Chapter Seven
Despite the noise of the bar, Jackson heard a female voice say, “It’s him.” He knew, without a doubt, that it was Summer speaking, and he turned to face her.
When he’d returned to Huntwood, he’d expected to feel complete, like he’d been a missing piece of a jigsaw puzzle and once he was back in his old territory, he’d feel like he belonged again. But that hadn’t happened. Instead, he’d felt stifled, unable to step over their property line. He’d felt like an impostor, and that feeling of homecoming hadn’t happened.
Until now.
The woman at the table was probably in her mid-twenties. She sat with another woman who looked close to her age. Her dark hair was braided around her head in a crown. She had a pointy nose and chin, dark skin, and dark eyes.
He’d never seen a more beautiful woman in his entire life.
He started forward, his steps hurried, until he remembered the message he’d sent her. It was up to Summer whether she said hello or not. Stifling his frustration and the urges of the lion inside of him, he turned and made his way to the bar. She’d seen him, and she’d come say hello.
She had to.
Jackson had stopped praying when his parents were killed. He still believed in a higher power, but he hadn’t had any desire to talk to that power. But in this moment, the bar filled with raucous laughter, classic rock blaring from speakers set near a tiny stage at the back, the thudding of billiard balls falling into pockets at one of the pool tables to his left…in this moment, his life could change forever. It could go from something tolerable and generally okay to something mind-blowingly amazing. And it all depended on whether Summer wanted to meet him.
He found an empty seat at the bar and sat down. After catching the bartender’s eye, he said, “A pint of whatever session IPA you’ve got.”
“Sure thing.”
He watched the bartender pull down the tap and fill a glass. It was hard to pretend that he was focused on that, and not on whatever Summer might or might not be doing across the room, behind his back.
The bartender pushed the glass across the bar. “That’s five.”
Jackson handed him a ten. “Keep the change.”
A huge tip, but he’d take whatever karma he could get at this point.
He smelled her before she spoke. A smoky mint scent that pulled at his awareness. As long as he lived, he’d never be able to forget it. Should he turn around now, or wait for her to say something? His heart thudded loudly in his chest. It could have sounded like he was afraid, but it wasn’t fear—it was anticipation. He forced himself to hold still.
“Um, Jackson?”
He turned around, already smiling. “Summer?”
“Yeah, it’s me.” She wore a dark blue tank top with tiny flowers embroidered into the fabric, and those skinny jeans that showed off women’s legs. Her dark brown eyes were wide and unsure. She gripped her margarita like a talisman. Jackson breathed in and smelled the sharp undertones of fear beneath her minty, smoky scent. She was afraid, and it immediately sobered his excitement.
“I’m really glad to meet you,” he said, holding out his hand.
She reached forward and shook, her grip strong despite her obvious anxiety. “I’m sitting back over there with my friend,” she said, gesturing with her chin.
Jackson was struck with the thought that probably every single thing she did was adorable. Every gesture from jerking her chin to the side, to scrunching her nose up when she was unsure, to raising her eyebrows in question.
“Great,” he said. “Do you mind if I join you both, or…do you want me to get lost?”
“Oh. Um, come on over.”
He followed close behind her, not willing to give up the sight or the scent of her. From his peripheral vision, he could see that her friend was giving him a once-over. What had happened to Summer? Her friend seemed more protective than he would normally expect, and Summer herself was obviously a bit jumpy and slow to trust. He waited for Summer to sit down, and then he pulled over a free chair and sat—not too close to her, but close enough to show he was interested.
This was going to be a difficult balancing act, but Summer was worth the effort, no question.
“Hi,” he said, reaching across the table toward the blonde. “I’m Jackson Jaynes.”
“Becca Van Housen,” she said.
“She’s my best friend,” Summer said.
“And the buyer of our next round,” Becca interjected. She looked at Jackson. “Can I get you another beer?”
“Nah, I’m good, but thanks,” he said.
Becca walked away, and now it was Jackson and Summer, staring at each other.
“Sorry,” Summer said. “This is weird, isn’t it?”
Jackson shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never met someone like this before. You know, who I’d already been talking to online.”
“It’s definitely…strange,” Summer said. “You know, I pictured you as this pasty, doughy guy who spends too much time in a dark basement working at a computer.”
Jackson pretended to be affronted. “What? Computer nerds can get just as much sun and exercise as the next person.”
“You look like you spend all your time working out and doing…manly outdoorsy things.”
“So…you’re saying I’m manly? Does that mean attractive?” he asked in a playful voice, watching her face for her reaction.
A faint tinge of pink graced her cheeks, and he mentally high-fived himself. She was eyeing him like there was nothing she’d like more than to touch him. He felt the same way. Her skin looked soft and smooth, her lips wet and lush. When she took a sip of her margarita and licked a bit of salt from the rim of the glass, he nearly groaned.
“You can’t do stuff like that,” he said. “Every guy in here is going to try to take you home.”
She smiled at him, seeming a lot less inhibited than before. “There’s only one guy I’d want to ask.”
Her timidity had all but disappeared. What had happened? He looked at her glass. The margarita was gone. “Just curious,” he said. “How many drinks have you had?”
She tilted her head to the side and looked at the glass as if searching for clues. “Two? Three? No, this is just my second. Becca’s getting the next one.”
Two drinks wasn’t a lot, but it might be if she didn’t usually drink, or if she hadn’t eaten much beforehand. At least she seemed happy, and she wasn’t slurring her words. He’d have to watch her with the third margarita.
When she reached for his hand, he threaded his fingers with hers, delighting in the contact. So this was what home felt like. The comfort, the warmth, the belonging.
