Page 50 of The Usual Family Mayhem

“How do you know that?” Celia asked.

“The information was on one of those sticky notes in the office.” That set off a new round of Gram-to-Celia glances and I was about done with those.

“And you remember which pies were for which event?” Gram sounded skeptical.

“Let’s not act like I don’t collect all relevant dessert information whenever possible. But yeah. You have six substantial orders for big-ticket special events this week plus orders via the website and your usual deliveries to restaurants and regular customers.” That sounded big. Not NOI-wants-to-sell-you big but enough to grab Micah’s attention. Unfortunately.

Celia made a humming sound. “Impressive memory.”

Was it? I’d never had trouble memorizing things. It tended to happen when I wasn’t even trying. Give me a list of things and I’d remember it for days. “I’m not totally useless.”

Gram nodded. “Clearly not.”

“We never thought so,” Celia said at the same time. “In fact, with your organizational skills and memory skills there’s always a place for you around here.”

Every word stabbed into me. She was offering me more business responsibility while I was putting them in the headlights of people who wanted to buy all their hard work.

That’s it. I needed Jackson’s advice. It would come witha lecture and step-by-step instructions on how to do what I should have done more than a week ago. I’d at least have a little help... and the fact I had a new reason to see him so soon after our dinner didn’t suck.

Having a plan should have given me confidence. Not yet, but I hoped it was coming.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Jackson showed up at the house a little before eight that night as promised. He was many things, including dependable. I texted him after talking to Gram and Celia. He texted back about an associate and a memo along with a promise he would “swing by later.”

Later had arrived.

Celia and Gram sat in the family room, watching a police procedural and complaining about the poor choices the police, the victim, and the attackers made. They claimed to be big fans of the show, but they hid it well.

I caught Jackson as he opened the side door to the house and shoved him back outside. He grumbled about being rushed away from the kitchen, but clandestine meetings needed to be held in secret. Otherwise, they were just boring meetings. This situation called for something special.

I dragged him to the gazebo. Didn’t face him until we stood under the lights.

Another suit. Another opportunity to look all tall, dark, and thoroughly put together. Had he gotten cuter? Could that sort of thing happen? Maybe only to men because the older I got the more television commercials harped on my undereye circles and thinning lips that needed puffing. I loved a good moisturizer as much as the next gal but hearing theyouneedto buy this new lotion or potionspiel exhausted me. I refused to believe I’d run out of time to save my skin at twenty-six.

Jackson looked awake and engaged. Still pressed and impressive in that navy suit and aqua tie. He’d worked something like twelve hours already today and would likely put in a few more after our talk. Always the overachieving hottie.

“What’s the big rush? I wanted to steal a cupcake.”

“I have you covered.” I lifted the plastic container I’d been hiding and held it in front of him. “Black velvet with cream cheese icing.”

As if I didn’t know his favorite cupcake. I also knew his favorite pie, favorite meal, and favorite restaurant. He liked his food straightforward, not fancy. No need for swirls or sprinkles.

It was possible I knew an unhealthy amount about him.

He opened the lid and looked at the two cupcakes I’d packed for him. Not that he couldn’t go inside and grab his own. He could, but I’d come up with this contingency plan to keep his attention.

“Nice.” He dipped a finger in the icing and brought it to his mouth. “So good.”

He licked it off and something in my brain sputtered. I could almost hear the series of tiny explosions.

“What?” He frowned. “Did you want some?”

I never noticed the way he spoke in innuendos. Now, it’s all I heard, which could mean I was the one with the innuendo problem.

“Tell me how to admit to Gram and Celia about Brock and the pitch and the mess I made.”

“Easy.” Jackson closed the lid but looked reluctant to do so. “You sit them down and tell them.”

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