Page 47 of Kissing for Keeps
SIENA
I rollmy head to the side, shifting my body, but my neck aches, and everything just feels wrong.
Blinking my eyes open, I squint at the light coming from the TV. It illuminates the coffee table, where a container of strawberries sits, littered with the uneaten green tops.
I glance beside me. Jack’s asleep, his head tipping precariously toward me, just like it did on the plane. His breathing is slow and calm, making his chest rise and fall rhythmically under his t-shirt.
I don’t think I should be allowed to see Jack asleep. Or awake, for that matter.
But at the same time, I’m glad he’s here. I can’t imagine what it would’ve been like to be in that parking garage today if he weren’t. It’s not just that, either. He’s been unexpectedly helpful. He pointed out a lot of factors I hadn’t thought of while I was doing the sketches. The favor presentation was his idea, too, and having someone to bounce ideas off of, even if he makes jokes half the time, has been a big deal. Whatever other things he may be, Jack isnota dull boy.
I’d meant to put him to work on separate tasks from me—that was part of my strategy—but the truth is, I’d rather have his help.
It’s a scary thought. Every bit as scary as how my heart feels thinking back on the way he held me in the parking lot… as scary as the impulse I have to bring his head onto my lap and run my fingers through his hair while he sleeps. Or maybe not just sleeps…
I shoot up fast enough that Jack stirs. When he settles back in, I head to my room for sleep.
* * *
“We havegotto eat these strawberries faster,” Jack says, cutting the top off one and popping the berry into his mouth.
“I’ve been pulling my weight,” I say. “I ate most of them last night.”
“You’re only here for the food,” he mimics from the movie.
“You’re not wrong,” I say. “Let’s go. I told them we’d be there by ten.”
The drive to thefoie grasfarm takes twenty minutes, all on new roads. We pass by La Roque-Gageac, a village sandwiched between a cliff and a river, and then up into the hills, where the trees are so full that their leaves cast everything in a green hue. Every part of this place is a different kind of magic.
Boxes of glassfoie grasjars are waiting for us at the farm when we get inside the small shop set at the front of the property. Jack and I help the two men from the market load the boxes into the car. The older between them talks to me about how to store the bottles until the wedding as I arrange the boxes in the back.
When Jack heads inside for the last two boxes, I know it’s time to pay the piper. I pull out my credit card with a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I know Madi will pay me back, but especially after yesterday’s incident, I can’t help but feel the stress of money pressing in on me. What will I do when I get home? I have enough saved to survive for a few months, but I was confident enough in our campaign that I hadn’t really considered what would happen if we lost. Amy was going to hire me on her staff, but now she doesn’t need a staff.
“Ah,” says the man, noting the card I’m holding. “Our machine is inside.”
We pass Jack on our way in. The short-sleeve shirt he’s wearing offers a clear view of the muscles required to carry a huge box of glass bottle jars and goose liver.
“You can wait in the van,” I say to him. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
The man goes behind the counter with his son. The two of them exchange words in French, and I wait patiently.
The old man looks at me as he sets the credit card machine back under the counter. “The payment has already been taken, madame.”
His son smiles. “Monsieur Allred paid.”
I glance behind me toward the van outside. Jack is in the back, shifting boxes around. I swallow the thickness in my throat. Apparently, I have the hormone levels of a pregnant woman today.
When I thank Jack in the van, he brushes it off, claiming that, as Madi’s brother, he has more right to her debt than I do.
After a quick trip to the grocery store and a stop at the caterers, we head to the chateau, our work cut out for us. Jack does the hard labor of bringing in boxes while I get everything else set up around the table. Scissors, ribbon, bags, and Jordan almonds.
I set my hands on my hips, glad, once again, that I’m not doing this alone. “Ready?”
“Hm?” Jack looks at me like he has no idea what I’m talking about.
“To assemble the bags. Cut the ribbons. Tie the bows.”
He shakes his head back and forth again and again. “I don’t do crafts.”
