Chapter Eleven #2
“It’s kind of quaint, and I bought two jars of honey. Scarlett and I gorged ourselves this morning by drizzling it on Rosie’s hot biscuits.” And I went on to describe the stores that Ada Lou took me to.
“I missed big stores when I was on deployment,” he said.
“I was so intrigued by the places that Ada Lou, Nancy, and I went that I even thought about learning to cook.”
“I bet Rosie could teach you,” Jackson said, “and I would be willing to trade lessons.”
“For what?”
“Kisses, of course.” He winked.
“My kisses are expensive. Will you throw in ski lessons, too?”
“No, ma’am,” he answered quickly. “I’ve only tried that one time.
Broke my arm and didn’t ever give it another try for fear of breaking a leg.
I was planning to play football in college, and I was afraid I wouldn’t pass the physical if I shattered a knee or a hip.
If you are a ski pro, we might find something to disagree about if we hit the slopes at Cloudcroft. ”
“I’m not a pro at anything other than playing poker. If you want to have a game of that, I will be glad to take your money,” I told him.
“I’m not good at cards, but I would be willing to give you cooking lessons for a few hands of strip poker,” he said.
“Absolutely not!” I was not ready for Jackson to see the ace of hearts card tattooed on my hip.
I’d gotten the tat right after I went out on my own as a kind of symbol that made me feel like a lucky wild card.
Besides, we hadn’t known each other long enough for me to play that game with him—or anyone else, for that matter.
“Why? Is that too forward a suggestion for a second date?”
“I wouldn’t know about that, but I do not play strip poker.” I was totally flustered.
“Got a reason why?”
“Yes, I do. I like you too much to embarrass you, and I don’t know you well enough to want to see you naked,” I barked.
He studied me seriously for several seconds. “You are pretty confident about that.”
“Yes, I am.”
Yolanda brought out our food but didn’t have time to flirt with Jackson or ask me any more questions.
The combination platter looked and smelled delicious.
I took a bite and nodded. “It’s wonderful.
Why are you so interested in us having an argument and then having makeup sex or playing strip poker, anyway? ”
“Gives me something to look forward to. And I could see if you had any tattoos.”
“You might be surprised, and unless you have a heart on your butt with your first love’s initials in the center of it, then I’ve seen your only tat.”
“I might have a surprise in store for you on our eighth date,” he teased.
Why wait until the eighth date? the niggling voice in my head whispered.
Because I want to do this according to the rules, I fired back, and kept eating.
The little voice in my head told me again to wait until the eighth date when Jackson asked me to go to his trailer and watch a movie after we left the café.
But the night was still young, and I didn’t want to answer dozens of questions from Rosie and Scarlett.
I was selfish and wanted to keep all these memories to myself for a little while longer.
The snowflakes had gotten a little heavier when we left the café.
The truck’s headlights lit them up in hundreds of patterns, reminding me of a cheap kaleidoscope that I’d won at a carnival the summer before my mother died.
I’d laid out in the backyard and played with that thing until the cardboard came apart in my hands.
When we reached the trailer park, the ground was almost covered with a layer of snow.
I still wasn’t worried, because it was three hours until midnight, and that was when the weatherman had originally said the blizzard would hit in our area.
Even thinking the words our area sounded strange in my head.
Living in a place for two weeks did not make it my home, and yet I could practically feel roots beginning to sink into the desert land.
“Welcome to my home away from home,” he said when we were inside his trailer.
He helped me remove my coat and hung it on a rack right inside the door.
I took in the place in one sweeping glance—a tiny living space with a recliner sofa facing a television on the wall, a table for two on my left, a galley kitchen a couple of feet from it, and a door leading into a bedroom on the other end.
“This is bigger than Ada Lou’s place,” I said.
“Since I’m going to have to live in it for a while, I opted for one with a little more space.” He opened the fridge and turned toward me. “Something to drink? Sweet tea, beer, water, or I can make hot chocolate or coffee.”
“Water is fine,” I said.
“Have a seat on the sofa, and we’ll pick out a movie together.
I have a whole collection that my mother sent me the last time I was on six months’ deployment.
