Page 20 of Jack of All Trades
His blue truck sits in the driveway when I arrive, a good sign he's home. I park behind it and sit for a moment, gathering my courage. What am I even doing here? What do I want from this conversation?
The truth is, I don't know. And that uncertainty is both terrifying and exciting, and a little bit of both has never killed anyone.
I follow the stone path that leads around the side of the house to the backyard, where we'll be hosting Rex's party tomorrow. The sound of movement draws me forward—someone is definitely back there.
I round the corner of the house and stop dead in my tracks.
Jack is there, shirtless, wearing only jeans and work boots, his tanned skin gleaming with sweat as he moves a heavy wooden table across the grass. The muscles in his back and shoulders flex with the effort, revealing a strength that his usual shirts only hint at.
I should announce my presence. I should say something, anything, to let him know I'm here. Instead, I stand frozen, watching as he positions the table precisely where we'd discussed putting it for the party, then straightens, running ahand through his hair and leaving it even more tousled than usual.
He turns, reaching for a water bottle on another table, and that's when he sees me. His eyes widen in surprise, then crinkle at the corners as his face breaks into a genuine smile.
"Maya," he says, his voice warm with pleasure. "This is unexpected."
I find my voice, though it comes out slightly higher than normal. "I was in the neighborhood."
One eyebrow rises skeptically. "Were you now?"
"Fine. I was driving around after arguing with Rex and ended up here."
He nods, seemingly appreciating my honesty. "Let me guess, the argument was about me."
"Your ego knows no bounds, Morrison," I say, but there's no real bite to it.
"Not ego. Just an educated guess based on how we left things last night." He gestures to a pair of chairs in the shade of the oak tree. "Want to sit? Tell me how badly Rex is planning my murder?"
I follow him to the chairs, trying very hard not to stare at his bare chest and failing miserably. It's not fair for someone to look that good in just jeans and sweat.
"He's not planning your murder," I say, settling into a chair. "He actually said you're like a brother to him."
"But?" Jack prompts, taking the chair opposite mine.
"But he thinks you're a terrible romantic prospect who will inevitably break my heart."
Jack winces slightly, then reaches for his discarded t-shirt hanging over the back of his chair. He pulls it on, and I feel both relieved and disappointed.
"Rex isn't entirely wrong," he says after a moment. "My track record with relationships isn't great."
His honesty surprises me. I'd expected denials or justifications.
"So I've heard."
"From Rex?"
"From Rex, from Betty Wilson giving me significant looks at the fairgrounds, from the waitress at the diner who warned me to 'be careful' when she overheard me mention your name." I shrug. "Small town. Word gets around."
Jack sighs, running a hand through his hair again. "I'm not proud of it. The reputation, I mean. It's not like I set out to be the town heartbreaker."
"What did you set out to be?"
The question seems to catch him off guard. He looks at me thoughtfully, as if deciding how honest to be.
"Happy, I guess," he says finally. "Like everyone else. But the relationships I've had... they always reach a point where it feels like the woman is waiting for something I can't give her. Some grand gesture or declaration. And when I can't deliver, things fall apart."
"What can't you give?" I ask, genuinely curious.
Jack shifts in his chair, uncomfortable with the directness of my question.
