8. Harlow
CHAPTER 8
HARLOW
I immediately turn on my heel and start down the sidewalk. I can not stand outside our moms’ bakery and stare at him while wondering if Jefferson is actually an amazing boyfriend who’s really hot and dirty in bed.
I Do. Not. Care. It doesn’t matter to me at all .
Jefferson’s love life has never been a topic I’ve cared about in the slightest.
I have never heard girls talk about him, but I’m certain that if I had, I would have immediately blocked it out.
Besides, where would I have heard about it? He hasn’t dated a lot of women from Sapphire Falls. Sure, in high school he dated a couple, casually. But the only girls he was with for any length of time were from other towns and he was never serious about anyone. Sapphire Falls girls weren’t good enough for him, I’m sure.
I remember Adrianne talking about a girlfriend in college, but he never brought anyone home for holidays or anything. Probably because he was embarrassed of his hometown.
I try to concentrate on our immediate issue of telling all of our friends, quickly, that we’re fake dating so no one messes our story up. But I can’t stop thinking about what Jefferson said. Any of what he said.
“Are you really a good cook?” I finally ask. Is there an underlying meaning there? Sure. But I honestly didn’t know he could cook either.
He gives me a cocky grin, the look in his eyes telling me he caught the extra meaning. “I can make a beef stroganoff that would make you cry.”
I narrow my eyes. Does he know that beef stroganoff is my favorite or was that a lucky guess?
“Cry because it’s terrible?”
“So good you would never want to leave. And that’s not even my specialty.”
“Well, I’m sure I would want to leave because of something you would say regardless of the food.”
He just chuckles and it hits me that one of the things I like best about sparring with Jefferson is I don’t worry about actually offending him.
We’ve been doing this for so long, he expects me to say snarky things.
I also know that he can tell when I’m serious and when I’m not.
When we were younger, Jefferson would tease Graham and me, but it was in the older brother I-like-you-even-though-you-annoy-me way. I did feel like a younger sister to him. And I’m sure I did annoy him.
Graham and I would often be camped out in their family TV room when he wanted to be there watching sports or playing video games with his friends.
I’d also been known to borrow things from him. Without permission. Like shirts of his to act as swimsuit coverups when I was over at their house and Graham and I decided to head to the pool. I know I’ve lost at least two pairs of Jefferson’s sunglasses, a cap, and I broke a flashlight that for some reason was very important to him.
But as we got older, Jefferson had started trying to get Graham to hang out with him and the guys and leave me behind. He wanted Graham to go out for sports, to go fishing and swimming with the guys, do almost anything on the weekend as long as I was not included, and things between Jefferson and me got more seriously tense.
Graham would confide to me that he felt pressured by his brother to fit in and be more social. Jefferson made him feel like his lack of interest in sports was a shortcoming. Jefferson encouraged him to ask girls out and asked Graham at least half a dozen times if he was in love with me.
Nobody messes with my friends, not even their older brothers, so I let Jefferson know how I felt about all of that. Often. And loudly.
Jefferson Riley is still one of the few people who can get me to raise my voice and even swear. I like to think I can keep my cool in almost any situation, but Jefferson has long been able to push my buttons.
Growing up with an older sister who had been in the foster care system, abused, and neglected, and was back-and-forth between that abusive home and ours for almost two years before her adoption was official, I had learned to be patient, calm, and quiet.
There were many times when I wanted to yell and cry about Mia's situation. But she was shy and timid and easily overwhelmed, and I needed to be a safe, comforting space for her.
So I squashed my impulses to lash out and be loud, learning to be a calming person who listened and gave quiet, positive encouragement.
I am a fucking Susie Sunshine as far as everyone knows.
Everyone but Jefferson. And Graham, who occasionally got to witness my outbursts with Jefferson.
That always frustrated Graham, though, so Jefferson and I got to the point where we would save our arguments for when Graham wasn’t around.
“I’m not gonna make my baked manicotti for you though,” Jefferson says as we step onto the path that leads across the square.
“Because you’re the most annoying person I know?” I ask thinking that stuffed manicotti sounds pretty fucking great.
“Because mine is amazing , and I’m pretty sure that would make you start taking your clothes off. And that could get complicated.”
I laugh.
I wasn’t expecting him to say something like that and I definitely wasn’t expecting it to make me laugh, but I do.
He grins. “Then again, that would make this whole week even more fun.”
“You think baked manicotti is what it takes? Please. That’s such an easy recipe. You have to at least sauté something before any clothes come off. And I need dessert.”
His grin grows and I have a feeling he expected me to say something snarky instead of teasing back.
“Oh, we don’t even want to get into dessert,” he says. “You’ll take your clothes off, beg me to take mine off, and never leave my house if I make dessert for you. I mean, yeah, it would be fun, but what do we tell our families when we’re only supposed to be faking this for a week?”
I don’t know how to respond to this. I have never, ever, in all the years I have known him, flirted with Jefferson Riley.