“You know, you don’t look anything like your pictures,” he said.
Summer laughed and blew her cheeks out. “The pufferfish is my second cousin. People have told me they see a resemblance.”
He laughed, and she scooted closer to him.
“Can I tell you a secret?” she said, her breath warm against his ear.
“Yeah.”
He turned his face to the side, but she didn’t move back fast enough, and her lips grazed his cheek. They looked at each other, their eye contact steady, her dark brown eyes staring right back into his.
He cleared his throat. “So, um, what’s the secret?”
“I forget.” She touched her lips. “I have a new one now, though. I want to do that again. Kiss you.”
“Anytime,” he said.
Just then, a margarita and a glass of clear, fizzy liquid clonked onto their table. “Margarita for Summer who obviously doesn’t need anything else to drink, and my lonely, sad Sprite,” Becca announced. She looked at Jackson. “I’m driving tonight.”
Summer leaned against Jackson, her hand brushing his thigh. He had to focus to get his instant boner under control, so he almost missed the scathing look Becca gave him. “What?” he mouthed.
She just shook her head and sipped her drink.
Should he go? He’d been invited at the last minute, and maybe that invitation had only been given because of alcohol. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, suddenly uncomfortable. “Shit, I just realized I’m interrupting your night out. I should go, anyway. I need to get up early tomorrow.”
Summer latched onto his arm. “Don’t go yet,” she said. “We’ve barely had a chance to talk.”
“It’s fine,” Becca said. “You can stick around.”
“Are you sure?” Jackson asked.
“Yeah. You just have to answer a few questions.” Becca raised her eyebrows at him and gave him a cool look. “You up for that?”
“Oh, seriously?” Summer said. “Don’t interrogate him, Becks.”
Jackson watched, impressed, as Becca turned that cool gaze onto Summer. “You want my help or not?” she asked.
Summer had the most adorable pout. Jackson couldn’t stop staring at her, but Becca cleared her throat. “Ahem.”
“Right,” Jackson said. “What do you want to know?”
“Where’d you grow up?” Becca asked.
“Right here in Huntwood.”
“Graduated from high school?”
“2009.”
“College?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Hey,” Summer said, “don’t call her ma’am. She hates that.”
“Sorry,” Jackson muttered. It was just that Becca reminded him of his mom at that moment, all arching eyebrows and stern voice.
“Do you earn an honest living?” Becca continued, deadpan.
“Yes. I’m the social media manager for the Licorice Fiddles and a couple other up-and-coming bands on the West Coast.”
“So you, what, use SocialBook for a living?” she asked.
“He’s very good at it,” Summer said. “It’s how we met.”
Becca waved her hand dismissively in Summer’s direction. “I’d like the witness to answer the questions.”
The sound of billiard balls crashed in the background. Jackson stared at Becca. Was she for real?
“SocialBook, Twitter, Facebook, YouTube…um…Instagram. I think that’s it.”
“Do you pay your taxes?” Becca asked.
“Yes.”
“Current residence?”
“I’ve been on the road a few years,” Jackson said.
“Current residence?” Becca asked again.
“I don’t have one.”
“How do you get paid, then?”
“Direct deposit.”
“To have a bank account,” Becca said in a reasonable voice, “you have to have an address.”
“We use the address of our old house, here in Huntwood.”
“We?” Becca asked.
“My brother, sister, and I.”
“Interesting. They’ve also been on the road a few years?” she asked.
Jackson nodded.
Summer looked impatiently from Becca to him, and back again. “Is this going to take much longer?” she asked. “Because I have to pee.”
“Go for it,” Becca said. “I have plenty more questions.”
Summer gave an exaggerated sigh and got up, her gait slightly unsteady.
Jackson watched as she made her way to the bathroom, then he pointed to her nearly-full margarita. “She said that’s her third, right here.”
“She’s a lightweight,” Becca said. “Now back to you.”
“Look, I like Summer, and we’ve been messaging back and forth for a couple months. That’s all that’s going on here.”
Becca leaned closer. “I need to make something perfectly clear.”
“Why do you think she needs a watchdog?” Jackson asked. “She seems perfectly capable of taking care of herself.”
“She’s happy alone,” Becca said.
Now Jackson was getting annoyed. His irritation dampened at the thought that Becca was just trying to protect her friend, though. He could have this discussion to help put her mind at ease, no problem. “I’m glad she’s happy. Good.”
“Someone hurt her pretty bad last year, and she’s finally doing okay, and she doesn’t need a man. She doesn’t even want a man.”
“Okay.” Jackson held up his hands in a placating gesture.
“Don’t patronize me,” Becca snapped. “I’m telling you she’s happy alone only because if you mess with that and make her sad, I will personally come after you. But…I can also see her being more than happy with someone like you. And I want that for her.”
Jackson sat back. This was a turn from what he’d been expecting. “So, you’re telling me to, what, tread carefully?”
“Exactly. Because you’re right—she doesn’t need a watchdog. She can take care of herself, for the most part. Except for all the legal shit I’m doing to help dig her out of the hole the last guy left her in.”
“Okay,” Jackson said. “Message received.”
“Oh, and no matter what, she’s getting in my car when we leave here tonight because we barely know you and she’s been drinking. So don’t try to talk her out of that.”
Did Becca think he was some kind of monster? “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Good,” Becca said. “Then maybe we can be friends.”
Jackson looked over Becca’s shoulder and spotted Summer making her way back toward them, a small smile on her face, her hips swaying gently as she walked in time to the nineties rock ballad playing on the jukebox. Green Day’s “Time of Your Life.”
She reached the table and looked down at Jackson and Becca. “So,” she said, “what’d I miss?”