Chapter 9
CHAPTER 9
I walked into the kitchen. Jackson stood and stared at the espresso machine. I could do this. I could be the playful fun sister-in-law that made him feel welcome.
“You have to press a few buttons to make it work. They haven’t installed an eye retina scan on espresso machines yet.”
He turned, giving me an amused look. “Whatever happened to just a regular coffee maker?”
“I meant to buy one. The espresso machine takes forever when we have a dinner party. Do you want a latte?”
“Just a regular coffee.”
“I can make it for you.”
“If you can make me a coffee, I'll make you breakfast.”
“Deal.”
We worked together in silence.
“What are your plans today?” I asked.
“Just work out. You?”
“I need to run some errands,” I said. Then I paused. My car was in pieces.
“Let me take you. ”
I avoided his glance. “I can take a cab.”
“Let me take you.”
I chewed on my lip. Thinking about how Matt asked me to keep him busy. “I have to do wedding stuff. Trust me. You’re going to hate this.”
“I think I can handle it.”
We stopped first at the Paper Pelican. Jackson nosed around the small shop. I stood at the counter, a shaky hand on my forehead, while the clerk droned on about grades of paper, type of font and messages. I stared unseeing at the dozens of examples before me. A familiar sense of panic washed over me. I don’t know why I had thought it was a good idea to bring a witness to my meltdown. I still had no clue on how to proceed.
“You okay?” Jackson asked from just over my shoulder.
I shook my head. “I can’t seem to make a decision which just makes me even more anxious.”
I glanced over at the door and debated just dropping everything again and running.
He moved beside me. “You want some help?”
“Suggestions are welcome.”
He looked up at the clerk. “What do you suggest we focus on first?”
“Pick your paper first. Then your design,” she said.
“Are these all your paper samples?”
“Yes.”
He spread them out on the counter.
“Okay, Emily. Focus just on the color. Anything you don’t like?”
I pointed at four. “I don’t like these.”
“Good,” he pushed those away. “What about texture?”
I bit my lip. “I like this texture.”
The clerk said, “That’s the linen. It comes in these four colors. ”
She pointed at four sheets of paper.
“Anything jumping out at you?” His voice sounded so calm and soothing.
I sighed. “I don’t like the green or the blue.”
He removed those. “So we are down to pink…and…” he squinted, “and another pink.”
The clerk chimed in. “This is sugar egg pink, and this one is pink innocence.”
Jackson leaned in. His low voice rumbled in my ear. “My vote is on pink innocence.”
I blushed as I fought to keep a ridiculous smile off my face. I pointed to pink innocence. “We’ll go with that one.”
The clerk wrote it down on her paper. “Now what about the font?” She took out a sample card. “These are our most popular fonts.”
Jackson leaned his arms on the counter and studied the sheet. “I can’t even read these two fonts.”
He was right. “Agreed.”
“Which one is easiest to read?” He glanced up at my face.
We both, at the same time, pointed to the font on the top left.
Jackson looked up at me. “Is this the one?”
“Yes.”
“This wedding stuff is easy,” he teased.
I rolled my eyes, but something released in my chest. We were doing this.
“What about messages?” the clerk prompted.
“Show us your samples.”
She pulled out five sheets. He leaned over and read them. I stood there and studied his dark blond hair, noticing the way it curled around his ear. It looked so soft and thick. My fingers itched to touch it.
“Any thoughts?” Jackson turned and glanced up at me.
I squirmed. I had no idea. “What are your thoughts?”
“These two samples mention the parents in the invitation. ”
Out of four parents, only one remained. “Not those.”
“And this one writes out the date and time in word format. I never liked that.”
“Me neither.”
He pointed at a sample. “This one is to the point, which is my style. Date, time, location. Simple.”
This is what I had wanted Matt to do with me. Jackson offered pragmatic and logical advice.
“It’s my style too.”
He pointed at the sample and said to the clerk. “She’s the one.”
The clerk wrote that on her sheet. “We have all your other details. The last thing we need is how many invitations you need?”
I shrugged. “I have no idea.”
“Do you know how many guests you're inviting?”
“The less, the better,” I said under my breath.
Jackson turned, his open curiosity filled his expression.
“Let’s go with 150 invitations. Too many are better than not enough.”
We started to walk towards the truck. Relief coursed through my veins. One task removed from my gigantic list. I wanted to high five the world.
“Jackson, that was amazing. How did you do that?”
“It’s all about elimination.”
“I’ve been stressing about the invitations for months. Every time I have walked in that store, I just walk out overwhelmed.”
“Seriously?”
“I can’t seem to decide anything.”