But that’s what this feels like.
And he’s pretty good at it. Because my skin feels a little tingly and I want to keep going.
And the fact that no one else is around, so this is not a part of our little show, is confusing.
“Good thing this week is going to be full of funnel cakes, wedding cake, and caramel apples, then,” I tell him.
He winks at me, and I’m shocked to feel my tingly skin get warmer.
“Yeah, good thing.”
I force my thoughts away from what kind of dessert Jefferson might be good at. His mother is an amazing baker and candy maker. He’d come by it naturally.
“So, you tell your friends, I’ll tell mine, as quickly as possible,” I say, turning the conversation back to the plan for the week. The only reason we’d be spending any time together. The only reason we’d be eating any meals together.
“Sounds good,” he agrees.
We’re not holding hands as we cross the square this time, and I think for a moment about being the one to reach out and take his. He might fall over from a heart attack. Which would be interesting. Maybe I could play the part of a sad-pseudo-widow instead of a girlfriend.
I’m pondering Jefferson’s demise, which feels a lot more comfortable than thinking about eating dessert with him naked, when suddenly there’s shouting and a bang, and we both turn toward the commotion on the other side of the gazebo. The swearing is coming from Travis Bennett, who is working with his brother Tucker and two of Tucker’s sons, seemingly trying to put together the dunk tank for the upcoming festival.
Jefferson takes off at a jog without a word.
I follow behind slower.
By the time I get there, Jefferson already has a big piece of sheet metal braced with both hands while Travis works to move another piece into place.
A couple other guys from town have also come over from whatever they were doing. There are now seven men working to wrangle the pieces of the very old, well-used dunk tank.
“Just brace that part there,” Travis calls.
Jefferson shifts, moving one hand to pull a piece of metal into place. Travis moves in beside him with a power drill.
“Okay, go!” Tucker yells from the other side.
The guys work for about five minutes, putting more pieces together. When his panel is screwed into place and he can let go, Jefferson straightens.
Then he whips off his shirt and tosses it in my direction.
On instinct, I reach out and catch it.
He sends me a smirk, but I don’t even have time to work up a frown before he’s turning back to the job at hand.
Which is just as well. I do not want him to catch me studying all that bare skin, those muscles, and the ink on his left shoulder.
He’s an athlete. It’s been a few years since he played football, but he still works out with the team. He’s lean but his arm, shoulder, and back muscles are chiseled with tan skin stretched over all of those firm ridges. His hands suddenly look bigger, and his forearms ripple as he works.
And I don’t stop there. I follow the taper of his back to his waist and then his hips down to his firm ass in the worn blue jeans he’s got on, and over his muscular thighs.
I’ve seen him without a shirt many times. Swimming, working around his house, working out at school. I’ve seen the tattoo before too, though he adds to it periodically. It covers his left shoulder blade then wraps over his shoulder and down his upper bicep. I know it’s a combination of symbols including a tree, his football number from high school, the M from his college logo, some other numbers, and a swirling design I think just fills in the spaces. But I’ve never asked.
“You are doing a really good job of seeming into him.”
I turn and look at Margot, who somehow sidled up next to me.
I sigh. “Shut up.”
She laughs. I now notice my sister crossing the square toward us as well.
“I don’t need to like him to recognize and admit that he’s good looking,” I say. “It’s an objective fact that Jefferson is hot. Lots of women think so.”
That I am aware of, even if I don’t know who he has dated and how they feel about him post-break-up. Or what they’ve said about what it was like to be with him.
Margot crosses her arms and juts one hip to the side as she studies the men in front of us. “He’s not the only hot guy here.”
“No. He’s not.”
She leans in and lifts her hand and covers my eyes.
“Hey,” I protest.
“What color shirt does David have on?”
I think for a second, but I barely noticed that Tucker’s son was there. I puff out a breath. “All right. Point taken.”
Laughing, she drops her hand. I look over and note that David is also not wearing a shirt. But no, I hadn’t noticed that before.
Mia has joined us by now.
“I take it that you and Jefferson decided to do the fake dating thing after all?” Margot asks.
“Yes, we were on our way to tell all of you.”
“What changed since last night?” Margot asks.
“Ran into Zach.” I sigh. “He got to me and I caved.”
Margot frowns. “Well, I say make that fucker sorry. I’m all for this plan.”
“Yeah. Strangely, it seems everyone is,” I say, watching my sister nod her head.
“It’s not really that strange,” Mia says. “If you weren’t fighting over Graham all the time, you might’ve actually dated in real life.”
Nope. We fought over Graham for sure. That’s how the antagonism started. But it was just the beginning of learning how differently Jefferson and I see things. Big things. Life, family, relationships. We would have never fit. Not long-term anyway.
I guess we might have dated short-term before we figured all of that out.
And I might know more about this happy-cuddling-and-begging thing.
Ugh. He is the most frustrating person I know. I do not want to be thinking about that stuff. That is not helpful at all .
