Page 25 of Don't Fall for a Grump

11

Bree

Monday morning is infamously bemoaned by many. But not by me. Not this morning. I practically jump out of bed with a renewed sense of purpose. In the shower, I let the hot water pound my body. My skin feels soft and tantalized as I lather the shower gel all over myself. I’m reminded of Jackson’s fingertips stroking the inner part of my arm, and my belly spasms at the memory. I can still feel his lips on my cheek, and the woodsy aroma that makes my tummy do cart wheels.

If someone had told me three days ago that Jackson and I would spend five hours on a Sunday afternoon talking like we’d known each other all our lives, I’d have laughed in their faces. His arrival at Ben’s house at the beginning of the week had been dire, as had the several days since. But yesterday had changed everything. Well, for me at least.

Oh, come on, Bree.

From my experience; based on what I saw and heard, I have to believe that things had changed for Jackson too. Why else would he have stayed so long? He could have up and left any time. When I offered him food on no less than two occasions, he had refused both times, saying that he had to go. But then he proceeded to stay for another hour, while we talked of yet another subject. I truly believe we could have sat there talking another five hours and had no problem filling the time.

It had felt freeing, uplifting, and yes, even natural.

At the same time, it had also felt more than strange. I had never had such in depth conversations with a man before. Neither David nor Robert would have had strong opinions on important subjects. Most of my conversations with them had been banal, bland, and superficial. Jackson, on the other hand, had challenged me and my ideas. We had both shared our opinions passionately, and yet at the same time, respected each other’s differences. It had been refreshing.

There is no doubt about it. I know my feelings are growing for him, and that scares me a little. Not to mention, it goes against the very reason I came here. But like a child who has done something wrong, I don’t want to look at the mess I have made right now. It makes me feel bad about myself, and I don’t want to feel that way anymore. I know I vowed five years of celibacy. But Jackson isn’t Robert, or David.

This is different. I can feel it. Way different.

Are you sure you’re not just seeing what you want to see?

Am I? Three days ago, I could barely look at the man. In fact, three days ago, I had stormed off and left him alone at the fair, unable to tolerate his attitude any longer. But then, the Jackson I was with yesterday, was not the same Jackson as the other day. He was not the moody caveman from the day I had first met him, nor was he the wary but friendly Jackson who had been in the barn on Saturday, pretending to be interested in my taste in TV shows.

Once the disaster had passed, and we had settled on the porch, I felt as though a wall between us had come down. I saw Jackson allowing himself to be the man he actually was. No defensiveness, no hiding behind a veneer, just a genuine man speaking from the heart.

As I step out of the shower and get ready for work, I push my earlier doubts aside. I refuse to look at them. Today is a new day.

I get out of my car and walk toward Ben’s house with a spring in my step. As I announce my arrival, I cannot keep the happiness from my voice.

“Well, someone’s woken up on the right side of the bed this morning,” Ben says, wheeling himself out of his study as I close the front door behind me. An open book sits on his knee, indicating that he had just been reading it.

“You want some coffee?” I ask perkily.

Ben grins and shakes his head. “No, but I’ll have a cup of whatever you had this morning.”

There’s a twinkle in his eye. Has he done the math, connected the dots? His son went out yesterday to drop off a purse, and given the fact that I live barely three miles down the road, and not somewhere like Milwaukee, he’s bound to know that we spent the afternoon together. Or maybe, Jackson just told him.

“Did Jackson get your purse back to you, all right?” Ben tries not to give anything away, but he has a dreadful poker face. I can see he knows the answer to that question already.

“He did. Thank you, Ben. I’ll be honest,” I say, moving across the hallway to put my bag in the closet. “I hadn’t even noticed it was missing.”

“Must be nice,” he smirks, “having so much money that you don’t care if you lose some.”

“Oh, now. I did not say that,” I say, grinning back at him. “Are we for the porch today?”

“As always,” Ben replies. “And you know, I can feel my leg getting stronger. I reckon I might be able to get this cast off earlier than the doctors think.”

I can’t hide my surprise. “Ben! It’s only been three weeks. You’re looking at six weeks rest, at the minimum,” I say emphatically. “The minimum.” Repetition for emphasis. “It could even be longer than that.”

“Not if I have anything to do with it,” he grumbles back.

I open the front door wide, before stepping behind the wheelchair. Grabbing the handles, I begin pushing him outside. “Just think of all the reading you’re catching up on. If I was wheelchair-bound for six weeks, I’d devour that huge library you have in there as fast as I can manage it.”

Ben chuckles as we turn the corner of the porch, when suddenly, I falter.

I hadn’t seen him yet, and I presumed that Jackson would be working in the barn. From what I had gathered so far, he was an early riser. I mean, unnaturally early, like, when the moon hadn’t yet gone back to bed.

At this moment, however, Jackson is not in the barn. He’s in the garden wearing running shorts and a tank top, showing off many of those muscles I had been gawking at yesterday afternoon. With long pruning shears in hand, he’s stretching up to a tree with outreaching, spindly branches that hang over the lawn. Going by the pile of twigs and leaves lying beside him, he looks like he’s been pruning the tree for a while.

---