I couldn’t help the butterflies fizzing through my belly at the thought of giving myself permission to let something happen with Jack. I also couldn’t help the dread of dealing with my poor, pathetic, heartbreak when it was done.
“I’m scared of how I feel about him, Jazz. I am so attracted to him, it’s scary.”
“Well, duh, he’s only like, the most attractive man in the universe, and coupled with the fact that we are all in love with Max from Erath, I can hardly blame you.”
“I know Jazz, you know how I felt about those books, I was obsessed with Max. I even dreamed about him.” I’d be embarrassed to admit this if Jazz didn’t already know and feel the same way.
“I know, but we’ve all had fantasies about Max visiting us in our sleep like that. And yes, those scenes were hot. But you are way too sensible to let that make you crazy over the actor who played him. It seems like you’ve spent time with him and like Jack the person, not the part he played.”
That’s what I was afraid of. And the penny dropped for Jazz too as soon as the words were out of her mouth.
“Well, shit,” she said. “I guess I’ll be back to the job of helping you pick up pieces of your broken heart when he leaves. I take it back—don’t let anything happen between you guys. Stay sweet and virtuous and ‘un-Jacked.’”
I punched her in the arm. “I’ll do my best.”
“Yeah, right.” She sighed, and then she leaned over and gave me a quick hug, and I gave a small smile.
Her eyes twinkled. “Sooo, can I meet him?”
I laughed. “Yeah, I guess I need to tell him I broke his secret. Twice. Assuming he isn’t mad about that, swing by the house on your way back from school. I have no idea if he’ll even be there after our awkward encounter last night though.”
“He’ll be there,” she said confidently as I climbed out of the car into the warm humidity. “Oh, and don’t forget, on the subject of hot guys from books, it’s book club this week, and we’ve volunteered you to host this time. Expect everyone at four tomorrow.” She winked and drove off.
I’d totally forgotten about book club. Jazz had been going on and on about getting one set up and finally started one last month with Liz, Brenda from the grill, Faith who owned the boutique where she worked, her mom, and I think she even invited Mrs. Weaton. It was a strange grouping of ages, but surprisingly, our book tastes were rather similar.
As I climbed into my truck, my phone beeped with a text. My heart sped up a moment, but it was just Jazz—texting and driving, as usual.
Jazz: I just squealed out loud at the traffic light. Ppl looking at me weird. OMG—can’t believe convo we just had! But seriously, if he breaks your heart, I’ll break his beautiful face—See you this PM. Xoxoxox
I smiled. She may be ditzy at times, but there was no one who looked out for me more than Jazz. She was like a sister, a crazy lovable aunt, and a best friend rolled into one. She was an old soul—that much was certain. Not for the first time, I hoped things would eventually work out for her and Joey.
F O U R T E E N
I pulled into the driveway at the back of my house behind Mrs. Weaton’s cottage and peeled my bare legs, like a Band-Aid, off the hot vinyl seat. I felt like every day was getting unseasonably hotter, not cooler, as we moved away from summer.
Hearing the whine and screech of a large truck, I realized they must be delivering the dumpster around the front of the house, so I jogged up the back stairs, through the blessed cool of the house, and back into the hot wet air on the front porch, trying not to look around for Jack as I did so.
Mrs. Weaton’s cottage was off to the side. It used to be the old kitchen block, back from the days when kitchens were built outside to avoid the heat of the cooking in the summer months or the whole house burning down in the case of a fire. It had been remodeled into servant’s quarters after the end of slavery, and then into a rent-producing cottage once the land started being sold off after the depression.
José was out front speaking in Spanish to the two guys who were with him unloading packs of roofing shingles. I made sure everyone knew what they were doing and directed the guy with the dumpster to drive around to the back of the property before the town council had a kitten about it being parked askew on my front lawn. Then I went to knock on Mrs. Weaton’s door. I waited a few minutes and after getting no answer, headed back to my place.
Upon re-entering my house through the front door, I heard a cackle and a deep chuckle coming from the kitchen. Lo and behold, there sat Jack and Mrs. Weaton hamming it up over coffee at the table. She was giggling like a schoolgirl, her bony hand on his arm, and he had his head bent toward hers conspiratorially.
They both turned and looked at me guiltily as I walked in. I tried not to look at Jack and instead focused on my elderly neighbor as she greeted me.
“Hi, dear! Jack was just keeping me entertained with secrets of Hollywood while that awful racket was going on outside the house. But I must be off!”