“Well, we’ll never know,” I tell her. Except this week you’ll be able to see what it would have been like, a voice in my head reminds me. Maybe you’ll get some cuddling-and-begging.
Oh my god. This is so not good.
This is all fake and we’re going to be on our best behavior because it’s a show. It’s not how we’d really act if we were dating.
“You just taking a break?” Margot asks Mia.
“Yeah, I came downtown to get something…” Mia comments, her eyes straying to the group of men working. “But I don’t remember what now.”
We all laugh.
We stand and watch the men work for a while.
And I can’t deny that my eyes go to Jefferson often. I suppose he’s just on my mind right now. I’m going to have to pay more attention to him this week than I usually do.
The guys are laughing, joking, and the dunk tank is now almost entirely put together, and Jefferson is clearly a part of the community. All of these men obviously like him. He’s completely competent, comfortable with every tool he picks up, taking direction but also giving some instructions.
He stops, puts his hands on his hips, says something I can’t hear to David, and then throws his head back and laughs.
My stomach—I’m calling it my stomach even though it definitely feels a lot lower than that—clenches. “Ugh,” I groan.
Mia and Margot both laugh.
“I don’t think this week is going to be so bad,” Mia says, nudging me with her elbow.
“I just have to remember that I hate Zach more than I hate Jefferson,” I tell her.
Margot rolls her eyes. “Do you really hate Jefferson?” she asks.
“Yes,” I say quickly.
“You love to fight with him,” Mia says.
“I fight with him because we disagree about everything and everyone else in this town thinks he’s so amazing and wonderful and I think it’s important to remind him that there are exceptions.”
Mia laughs. “So you’re helping him by keeping his ego in check?”
“Yes. That.”
“But that’s not really hate ,” Margot says. “You disagree sometimes. So what?”
“We disagree on big things,” I insist. “I hate that he thinks Sapphire Falls isn’t good enough for most people and he’s always trying to talk people into leaving.”
“Well, that’s pretty harsh,” Margot says. “He just encourages people to go after what they want.”
I gasp. “You’re not going to defend him to me, are you?”
“I’m trying to make this week easier on you—both of you—by pointing out that maybe he’s not the devil.”
I frown.
“I agree,” Mia says. “When he came to me a couple weeks ago and asked if I’d be open to helping some kids, he was really positive and very encouraging. He knew a lot about me and really emphasized my strengths. And he seemed to really care about the kids.”
I turned to face her. “He talked to you about helping some kids? What kids? How?”
“Yeah, there’s a couple kids over in Briarville. Their dad just got sentenced to a long prison term. He won’t be out until they’re well into adulthood. It was some pretty terrible abuse charges. Jefferson was talking to their counselor, and it just came up that maybe someone who’s been in that situation would be a good listener.”
I frown at her. “Are you sure you want to do something like that?”
She shrugs. “I’ve never really thought about it. I mean, obviously I’m not licensed for something like that professionally. It would purely be a volunteer mentor situation. But maybe just having someone they could talk to who wouldn’t be shocked by what they might say, could help.” She says it matter-of-factly, but I still feel my chest squeeze and my stomach twist.
I was only five when Mia came to live with us, and my mom and dad don’t love talking about it, of course, but I’ve pieced things together. And now with my work as a child advocate and social worker, some of the things I’ve seen and heard from other kids in the system, kids who were in similar situations, I have a pretty good idea about some of the things that Mia has been through.
I can’t think about it too hard, or I want to curl up and not leave my bed.
And that’s just knowing about it. Not experiencing it myself.
I love her so much. I feel so protective of her. The fact that she’s come out of all of that, and that she can be a happy, positive, loving person is amazing to me. Her parents hurt her. Her parents .
I don’t think she should have to relive all of that. I don’t think she should have to dredge all of that up.
“I know Jefferson can be very charming,” I say. Just because I don’t find him charming doesn’t mean I don’t know the effect he has on other people. “But you don’t have to do anything he suggests. Don’t let him talk to you into anything that you don’t want to do.”
She brushes her hair back over her shoulder. “No, I won’t. But I’m flattered that he thought about me.”
“Flattered that he might make you want to relive some of the horrible things of your past?”
She frowns. “I didn’t think about it that way. What if I could help those kids?”
I reach out and squeeze her hand. “There are lots of people who can help the kids,” I tell her. “I’ll even talk to Jefferson and make sure they get help. But you don’t have to take that on. You have a right to be happy. You don’t have to dwell in all of those old memories.”
She takes a breath and blows it out. “I know. Thank you. I’m only thinking about it.”
Just then Jefferson joins us. His shirt is back on, but even if it wasn’t, the coldness I’m suddenly feeling wouldn’t be going anywhere.
“Ladies,” he greets with a big smile. “I take it you’ve heard the news? Harlow and I are madly in love.”
I growl softly and start across the square.
I hear Margot laugh. “Yeah, good luck with that.”