“Why do you think that is?”
We started to cross the street. Why was I paralyzed about my wedding instead of being filled with excitement and joy? When we first got engaged, Matt and I had been so excited. We talked about what we wanted our wedding to look like. I had floated around on cloud nine for weeks. But those talks never materialized into anything more. And now Matt seemed so disinterested.
“I just thought it’d be easier. You know? To make decisions. It’s supposed to be our big day.”
“You should get Matt to help you.”
I looked up. A car roared towards me. It was too close. I couldn’t move. I shut my eyes, bracing for impact. Strong arms lifted me and spun me around. My back hit something hard. My breath knocked out of me in a soft umph. I opened my eyes. Jackson’s long length pinned me against the side of the truck.
My breath sputtered out of me in short little gasps.
Warm fingers touched my head, my neck, my shoulders.
“Are you hurt?”
Dazed, I stared up at him.
He repeated his question. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”
I could not seem to catch my breath. “You saved me.”
My back was against his truck. His hard warmth seeped into me. My mouth dried up.
“Are you hurt?” I worked to speak.
“I’m fine. You sure I didn’t hurt you? I yanked you pretty rough.”
“I froze.”
“You did.” He opened the passenger door. I scrambled in and sat staring straight ahead. My heart was still thumping, but I was pretty sure it was from his proximity not from the near miss.
“You need help?”
I looked at him stupidly. What was he asking me?
“Here, let me help you.” He reached in and pulled the seatbelt over me, his head bent over me as he fastened the belt. I caught the fresh, clean scent of his hair. I worked to bring oxygen into my lungs. His nearness trapped my breath.
He straightened. Our eyes met. I compulsively worked my throat, unable to tear my gaze from his. His jaw tightened, and then he shut the door .
A few moments later, he climbed in beside me, acting like nothing was wrong. “Where to next?”
Side by side, we faced the vast array of coffee makers in the large department store. Endless choices intimidated me.
“Who’s idea was this?” he asked.
“Yours, I think.”
“Process of elimination?”
“Yup.”
“Single cup or pot.”
“Pot.”
He walked up the aisle and then came back. “We’ve got 4 cups, 6 cups, 8 cups and 12 cups.”
“Let’s go with 8 cups.”
“What color?”
“Black or silver.”
“Do you want simple or gadgets.”
“Definitely lots of gadgets.”
He studied our choices and then tapped on two coffee makers. “Okay, you have eliminated it down to these two. This one has a built-in bean grinder.”
“Sold.”
He looked amused. “You haven’t even heard about the other one’s features.”
“I want the grinder. What do you want?”
“The built-in grinder is alright.”
“That’s the one.”
“Shit,” he looked at the price. “No way. This coffee maker is over $300.”
I shrugged. “The average person spends $5 on coffee a day which is over $1800 a year. What’s the guarantee on that?”
He checked the box. “Lifetime. ”
“Need I say more?”
I watched as he picked up the box and we walked to stand at the cashier line up. He pulled his wallet out of his jeans.
“No,” I said.
“You admitted it was my idea.”
“My coffee grinder, hands off.”
He leaned forward. “You work part-time. Let me help.”
“My dad heavily invested in this unknown company called Microsoft in the 80s,” I said. “And because of his foresight, I can drink a lot of coffee.”
His eyes widened. “You telling me you’re rich.”
“Grossly so.”
“Like how rich?”
“Bill Gates used to send my dad a birthday card.”
“No shit.”
“My Dad was a financial genius. He liquidated at its highest point, and now I just live on the interest, but I would give every penny back if it meant my dad was still here.”
He dropped his gaze to my face. “I bet.”
“My granny was no slouch in the financial department either,” I said with misery in my voice. This was the moment I dreaded. Once people realized how much more I had than they did, things got weird. Resentment reared up. Or worse, people started to suck up.
“Well shit, you should have told me sooner.”
My eyes flew to his face. “Why?”
A smile played on his lips. “I would have gone for the $500 one that had the timer and the grinder.”
I laughed in relief. We stood there smiling at each other.
“People get weird about that stuff,” I admitted.
He stood there for a long moment staring off at some distant point. It was almost as if he didn’t hear. Just when I thought the conversation was dead, he said, “The money?”
“Yeah.”
He looked me in the eye. “Fuck em. ”
“Is that your life motto?”
“Pretty much.”
“Does it work?”
“Most of the time.”
I sighed. “It must be nice not to care what anyone thinks.”
“I still care about the opinions of a few.”
My eyes went wide. I wanted more than anything to ask whose opinion he cared about, but at that moment the clerk greeted me with a big smile.