Page 4 of Jack of All Trades
"Well, now you know me," Jack says with a grin. "And you'll meet my brothers at the party."
"Lucky me," I mutter.
"They're actually good guys," Jack says, ignoring my sarcasm. "Ethan's quiet but solid. He's a blacksmith now, lives outside of town. Michael's the smart one, built some tech empire. And David's the athlete, quarterback. They'll all be here for the party."
I try to match the descriptions with the stories Rex has told me over the years. "The Morrison boys," I say, remembering Rex's nickname for them. "Town legends, according to my brother."
Jack shrugs, but I catch a flash of something in his eyes, a hint of discomfort, maybe even insecurity. It's gone so quickly I might have imagined it.
"We're just ordinary guys," he says.
Something in his tone makes me think this is a sore spot, but before I can analyze it further, my phone buzzes with a text. I check it and sigh.
"I need to go. Rex is wondering where I am." I slide out of the booth, gathering my purse. "He thinks I'm at the grocery store."
Jack stands too, and I'm reminded of how tall he is. Not bulky like the bikers Rex hangs out with, but lean and muscular in a way that suggests actual strength rather than gym-built bulk.
"I'll walk you out," he offers.
"I can find the door," I say dryly.
He grins, undeterred. "Humor me. My mama raised me with manners."
Outside, the evening air has cooled, bringing with it the scent of pine and earth. My rental car, a sensible compact that looks absurdly small next to Jack's truck, sits at the far end of the lot.
"That's me," I say, gesturing to the car.
Jack walks me to it anyway, his boots crunching on the gravel. When we reach the car, I turn to face him, determined to end this encounter on my terms.
"I'll text you tomorrow about food specifics," I say, all business. "And I'll need your address."
"Or you could come by tomorrow and see the space," Jack suggests. "Get a feel for what we're working with."
I narrow my eyes. "Is that necessary?"
"Probably not," he admits with a shrug. "But it might help with planning."
I consider it briefly. He's not wrong. Seeing the space would make organizing easier. But spending more time with Jack feels dangerous in a way I can't quite articulate.
"Fine," I concede reluctantly. "What time?"
"How about noon? I'll make lunch."
I shake my head immediately. "No lunch. This isn't social."
Jack's smile doesn't falter. "Planning is easier on a full stomach."
"I'll eat before I come," I counter.
He raises his hands in surrender. "Have it your way. Noon, no lunch."
I nod, fishing my keys from my purse. "I'll see you tomorrow."
As I move to open my car door, Jack steps back, giving me space. But then he says, "You know, Maya, you don't have to work so hard at disliking me. Most people find it comes naturally."
The self-deprecating joke catches me by surprise, and a laugh escapes before I can stop it. Jack's eyes widen slightly at the sound, like he's discovered something precious.
"Tomorrow at noon," I say firmly, sliding into my car. "Don't be late."
