Chapter 28 Jackson #2
“Does it work?” Jesus, did he really just ask that?
Ethan shakes his head quickly, the kind of jerky motion one makes when they’ve swallowed a bitter pill, then casts his gaze to the floor. His mischievous smile has been replaced with a sheepish one.
Is he embarrassed?
“Well?” Jackson presses.
“I’m sure you understand,” Ethan says, lancing Jackson with his eyes, “we’ve been married for nearly two decades. I love my wife, but—”
He doesn’t need to finish his thought; everyone knows about the seven-year-itch, the sparks dying down, the humdrum of marriage.
Jackson can feel his pulse threading through his neck. The thought of Ethan being unsatisfied is an enormously overwhelming one. So much opportunity.
A bolt of sunshine slashes through the clouds, spilling golden light across Ethan’s perfect cheekbones. As in the men’s room at the Boat House, Jackson yearns to lean over, kiss him right now.
“Lemme show you the rest,” Ethan says, tromping from the room.
Wordlessly, Jackson follows, his eyes tracing Ethan: the small of his back, where his shirt is damp with sweat; the delicious sliver of a gap between his beltline and skin, exposed where his shirt creeps up above his hips; leather suspenders clasping his pants, holding them up.
Jackson imagines snapping those off, tugging Ethan’s pants down.
He’s drunk with these thoughts as they walk the few paces to the woodworking shop.
When Jackson follows him inside the open-air structure, he sees Ethan has more than just a table saw; he has a proper workbench glittering with tools, a circular saw, and assorted pieces of furniture in various stages of production.
Sitting on one of the worktables, a thick Bible is splayed open.
Jesus Christ. Literally.
“This will be the top of the desk I’m making for Chip Chambers.” Ethan glides his hand across a slab of wood that rests on a pair of sawhorses.
“Nice wood!”
“Yep. Solid piece of maple. As you can imagine, the Chambers are very particular.” Ethan rolls his neck, rolls his eyes.
Charleigh may be territorial, but she’s not all that particular; she pretty much leaves all design decisions up to Jackson, which he loves.
It’s because, unlike the other wealthy people in this town, Charleigh comes from nothing.
And even though she actually possesses better taste than most, she’s modest about it.
The other wealthy folks here, though, can be downright astonishing in how demanding they are, how full of their own opinions and importance.
“Believe me, I know,” Jackson replies. “What are you thinking of for the legs?”
“Ah, they, of course, wanted something tacky. Spindly legs with feet like a dragon’s, but I talked them out of that. Convinced them that mid-century was the way to go. Timeless, clean lines, dovetailed joints—”
“Love it. That’s so to my taste, too.”
Ethan walks toward something. “But this—this is what I really wanted to show off to you.” His hands palm a gorgeous piece of wood; his playful smile is back.
Jackson practically floats across the space.
It’s an oval-shaped piece, the color of honey, with intricate scallops cut out at the edges.
“This is absolutely divine,” Jackson gushes. “Maple?”
“Close. Alder. I’ve been saving this piece of wood ever since we lived in Minnesota. Here, come closer.”
Jackson moves right next to him.
Ethan circles so that he’s standing behind Jackson. Reaching around him, he lifts the wood from the bench, angles it to make the sun hits it just right.
Jackson gasps.
“Ha!” Ethan laughs into the back of his neck. “It’s hard to see unless the light hits it just right, but I knew you’d appreciate it.”
Rimming the edge of the wood is a thin border of inlaid walnut. It’s gorgeous. Jackson has only seen this type of handiwork in the small old showrooms in Europe. This is old-world-level craftsmanship.
“Inlaid walnut.”
“Bam.”
“This is truly exquisite. How in the world—”
Ethan moves in closer, presses him ever so slightly.
Taking Jackson’s hands in his own, Ethan traces their fingers over the river of the inlaid wood. “See how smooth it is? Like it’s always been there? If you can believe it, that’s the hard part. Not the actual scoring. Which is no picnic either, but—”
Jackson can barely breathe. Ethan’s ropy arms are clasped around him; his hands are still in Ethan’s; he feels Ethan’s hot breath on his neck. He doesn’t want to move a muscle, break this spell.
“Where in the world did you learn how to do this?”
