Page 39 of Finding Yesterday

I glance at my hands to see that they’ve reflexively folded a napkin into a perfect fan, just as Pops taught me. Except that for the chili fest, we don’t need the napkins made into fans. I unfold it as I carefully choose my reply. I don’t want to make Jack feel worse. “Blue Vine people care about people. That’s what drew me home.”

“I get that.” He purses his lips. “Well, I get thatnow. No one wants anything from me in Blue Vine. Except my company.”

I tilt my head. “And maybe some juicy gossip.”

“I think I fulfilled my duty there.” He grins but then it falls away. His voice is quiet when he says, “I’ve never talked about any of this before. But I’m not surprised that I’m talking about it with you.”

My stomach flutters like that juicy gossip through The Corner Cuppa. “And why is that?”

His eyes lock with mine. “Because somehow we always end up here—sharing things with each other that we don’t with anyone else. And it’s so easy, like we’ve been doing it our whole lives.”

My pulse skyrocketing, I murmur, “Itiseasy. How did we get through all of our lives before?” Suddenly, I’m tempted to ask Jack…more. So much more. Like, does he have a girlfriend in San Francisco? By the things he’s just said about his life in the city, it sounds like no. So, then, does he have casual relationships? I mean, how could he not? Jack is gorgeous and a famous chef—I’m sure women throw themselves at him.

Strangely, at that thought, the temptation deflates, just a little bit. I don’t want to ruin the moment, and maybe I don’t want to know about Jack’s meaningless hook-ups, because it doesn’t matter. Jack and I can’t be together, living three-thousand miles apart.

But maybe we could be together, just for now? Just…tonight?

The silence grows louder between us, as I fight back the overwhelming urge to fall forward, right into his open arms. I ache to feel him,allof him…the strength in his muscles, the vulnerability coursing through his body.

His hand brushes across my shoulder blades, and electricity shoots to the tips of my toes. I can’t hide the shiver that skitters up my spine. How is it possible that the smallest gestures from Jack bring about such massive reactions from me? It’s like he has insider info on how to electrify my body. I try to swallow some of the nerves in my throat while I consider whether it would be too weird to ask him where he found the key to me.

“I don’t know how we got through before,” he says. He clears his throat before he gets up and grabs a test postcard from the printer.

Jack and I watch each other as he comes back and takes his seat beside me, his chair now closer to mine. Like he just said, things are so effortless, so natural when we’re together, and there’s just so much heat swirling in the air between us.

That same reminder pops into my head—the one where I shouldn’t be looking at men this way so soon after Hudson.

But it hits me. I don’t wantmen. I’m not even looking. This isn’t about men; it’s about Jack. And Jack is different.

The thought dials up my jump-him index to an eleven. Jack’s lips part slightly, and all I can do is imagine my mouth touching his. I can’t even pretend I’m not hot-and-bothered in a major way. It appears Jack feels the same, his chest rising and falling.

We both lean in, this magnetic pull that feels far beyond my control, worsened by the dizzying buzz rushing to my head.

A knock at the door tosses a bucket of icy water over our red-hot embers.

I lean away as Jack jumps up and answers it. A server wearing a black vest and bow tie enters holding a tray of beers and several small bags of chips.

After Jack says, “On the table, please,” the server approaches. I see a few salt and vinegar chips in the mix, and my breath catches.

“What’s all this?” I ask, my already racing heart skipping another few beats.

“My way of giving a mind-numbing job a little kick.” Jack rubs his hands together.

I flash him a bright smile. “It’s perfect.” Then I grab my purse and jump up. “But I’m getting the tip.”

Jack nods. “Yes, ma’am.”

As we settle back into our seats, I remember that Jack and I are here tonight because we work together. In my hormone-fueled momentary haze, I’d forgotten the fact. So, I vow to keep an appropriateworkingdistance from him the rest of the evening.

Which I manage to pull off, barely, because it’s almost physically painful—keeping my distance from Jack Brady, who sucks me in like a tornado.

* * *

AFTER ARRIVING ATthe festival early morning, the first thing we do is hang The Fine Bone booth sign. As I look around, I can’t help but notice that, like everything Buckhead does, this beer and chili fest is no joke. Zagat-rated chophouses are setting up their booths with flashy signs and swarms of employees in Oxford button-down shirts.

There are rows and rows of brightly colored tents, some restaurants taking up two or three booth spaces. No doubt, it’s intimidating.

Worse, there’s press and news cameras here. Nerves bundle in my stomach, and now I’m not sure if Jack and I have enough stuff. This is not just one of your casual, down-home chili contests. That’s probably a good thing because it will keep Jack and me in professional work mode.

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