The Usual Family Mayhem

Chapter Twelve

“Have you really been upset all these years because I broke off the kiss and left that day?”

Jackson sounded astounded by the possibility.

“That’s not what I said.”

But it’s what happened. Only Whitney, my best friend back in the office and miles away, knew about my unrequited and persistent crush on a guy who was totally not my type . . . and annoying . . . but adorable.

“Are you sure? Because that’s basically what you said.”

Be cool. “‘Upset’ is a strong word.”

“Apparently it fits the situation.”

“Fine. Yes. Over the years I’ve thought about what happened between us and how poorly you handled it.”

Too far? I made it sound like I was pining away for him, so I added a shrug because it fit with the no big deal vibe I wanted to send. “None of that matters now. It’s long over. Of course.”

He smiled for the first time since we sat down. “It sounds like you thought the kiss and my reaction to it amounted to a big deal.”

His damn eye sparkle returned. The way his smile lit up his face made him seem less starched and serious. His smooth voice. I hated that the long-ignored crush popped up when I least expected it. Now happened to be a terrible time.

Fall back on joking. Keep things light. That was my safe space with him. “Has your ego always been this big or did that come with the law firm partnership?”

“You’re trying to change the subject.”

Yes. Definitely. “You’re the one with the attitude.”

“You’re the one who’s been carrying around a big secret.”

He took a sip of water and managed to look pretty hot doing it.

How did he make that sexy?

“I thought you wanted to eat.”

Suddenly, I didn’t.

He didn’t touch the menu. “If that’s what you want.”

I wanted this conversation to end. He seemed to be enjoying himself too much to let that happen, so I took control. “I can call the server over.”

I scanned the room looking for a much needed assist. Jackson lifted his hand. That’s all it took for the server to come rushing in our direction.

“Are you sure you don’t want to walk down memory lane again?” he asked.

I’d lost control of the evening. No question. “I want to kick you. How about that?”

“I’m not into that sort of thing.”

The server’s sudden presence prevented me from responding to the innuendo. Good, because I had no idea what to say. Jackson morphed from sullen to almost flirty. If he was anyone else I’d say clearly flirty. Where was the emotionally stable, never flustered, always serious man I knew? The drastic switch had me scrambling to keep up.

The next ten minutes included a lot of verbal fumbling, almost all of it on my side of the table. I’d never been to this restaurant before and hadn’t opened the menu. I ended up ordering the first entrée I saw. I couldn’t remember what that was.

As soon as the server left, Jackson folded his hands on the table. Looked relaxed and engaged.

This had to be a trap.

He gestured in my direction. “Tell me.”

Maybe I missed part of the conversation. “What?”

“What did you figure out? Your text said you had the evidence that would convince me about the poison.”

“I might have overstated.”

I could barely remember my name at the moment. He had me spinning in circles and beating back a surge of adrenaline.

He feigned surprise. “Shocking.”

His cute smile annoyed me more than usual. “Don’t be that guy.”

“Sorry.”

He swallowed the smile but still looked amused. “So, impress me with your findings.”

I mentioned Delilah Rhine and the star by her name. Jumped to conclusions. Made connections that might not be there. Oversold my case . . . but at least we weren’t talking about kissing.

He followed along and nodded. “I know Delilah.”

That was a bit sparse. A few more details would have been nice. “Like know know?”

He rolled his eyes. “As a client. She owns an event planning business. She . . .”

He winced. I saw it.

“What do you know and aren’t saying?”

He looked wary now. “Don’t get excited.”

Too late. “Say it.”

“She didn’t just buy a pie from Celia and Mags. Delilah works with them frequently. Their businesses overlap. The three of them are . . . close.”

This sounded like the perfect time for an ah-ha! but I refrained. Barely. “See?”

“No. That is not proof.”

“Killjoy.”

Now for the harder part. “We need to check into this.”

Jackson shook his head. “We let the police do their job and investigate Cash’s death and see what happens.”

A terrible idea and not something I intended to do. Rather than point all that out, I went with the one fact that would make a difference for him. “Gram and Celia could be in trouble.”

“Or not.”

Nice try. His guarded expression didn’t fool me. “They would step in and help a woman with a husband problem.”

“I don’t even want to know what that means.”

He did. He knew better than most what Celia went through to disengage from the hideous mess her irresponsible husband left her in. May he rest in peace.

“They might have meant well. Talked with Delilah. Then everything went sideways . . . and for some reason they made the mistake again with Abigail.”

Admittedly, the last part added to the confusion. How many times did poison play a role, how, and did they have some sort of poison supply I didn’t know about? I almost got lost in the long list of questions colliding in my brain. “The bottom line is Gram and Celia potentially could be mixed up in all of this.”

He sighed. “If there’s even something nefarious going on, which I doubt, so that’s a huge if. All we know right now is two unrelated men died at different points in time.”

So many words and none of them were maybe you were right to question all of this and I was wrong. But I was and so was he. Score one for the law school dropout. “That’s not all we know. I might be imagining things but you’re downplaying them.”

“I can admit that. I’ll ask around and—”

“Yes. But you mean we. We can look around.”

“Wait.”

He held up his hands as if to extinguish any excitement that might be brewing. That was his superpower. “I can find out more about Delilah’s husband situation on my own. See if there are any rumors. Make sure Celia and Mags aren’t being mentioned in the conversation.”

He didn’t outright refuse. That was a good start. “You have to report back. You’re not cutting me out of this.”

“Understood.”

We spent a few minutes talking about strategy. Well, I did. He listened but didn’t commit to anything. After that the conversation naturally switched to non-poison topics. His job. Celia and Gram. What was happening in town. People we both knew. We avoided any additional kissing talk and fell into a comfortable back-and-forth.

Being with him both unsettled me and grounded me. Those sounded like opposites, but the words represented the clashing between my heart and my head. I liked him, though I would never admit that. He made me smile. We shared a past. Our lives intersected and wove together in so many places.

I also wanted to try that kissing thing again. As an adult this time. But not happening, so I buried the idea as deep as possible and focused on the friendly stuff only.

We finished our delicious dinner. I’d gotten flounder. A good call. An hour and a half and I’d scarfed down a salad, entrée, and we shared a dessert. The dessert just happened to be one of Gram’s pies. Blueberry crunch. One I hadn’t tasted in years.

I waited for the server to clear the plates. “You know you’re paying, right?”

“I thought we agreed this wasn’t a date.”

“Technically it was a negotiation of sorts. I got you to listen and believe me about the poison.”

“No.”

He drew the word out for a few syllables, as if he needed to emphasize it. “I’m not sold on your theory. I still think you’re jumping to conclusions and letting that imagination of yours run amok. Some things are coincidences, you know.”

“Whatever.”

“But dinner is on me.”

He folded his napkin and put it on the table. “This time.”

My heartbeat spiked. “Is there going to be another restaurant dinner?”

“That’s up to you.”

His smile returned.

“What’s happening right now?”

“I’d note the difference between sixteen and twenty-three was a problem. The difference between twenty-six and thirty-three is not.”

More math. This time interesting math. I was smart enough to shut up and not ruin the moment . . . but I would eventually.