Page 43 of Beg, Borrow, or Steal

“No.” I place antibiotic cream on his finger.

“Not about the accidental email either?”

“Absolutely not. And we are keeping it that way.” Maybe Iamjust like my grandmother. One day my grandkids will open my closet after I’ve left this earth and find a box of mediocre manuscripts. They’ll read them all in the living room and laugh.

He sits back in his seat eyeing me. “I think you’re the only person on this earth who keeps more secrets than me.”

“What secrets are you keeping, Jackson?” I ask as I wrap the Band-Aid around his thumb. It has a flower print on it. I selected the one with blue petals to match his hat and somehow I know he’ll appreciate that attention to detail.

“Enough to make some waves.” He pauses and doesn’t move his hand after I’ve finished doctoring his thumb. “Do the secrets ever weigh on you?”

I stare at him across the table. “Do they ever weigh on you?”

He smirks. “I think our answer is the same.”

“In that case, you need a smoke as much as I do.” I hand him my pen and without looking away from my eyes, he takes it, sucks in a long drag, angles his face away from mine, and blows it out.Ever the gentleman.

“Will you let me read it?”

I glance nervously to my sisters but relax when I see they’re busy talking with their heads ducked together. “No. You may not read it.”

He grins. “Come on. Don’t be chicken.”

“I’m not chicken. I just don’t want to corrupt your innocent mind with all my dirty scenes.”

This delights him more. “I love romance books, you know? I’ve read plenty. I could be a good sounding board too since I know a lot about the writing and publishing process.” And again, his eyes do this thing where he looks like he accidentally said too much.

“Because of your dad?”

He stares at me, swallows, and then nods. “Yes. Because of my dad.” A pause where he presses his lips together. “I’ve seen him work through countless stories. I know how to plot, how to find plot holes, and how to edit. I also know that it’s important to have someone read your work before you send it off to an agent, and that you might be lucky your email went to Bart instead of the agent because they hate when you send them a full manuscript without being asked. So…anyway…if you need a beta reader and you want that beta reader to be me—I’m offering myself up as tribute.”

Probably so he can laugh at me. Yeah, no way.

“Well, thank you. But after I sobered up, I decided it’s probably best I don’t do anything with the book anyway…” I check once again to make sure no one is listening besides Jack. “It was just a silly hobby that probably isn’t even very good. And sending it to Bart made me see how much I don’t want anyone to ever read it. It wouldn’t look good for a second-grade teacher also to be an explicit romance author, you know?”

Jack is looking at me like he can see right through my lie. He knows I’m just scared shitless. He doesn’t challenge me this time, though. “Thank you for the Band-Aid and antiseptic.”

“You’re welcome. Stop hammering tonight.”

He stands, hands me back my pen from between his two fingers, and walks toward the door. “Not without the magic word.”

“Over my dead body.”

“Good night, Emily. Good night, ladies. Enjoy your supper club.”

And with that, he leaves my house, closing the door behind him.

I breathe out and don’t realize I have a sappy smile on my face until I look toward my sisters and find them absolutely gawking in my direction.

“What theactual hellwas that?” Surprisingly, Annie was the one to ask it, and I have to spend the rest of the night explaining to them without really explaining to them just how Jack Bennett and I became friends.

June 11

Jack (9:16 AM):Go inside.

Emily (9:16 AM):No—this is too fun. I like hearing Darrell tell you how bad you are at construction.

Jack (9:18 AM):You must not have eavesdropped on the part where he said I did an incredible job on the inside framing.

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