Ethan keeps running Jackson’s hands over the wood like he’s guiding the planchette across a Ouija board.
“My father. One of the only good things he taught me.” Ethan’s tone darkens.
“This is seriously showroom quality. If you’d like, I could introduce you to some connections I have in Dallas—”
Ethan presses in even closer; his hip bone juts right up against Jackson’s butt. His vision swims from the contact.
“I appreciate the offer. But, if you haven’t figured it out, I prefer to cut the middleman out.” Ethan’s voice is low, rough, in Jackson’s ear. “Be my own man.”
Jackson literally gulps, positive that Ethan can hear him.
He feels himself stiffen, is afraid that Ethan can sense that as well.
“No, I get that. And respect it.” His mouth is dry, like it’s filled with dust.
“We just moved here from Dallas. And I know those showrooms, but yeah—”
“Where in Dallas?”
“Tiny house, decrepit house, in lower Greenville—”
“I know that area well—” Jackson thinks about the gay bars there, wonders if Ethan ever wandered into one. Is considering asking him.
“Hated it. I’m a land man, but it was close to Highland Park, to the wealthy, so lotsa clients. Speaking of which, if you know of anyone in town who might be interested, I’m still trying to build my business here. Like your friend Charleigh?”
Jackson freezes. He can’t exactly explain to Ethan that hell no, Charleigh Andersen is not interested, that she out and out hates his entire family, so instead of replying, he chews the inside of his cheek.
“I mean, no pressure, but…” Ethan’s breath pants along the back of Jackson’s neck.
Even though his head is full of Charleigh right now, his body is full of Ethan, of being this close to him; his groin feels like it’s on fire.
“No big deal. I can put in a word with her,” he lies. “But it’s tough here right now. I know everybody seems like they’re dripping with it, but the recession has made people tighten their purse strings. I’ve lost clients lately—”
“Sorry to hear it.”
“But we’ll come out of it,” Jackson hurriedly adds, not wanting to scare Ethan away from town. “And in the meantime, I’ll brainstorm, get some referrals for you.”
Jackson hears footsteps; Ethan releases his arms, twists around.
“Pa, what are you doing?” A girl’s voice, bewildered, accusatory, slices through the air.
Jackson clears his throat, turns around, too.
She’s tall. Taller than Jane. Must be the older sister. She’s dressed head to toe in beekeeper wear.
“We’re talking business.” Ethan’s voice is scalpel sharp, slicing back, cutting through the air, which has instantly thickened with tension. “Julia, where is your baby sister?”
“In her swing. Right by the bee boxes, so I can keep watch.”
Her tone is one of a martyr, and though a fine mesh of net clouds her face, Jackson feels as if her expression is hardened, mouth twisted into a snarl.
“Honey, this is Mr. Ford, Jackson Ford. A well-acclaimed interior designer here in town.” Ethan’s voice is level, but prodding. “He’s doing me the honor of looking at some of my pieces.”
When Julia doesn’t speak or budge, Ethan crosses the room, takes her by the wrists, jerks her forward. Gives a sharp cough.
She raises her hood, bores her sky-blue eyes, framed with a pair of cheap, dime-store glasses, into Jackson’s.
She’s not near as pretty as Jane, Jackson thinks. She more favors the mother. Her eyes aren’t the almond shape of Ethan’s and Jane’s; they’re round, the blue dull. Her face, too, is round, her mouth small.
And it’s not just her homeliness—her vibe is flat, too. Stoic, laced with disdain, as if she can sense the gay on Jackson, as if she knows how close he and Ethan were to getting it on.
“Pleasure to meet you.” She sticks out her hand for Jackson to shake.
His hand is drenched, so Jackson drags it across his jeans first, then accepts hers. “Pleasure is all mine! Your father here is quite the craftsman! I’m so impressed!” He’s overdoing it, trying to cover up their near indiscretion, but he can’t help himself. “Truly amazing work!”
She stares back at him coolly, calculating. Remains icily silent.
“So, you’ll be in touch?” Ethan asks Jackson, clapping him on the back as if they’re old pals and not almost fuck buddies.
“You bet!” Jackson clambers away, sneakers clawing the dirt floor, adrenaline slinging through his veins as he moves as quickly as he can back toward his car.