Most of them are older, but they sure beat trying to watch anything from the local stations over there.
I loaned them out to the guys and ladies I was stationed with, so they’ve been played a lot. ”
Some of the hotels I’d stayed in offered pay-per-view movies, but I seldom turned on the television.
I really didn’t care if what he had on hand was old or had just come out a month ago.
Watching anything with him by my side would be a treat.
Perhaps our big eighth-date fight might come along on the second date if we disagreed over what movie we wanted to see that night.
No! I shouted in my head. I’m not ready for that yet.
Even with my mind emphatically telling me no, a visual appeared in my head of us tangled in the sheets on his bed after hot makeup sex.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had an argument with any guy I’d slept with, because two nights had always been the limit.
That said, I had no idea if the “after” stuff was as fabulous as he claimed.
But I was surely willing to find out—just not that night.
I blinked several times to make the image disappear, but I hated to let it go.
“With this comfortable sofa, we can pretend we are in an up-to-date theater,” I said to cool down my imagination.
“I haven’t been in a real theater in years,” he admitted and handed me a bottle of cold water. “I haven’t had time for dates or movies or anything else but getting things up and running on this project since I retired from the army.”
“Does that make me a military-rebound woman?”
“No, ma’am,” he answered. “That makes you a very interesting lady I want to get to know much better. Now, what would you like to watch? This is our own private theater tonight, and we have a remote”—he held one up for me to see—“which means we can pause for bathroom or food breaks. I have popcorn for later, and even a few candy bars, if you get hungry.” He pulled a drawer out from under the middle of the sofa to reveal a whole assortment of DVDs arranged in alphabetical order.
“How long has it been since you’ve seen The Bourne Identity?” I asked.
“About four or five years,” he answered as he slipped it out and put it in the player. “I expected you to choose a girlie movie like one of the Hallmark shows. You really are an interesting woman.”
“Thank you . . . I think.” I kicked off my shoes and pulled my feet up onto the sofa. “I’ve never admitted this before, but when I watch a movie, I study the characters and pretend I’m playing poker with them. I pay attention to their expressions and the way they deliver their lines.”
“Yes, ma’am, you do fascinate me,” he said.
Somewhere in the middle of the movie, Jackson fell asleep.
I finished my bottle of water and needed to make a trip to the bathroom.
Although I’d seen the movie several times, I hated to miss the next couple of scenes.
But I didn’t want to wake Jackson by pausing it, so I left it running and made a hasty trip to the other end of the trailer.
When I got back, he had stretched out and pulled a throw over himself.
He didn’t even move when I picked up his feet, sat down, and held them in my lap.
Sometime before the end of the movie, I went to sleep.
Several hours later, I woke up spooned next to him, with my back against his chest and heat rushing through my body like I had fire in my veins.
The television screen showed the main DVD menu again, and a tiny night-light in the hallway didn’t do much to get rid of the darkness.
I shook Jackson awake and whispered, “Time to wake up and take Cinderella home before your truck turns into a pumpkin.”
He sat up and rubbed sleep from his eyes. “Some date I am, falling asleep and leaving you to watch the movie alone. And look at the time.” He pointed to the clock on the microwave. “It’s already past midnight. So my truck is definitely now a pumpkin.”
I slipped my feet into my shoes and picked up my coat.
“Not to worry. I’m not Cinderella, so I’m sure your truck .
. .” I glanced out the window and saw nothing but white snow.
At first I thought it was the reflection of the television screen, but then I realized that the blizzard had snuck up on us while we were sleeping.
Jackson must have realized the same thing, because he was on his feet in an instant and heading for the door.
He slung it open, and a hard wind blew snow all over him.
He slammed it shut and groaned. “We aren’t going anywhere until the storm passes.
The snow is coming down so hard that I can’t even see my truck or Ada Lou’s trailer, and it’s only a few yards away. ”
“I shouldn’t have fallen asleep,” I groaned. “Rosie and Scarlett will have to run the café alone.”
“I’m sure the roads are closed, so there will be no buses or people out,” Jackson said.
