Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10
BELLA
“Do you want some?” I ask Colleen, offering the wine bottle I brought out. We’re on the front porch in the rocking chairs, looking out toward the dark road and into the strawberry fields across the street. It’s still early in the season, but according to the Bedds, those fields will be crawling with pick-your-own enthusiasts by the end of next month. I can hardly imagine it. Everything is still, crisp, and barely illuminated by the crescent moon. We’re wearing coats and have blankets over our laps but are enjoying the night air all the same. The wine buzz helps with staying warm, too.
Colleen shakes her head. “Too much milk in these jugs to drink that wine. But I appreciate the offer.”
We’ve been out here chatting and laughing while Bacon and Jackson help inside with kitchen clean-up. I can see Baabara through the front windows, tucked into a corner of the kitchen. She’s within bleating distance of Jackson, just how she likes it, after having broken into the family dinner roughly around the time everyone was halfway through their meals. The twins have been asleep in their travel bassinet for at least an hour, which Colleen verifies by checking on them every ten minutes.
Colleen sighs happily, her gaze returning to the sight in front of us. “You know, I never thought I’d be so happy to live in Fork Lick, after growing up here. But it just feels right.”
I smile sadly. Something in her words resonates deep inside me, even though I’ve been staying far away from Bayshore. “When you know, you know,” I tell her.
“It’s crazy how it all worked out, too,” she muses. “I always wondered how I’d find the man of my dreams, living in Fork Lick. Turns out I had to travel—and lie— a little bit to find him, but now he’s here alongside me.”
“Love can find you, even in Fork Lick,” I say with a giggle. For some reason, my mind goes straight to Jackson. “Forked by Love in Fork Lick.”
“That would make a nice T-shirt,” Colleen says. “Bacon would have to wear it.”
“Maybe we could add it to Bacon’s merch line-up at the restaurant’s gift shop,” I suggest. Once our laughter has calmed, I slow the rocking of my chair. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you. Did Bacon have any issues getting his permits for the restaurant when he first started?”
Colleen shakes her head, the moon dancing in her gaze. “No, I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”
“I was planning on talking to you about this once we could sit down together but…” I bite my lip, not wanting to alarm her—or anyone in the family. I’ve been working all week on contingency plans, as well as different formulations of my original plan that might be more acceptable to the municipality. I don’t want to sound the alarm until I have something else firmed up. “I’ve hit a roadblock with the town.”
“A roadblock?” Colleen sounds alarmed, which makes my stomach sink.
“They claim the festival will violate noise ordinances, and that I’d need to restrict the attendance to a smaller head count.”
Colleen gasps. Now I can see real concern in her eyes, which makes me think I should have waited until a different time like I’d originally planned.
“Don’t worry, I’m working on some back-up options,” I tell her.
“Have you told them Jackson is headlining?” she asks.
“Not yet?—”
“You have to tell them. Lucy works at the front desk, and she’s obsessed with Jackson. And Lucy is Frank’s niece, so she has some sway there.”
I nod, digesting the information. Seemed like nepotism, but who was I to judge? “I had no idea.”
“I’d name drop Jackson,” she advises me. “That’ll open some doors for you, I promise.”
“I’ll make sure he’s okay with it,” I tell her.
A piercing scream breaks through the night air. Colleen immediately hops to her feet. “I can tell that’s Cassie just from the cry alone.”
I stay in the rocking chair, listening to Colleen and Bacon inside tending to the babies and then saying their goodbyes to Gran and Jackson. They come outside a moment later, giving me hugs. Instead of heading down the sidewalk to the road to walk home like they normally do, they head for the driveway.
“You guys didn’t walk today?” I call out.
“We drove straight here after running errands,” Colleen says after she’s clicked Cassie’s car seat into place. Bacon loads up Danny, stores the stroller and bassinet, and I blow them both a kiss. They have the world’s shortest commute, and I laugh to myself as I watch them back out of the driveway, drive forward for five seconds, and then park in the church’s lot.
The porch door swings open. Footsteps fall across the worn wood, and then there’s the scrape of the other rocking chair being moved across the porch. Jackson fills his chair, facing me, so close that our knees brush. Heat pours off him, and even in the dim light, I can see the intensity swirling in his eyes.
He hasn’t said a word, but his approach leaves no question about his intentions.
“H-hello,” I whisper.
“So it seems to me that something has changed,” Jackson says. The desire dancing in his gaze nearly pulls me from the rocking chair and into his lap.
“What makes you say that?”
“You keep defending me.” He runs his thumb back and forth over his knuckles while his gaze sucks me in. “In front of my family, even. Are you a fan of mine? I could have sworn you weren’t.”
Responses form a logjam in my throat. I don’t know how to admit the long, complicated history when his sizzling attention is unraveling me from the inside out. “I…I’ve always been a fan, I guess. I just…didn’t want to show it.”
He smirks and nods. “Right.”
“You were unbearably cocky. Especially when we first met.”
“I’ll accept that.” The corners of his mouth lift. “But I’ve calmed down since then. I’ve become much more jaded, like a good celebrity should be. And you should know, I’ve always been a fan of yours, too.”
I’m grateful for the obscurity of night out here. He won’t be able to see how my cheeks are heating up now, betraying me.
“Always?”
“Since day one.” His knees brush mine again, sending heat scattering through my limbs. “I’ve got a thing for go-getter brunettes who run the show and know how to tell a guy off when he’s too big for his britches. And we have matching wounds. That sort of thing means something, right?”
My eyes widen, and I’m so shocked he’s noticed me all these years that I start to giggle. I clap a hand over my mouth. The poetry infused in his daily life is awe inspiring. “Matching wounds?”
“We both lost our parents at a young age. And it doesn’t hurt that my entire family vouches for you,” he adds. “Hell, they might even vote me out of the family and put you in my place if I’m not careful.”
I laugh harder. This is unreal. The lead singer of Single Grain is giving me thoughtful feedback about what he’s liked about me throughout the years. I could have sworn he never looked twice at me from the day we met. And now he’s noticing our matching wounds.
If he keeps going, I might swoon myself onto the floor of the porch.
“I think your position in the family is safe,” I tell him. “Especially now that we’ve determined we’re both fans of each other. I’ll be less inclined to oust you from the Bedd family.”
I want to take a picture of the grin that spreads across his face. So that I never forget this moment, or how warm it is to fall headfirst into Jackson Bedd.
“Besides, I could never oust Jackie Boy,” I say with a shy grin, “who treats his gran so well. And coddles a naughty sheep. Or the guy who’s such a great uncle and who gets up early to run every morning. And that doesn’t even include the musical accomplishments, which I don’t think I need to get into.”
His warm hand lands on my knee then inches up the side of my thigh. The heat of his hand against my jeans sends desire thumping through my veins.
“We can cover those later,” he says. “It’s only fair that you tell me your childhood nickname, now that you know mine.”
I bite my lip, thrilled by this unexpected demand for intimacy. I don’t have to tell him, but I want to. “Sweet Pea.”
“Okay, Sweet Pea. Now let me ask you this question again. What does your boyfriend think about you sleeping in one room over from me?”
His question damn near leaves char marks on my skin. His fingertips swirl an invisible pattern across my jeans, and this time, I can’t come up with any good reason to resist Jackson Bedd.
“What boyfriend?” I ask.
The grin that slides across his face this time is even sexier than the last. Pure mischief and understanding. His fingertips dig under the bottom of my thigh. Locking in. Claiming me. Reminding me of the thing I’ve known all along.
There’s no harm in a little fling with America’s Sexiest Bachelor.