I jumped.
He caught the movement and turned my way.
“Sorry. I’m so fucking—” he cleared his throat, “freaking frustrated. Since when did my life get so freaking out of control? It seems I have other people running every single aspect of it. Andy, Sheila; my publicist, the entertainment company that pretty much owns my soul right now with the third movie coming out, and Audrey, my supposed girlfriend, who even now is probably bribing my assistant Katie for my whereabouts. I didn’t even tell Katie where I was going, and I probably trust her more than my own mother.”
He ran both hands through his hair. He seemed unaware he was sharing all this stuff with me. “Katie has my credit card log in, I just pray she won’t share it with Auds to figure out where I am.” He quickly pounded out a text on his phone speaking the words aloud as he typed:
“Do, not, try, and, find, out, or, tell, anyone, where, I, am, under, pain, of, being, fired, dash, will, be, back, in, three, weeks. There.” Presumably that text was to Katie.
He looked like he wanted to throw the phone across the room.
I stood uncertainly, not really sure what to say. I noticed he had found some tools upstairs; there was a pry bar, a hammer, some gloves and a box cutter sitting on the counter. He saw where I was looking.
“Yeah, thought I’d start on the carpet,” he said, his shoulders slumping a bit as he calmed down.
“Okay,” I squeaked. “I’m painting the porch, see you in a bit.”
If Jack was surprised at my sudden departure, I didn’t see it, because I hightailed it out the front. The door banged shut behind me. If I were a different girl, I would have hung out and been a shoulder to cry on; teased out his problems, taken advantage of the situation to help him over his broken heart. No strings attached, of course.
Jazz’s favorite advice for getting over someone was to get under someone else as soon as possible. Obviously, she wasn’t doling out that advice to me, and hardly used it herself, but it sounded fun. And it may work for Jack. But I wasn’t a different girl. I was Keri Ann Butler and I was only passably pretty. While I was hardly insecure, I also knew that even if Jack Eversea was single and not a mega star, he was way out of my league. Then again, if he wasn’t having relationship issues, he wouldn’t have had to borrow a friend’s beach house on the other side of the country to get away, and I would have never met him.
And who was I to pass judgment on Audrey Lane? It hadn’t escaped my attention he had referred to her as his ‘supposed girlfriend’ earlier, but that sounded like they were more on a break than broken up. For all I knew, he was a ghastly boyfriend, and she had gone running and screaming into another man’s arms. I shook my head and got to work on the porch.
* * *
Jack worked for hours.
I peeked in on him every now and again through the windows and he caught me spying twice. But much to my gratification, I did look up one time to catch him looking at me. Okay, maybe he was just looking out the window, I couldn’t really tell.
He did the hall and the parlor, cutting the carpet into strips. He hauled and rolled each strip as he went, coming back for the underlay. There was dust everywhere. Years of it. Then he moved into the living room. At some point after he had most of the furniture in the living room moved into the parlor and the carpet had almost fully been removed, I came in and handed him a plate. PB&J with the crusts cut off, baby carrots and a bottle of water.
He stood up and smiled. I was sure I’d been about to say something but couldn’t for the life of me remember what it was. He was sweating again so he rubbed his hands down his t-shirt, and then lifted it from his abdomen to use on his face.
I closed my eyes tight against the view and counted to three before I opened them.
He let the shirt fall back and gave me a funny look. He clearly knew I thought he was attractive and was obviously used to it, although I’d bet few tried to ignore it as much as I did.
My cheeks were hot again. Great.
“Thanks,” he said, taking my offering.
“No problem.” I backed toward the door, tripping on a tack strip still left behind on the floor. Klutz did not begin to describe me right now.
I cleared my throat, trying for nonchalance. “It’s pretty dusty. I am eating on the porch.” I nodded toward the window behind him that looked out the front of the house.
“I’ll stay in, thanks.”
He looked down at the plate, finally noticing my attempt at treating him like a toddler and burst out laughing.
S I X
The floors in my house looked amazing. It was old pine that was soft and showed its age and character. They would have to be re-sanded and refinished, of course, and looked like they needed to be replaced in a few parts but Jack had been around every edge pulling or hammering down every single nail. I all but moaned in happiness imagining them with a gorgeous walnut stain.
I had agreed to give Jack a ride home and before we left I ducked into the hall bathroom. It would have been nice to say I was glowing, but anyone could see that was a crock. I smelled of mosquito-repellent, my face was bright red and shiny, and there were humid frizzies sticking up all over my head. That’s what I got for avoiding Jack by staying outside all day. There was not a whole lot to be done. Running upstairs to shower would take too long and felt too vain. I was just going to pretend he was like Jazz or Jasper or Liz or any other of my other friends. I wouldn’t make a special case for them, and Jack was just a friend. A friend who was rich, famous and so attractive he was actually hard to look at, but a friend nonetheless. I splashed cold water on my face and ran my fingers through my unruly hair, scraping it back and off my neck into a knot on my head.
“Thank you so much for the floors. They look amazing,” I told Jack as we grabbed his groceries out of the fridge. He stopped and looked at me a moment, and taking in my frazzled appearance, grinned.
“What?” I asked, defensively.
He shook his head. “No problem. They’re in great shape, just a few places to replace, but they look good.” He mashed his cap on his head again and picked up the bags. “Tomorrow, I’ll tackle wall paper. I’ll go put these in the truck, see you out there.”
I grabbed my keys and purse and followed him out while he apologized for “smelling rank”. I kept my reaction to myself.
He glanced furtively around in his cap and dark glasses before sliding into the front seat and hunching down. I rolled my eyes.
I was hyper aware of him sitting next to me inside the cab as we drove, and pointedly stared ahead not wanting to catch his eye. I could have sworn he was looking at me, but I’d die before looking over. It was almost like any eye contact right now would suddenly make the moment way too intimate. There was just this current and energy around him all the time. It was like swimming endlessly, trying to keep my head above water.
I saw him swing his face forward again out of the corner of my eye, and he directed me down toward the beach plaza, and then down Magnolia Road.
I nonchalantly followed directions down the millionaires’ row like I did it every day in my old jalopy. The good thing about being down here was that most of the houses sat empty except for the weekly renters at high season, so there was less chance of being noticed by nosy neighbors.
There were some stunning homes, all first row ocean. Some had seen better days, the land being worth more than anything that had been built prior to the real estate boom, and some were big, brassy monstrosities. But there were also a few low-key and truly elegant homes that had tried, with some success, to emulate the southern style. We passed a tall hedge and turned into a small driveway that led to a house mostly hidden from the road. It was gorgeous; a simple but contemporary beach cottage raised off the ground, as most were, for flood codes, painted white with periwinkle blue shutters and huge baskets of pink hibiscus under each window. It was a slice of California right here in the Lowcountry.