Page 23 of Snowflakes Over Starr's Fall
Jenna watched, her elbows propped on the counter, as Jack moved around the kitchen, first stirring the risotto and then grating some fresh parmesan. She wanted to ask him all sorts of questions, but she didn’t even know where to begin—and she didn’t want to scare him off. She got the sense that he was pretty reluctant to talk about his job or his retirement, and in any case, they were meant to talk about her business… whichshedidn’t want to talk about.
Maybe she’d just stand here and enjoy the view, because the fact was Jack Wexler was a very pleasing sight indeed. He was wearing what some might consider a typically boring city banker type of outfit—khakis and a button-down shirt—but the shirt was crisp and emphasized his muscular chest while bringing out the blue in his eyes. He’d rolled the sleeves up over his forearms, and Jenna’s gaze kept being drawn to his wrists.
“When did you get that Rolex?” she asked, mainly to distract herself.
He gave a self-deprecating smile. “Do you really want to know?”
“Now I do.”
He sighed as he gave a little shake of his head. “My first bonus. I went out and bought it right away, the flashiest one I could, because I thought I was such a hotshot.”
Jenna felt a smile sneaking over her face. She could totally picture it. “And were you?”
“Is anyone who thinks they’re a hotshot actually one?” Jack asked before holding up one hand. “Don’t answer.”
“But you still wear it,” she observed, and he flashed a quick, teasing smile that made her stomach curl with anticipation—of what, she didn’t know, but she was definitely feeling ready for something.
“Yeah, because it’s a Rolex,” he told her, as if it were obvious, but he was smiling, and she laughed.
“Fair enough,” she said as he brought the pot of bubbling risotto to the table. A pleasing aroma of mushroom, cheese, and garlic wafted up as he set it down.
“It smells delicious,” Jenna told him. She picked up her wineglass and brought it to the table before sliding into her seat. “And I’m really kind of touched that you cooked for me,” she told him, her voice inexplicably dropping an octave as she gazed up at him from beneath her lashes. Whoa, that had sounded—and felt—way too romantic, like this wasn’t just a date, but they were actuallydating. One glass of wine in and she was already more than a little muddle-headed.
She looked away quickly to disguise her embarrassment, and to his credit, Jack took the misstep—if that was indeed what it had been—in his stride.
“Wait until you taste it,” he told her, before fetching the wine bottle and topping up both their glasses. Jenna hadmeantto cover her glass and tell him she couldn’t have any more, because she was driving, but somehow she didn’t and she told herself it was okay, because she could always call an Uber… which really meant a friend, because Starr’s Fall didn’t have Ubers. But still, it was fine. She’d find someone to drive her home… which meant she could enjoy this second glass with impunity.
“Cheers,” she said, and hefted it, clinking it with Jack’s before they both took a sip, their gazes meeting over the rims.
Okay, this was starting to feel very date-like, and dare she say it, romantic, and Jenna was pretty sure it wasn’t just her. But instead of feeling excited by that prospect, she suddenly experienced a cold sweep of panic because she wasn’t ready for date-like, or romance, or falling for a guy who was so much like Ryan in so many ways… even if he wasn’t.
Jack was still rich, and confident, and privileged and powerful, and he came from a world that had basically booted her out and then stomped on her, or maybe vice versa, but either way it hadhurt, and she wasn’t ready for another round. Not remotely.
Unsteadily, Jenna put down her glass. “So maybe we should talk business,” she said, in a voice as unsteady as her hand.
Jack frowned slightly, but then he nodded. “All right.” He waited, and Jenna realized he wanted her to go first.
“My sales have been declining steadily for several years,” she admitted baldly, emboldened no doubt by the wine. “And recently the decline has sped up. I know it’s happening to everyone in one way or another, but some businesses are managing to stay afloat. Laurie and Maggie both opened new stores this last year, and they seem to be doing okay, so why can’t mine?” Realizing she sounded a little petulant, she hurried on, “I’ve tried different things, admittedly not very well, but that’s because I don’t have a lot of wiggle room cash-wise. And I don’t want to become a copy of something in Litchfield, because?—”
“Starr’s Fall is not Litchfield,” Jack cut in, his voice surprisingly gentle. His mouth twisted in a teasing smile. “Or so I’ve heard.”
“Right.” She subsided into silence, feeling subdued by her own litany of woe. Then she tried to summon a smile and inject a cheerful note into her voice as she asked, “So what do you, wise and experienced investor that you are, advise?”
“Well…” Jack heaped risotto on both their plates, his forehead furrowed in thought. “I’m not sure it’s as simple as that.”
Jenna hadn’t been expecting some kind of quick fix, but something about his tone alarmed her, at least a little. “Why not?”
Jack toyed with a forkful of risotto, his gaze lowered, and Jenna’s stomach tensed with anxiety. Never mind the risotto, the wine, the flirting—right now she didn’t want to be here, having to brace herself for whatever Jack was going to say.
“It’s just that,” he finally began, looking up to gaze at her with an unsettling mix of both resolve and compassion, “most of the investors I used to meet, who would come to me hoping I’d take them on—they were hungry. Eager, with a million ideas about how they could improve their business, innovate, expand, change…” He paused, and Jenna swallowed.
“And I’m not?” she filled in, because it seemed like the inevitable comparison he was going to make.
“A few investors, though,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken, “weren’t. They were cautious, tentative, wanting me and my firm to take the reins so they could—relax, I suppose. I think they found it all very stressful. But I usually didn’t take them on as my clients. I wanted them to feel that fire in the belly.”
Is that what he thought she was doing? Beinglazy?
“But,” Jack continued before she could say anything, “I don’t think you fall into either of those categories. You feel like something different… It’s not that you’re afraid of hard work, but maybe you’re afraid of success.” He cocked his head. “And I’ve been trying to figure out why.”