“If the snowplows could get out in this kind of weather—which they can’t—it would be a useless job.
The roads would be covered again before they could go a hundred feet.
You are stuck with me until the storm passes on through. ”
“Well, then I guess you better make some popcorn, because I’m hungry. Do you have hot chocolate to go with it?” I said with a sigh.
“Does that long sigh mean that you would rather be anywhere else?”
“No, it does not,” I answered. “I’m already dreading all the questions that Rosie and Scarlett will ask. Friends are great until they get all up in my business.”
“You can add family to that,” Jackson chuckled.
“With four nosy sisters and a meddling mother, I can relate to what you are saying. Is Rosie going to be mad at me when you don’t come home for a couple of days, at the least?
” He opened the cabinet above the stove and brought out a package of microwave popcorn and a box of hot chocolate mix.
“She would be more upset if you tried to drive in this mess,” I assured him. “We can have a snack, and then you can take me home in the morning. I’ll send Rosie and Scarlett a text telling them that I’ll stay here until tomorrow.” I dug around in my purse and found my phone.
There were two texts, both sent at midnight. One from Rosalie: If you are inside a place, stay there. No one should be on the roads in this weather.
The other was from Scarlett: I will expect details when you come home.
I sent one back to each of them saying that I was at Jackson’s trailer and would be home as soon as the weather cleared up.
Rosie couldn’t fuss too loudly, since she’d told me to stay wherever I was.
Scarlett could possibly get some details, but depending on what happened, the story might not be unabridged.
“I’ll make the chocolate,” I said to take my mind off what could happen in the next couple of days.
He nodded toward the teakettle on the back burner. “Water will be hot when it whistles. I’ll get the mugs. You’re too short to reach them.” Stretching his hand to the top shelf was nothing for a tall man like Jackson.
I opened the box of chocolate and glanced at the size of the mugs. “Those are too big for one package.”
“And you said you couldn’t cook,” he teased.
“I can make a mean cup of coffee, hot chocolate—but not from scratch—and a bologna sandwich to die for,” I told him.
Jackson removed the bag of popcorn from the microwave. “That’s a start. Your first lesson beyond that might be scrambling eggs.”
“Sounds complicated.” I tore the tops off two packets of mix and dumped the contents into a mug, then repeated the process.
He chuckled. “You are right. Maybe we should start with a ham and cheese sandwich.”
“You are a funny man, Jackson Armstrong.”
His green eyes twinkled. “The tip jar is on the bar.”
“There is no bar.”
He wiggled his eyebrows. “Whoops! I guess I left it in the bedroom.”
“No tips for you tonight, then,” I said. “But I would like to steal one of your pillows, since I won’t have your arm to prop my head on.”
The humor left his eyes. “You can have the bed, and I’ll take the sofa.”
“Nonsense! I’m short. The sofa is fine. Just toss a pillow out here, and all will be good.
” I wondered if that could be considered an argument.
If so, could we have makeup sex, then fall asleep together in his bed?
I frowned and mentally scolded myself for entertaining such an idea.
This could be a real relationship, and jumping into bed too fast could ruin it forever.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Very much so,” I answered. “That settled, tell me: Do you cook? Are we going to starve if the storm doesn’t pass for a couple of days?”
“I promise that we won’t go hungry.” He made a dramatic gesture of crossing his heart.
“I’m a very good cook, and my pantry is well stocked.
Like I’ve already told you, I have four older sisters, and my folks believed we had to learn to do everything.
My sisters can change flat tires, check the oil, mow the lawn, and all those things.
I can cook and clean. I really can teach you how to get around in the kitchen. ”
“Okay, but that might be a big undertaking,” I said, remembering an inspirational quote that I’d read on a plaque when I was in Cloudcroft with Ada Lou and Nancy: Be inspired. There’s always a way to do the impossible.
“Are you saying that you can’t learn to cook or that you don’t want to?” he asked.
When the teakettle whistled, I picked it up and poured hot water into each mug. “Neither. That was for you, not me. I’ll give it my best shot if you want to teach me, but don’t expect miracles. I’m already a pro at making hot chocolate.”