exhausted to listen to them when she’d gotten home last night, and she braced herself as she put her phone on speaker and hit the icon, the memory of her nasty conversation with Travis still all too fresh in her mind.
“Carlotta, it’s your mama.” In spite of the fact that Carly was thirty-one years old, her mother’s brisk tone halted her mid-step across the kitchen floor. Damn it, guilt before coffee was sonothow Carly wanted to start her day.
“Dominic tells me you’re busy at work, but you had the time to call him and say so. I worry about you out there in the middle of nothing. You should be here in the city, working things out.”
Carly winced. Her brother had probably meant well when he’d told their mother Carly was busy at work. She pressed the forward button, making a mental note to call her mother back when she had more stamina.
“Hey,cucciola. It’s Dom.”
Carly chuckled as she pulled a mug from the cupboard. The guilt must be catching.
“Mrs. Spagnolo went to dinner at Gracie’s the other night and saw Travis.” Her brother paused to mutter a couple of choice Italian curse words before proceeding. “Anyway, you know how the gossip goes.Mama’s a little riled up over it, so look out. And give me a call, yeah? She’s been acting weird lately. It’s probably nothing, but…well, give me a call. Love you.”
Carly shook her head. Considering the circumstances, there weren’t a whole lot of things in the world weirder than her mother actually wanting Carly to reconcile with Travis. Then again, her disdain for her only daughter’s failed marriage had been a source of contention between them for months. The sanctity of marriage was no small potatoes in the di Matisse house. Never mind that Travis had broken it by cherishing Carly’s career and talent more than anything else.
Her voicemail clicked through to another message, and she braced herself. Please God, let it be someone offering to extend the warranty on her car, just this once.
“Oh, hello there, young lady.” Her landlord’s gentle voice filtered through the kitchen, causing Carly to both heave a sigh of relief and break into a tiny smile at being called a young lady. Mr. Logan was eighty if he was a day.
“I have a bit of bad news. Unfortunately there’s enough structural damage to the deck that the whole thing has to be taken down and replaced. The contractor assured me he’d be as quick as possible, but the work will probably take about a week.”
She groaned. So much for never seeing Contractor Guy again. Now she had to spend a whole week with him right outside her window? And with Sloane gone, Carly was the only point of contact, at least for a couple more days. Still, he’d be outside pretty much the whole time. Maybe she could avoid him.
“Anyway, give me a call if you have any questions. The contractor should be there first thing tomorrow morning, so don’t be alarmed when you see him.” Her phone beeped, signaling the end of the message, and Carly creased her brow in slow-motion thought.
“Wait a second…this message is from yesterday…” The implication started to trickle in, like water slowly filling each pore of a sponge.
