You wanna tell me what you didn’t want me to see?”
“I started something new.”
“Good. Fiction or nonfiction?”
“Another romance. Single title.”
“And you don’t want me to read it?” Did I? He worked for Penguin for God’s sake, I’m sure it wouldn’t be the first time he looked at someone’s shitty first draft, probably his great aunt’s neighbor who always wanted to publish. But I was stuck, trying to find the right beginning. Once I got going, I knew the story would take off like it always did.
“I’m not ready yet, Jake.”
He nodded and plucked a shrimp out of my bowl. “Okay then, get back to work.”
The rest of the weekend, I worked. Jake practiced being a beach bum and came back to the house looking deliciously tanned. We went to Poe’s Tavern on Sullivans Island for dinner because Jake had never been to the center of the universe. After two of the best burgers on the planet, incomparable fries, and a couple of Lowcountry crafted beers, he was a very happy guy.
Poe’s isn’t exactly the place for intimate conversation. It’s loud and friendly and wonderful. So we didn’t talk a lot, except to a young couple sitting at one of the community tables. We asked if we could share their table; turned out they were from Madison, Wisconsin. And they were horse people and knew of Jake’s parents’ farm. Since this was their first trip to the Lowcountry, I gave them a long list of must see places and an even longer list of great restaurants, and by the time we left, we’d exchanged business cards and promised to keep in touch with Randa and Dave.
It was dark by the time we got back from Poe’s. We ended up sharing a bottle of wine on the deck, listening to the ocean. Laughing that Mike Lemieux kept walking by his window, giving us the eye like we were teenagers. We weren’t doing anything, just talking, and, while doing something with Jake was extremely appealing, talking was good too.
“I got a lot done today.”
“Good. So did I.” He brushed his hand across my knuckles and then laced his fingers in mine. “Thanks, Tara. I really needed this. Today was pretty perfect, with one notable exception.”
“Yeah?”
“Next time, I hope you’ll be on the beach with me.”
Next time? Jake Randall was thinking beyond the next twenty-three days. Next time.
We drove back to Atlanta earlier Sunday morning. I’d offered to pay the fees to change our tickets so we could fly out of the Charleston Airport. Jake said it was better to stick with our itinerary, but I don’t think that was the real reason. I hadn’t stopped to think how our being together might affect him or his career. At the very least, his boss would have his head, or maybe even his job.
Getting on a plane after driving five hours in a car wasn’t ideal, but it gave me some time to think. As much as Jake had bitched about needing a vacation in the beginning, I knew he loved being a publicist and he was good at it. If it helped him keep the job he loved, I could wait to claim him in public; at least I thought I could.
The flight attendant had already told Jake once to power off his iPad, but we were sitting on the runway, nineteenth in line to take off, according to the captain. “I think that woman is going to hurt you if you don’t turn that thing off.”
He obliged and stuffed it in the seat pocket in front of him. “I need to get a picture from you,” he whispered like the flight attendant had told him not to talk too.
I knew how important it was to keep my distance from Jake in public, but I couldn’t resist nipping at his ear. “What kind of picture?”
“If I tell you, you might stop the flirting, and I have to say I really like it.”
“Try me.”
He pulled back so that I could revisit Serious Jake. “I need a picture of Jim to give to Janzen’s head of security. I started to take one out of the frame at the beach house, but I didn’t know what was current and what wasn’t. And I thought it
“I started something new.”
“Good. Fiction or nonfiction?”
“Another romance. Single title.”
“And you don’t want me to read it?” Did I? He worked for Penguin for God’s sake, I’m sure it wouldn’t be the first time he looked at someone’s shitty first draft, probably his great aunt’s neighbor who always wanted to publish. But I was stuck, trying to find the right beginning. Once I got going, I knew the story would take off like it always did.
“I’m not ready yet, Jake.”
He nodded and plucked a shrimp out of my bowl. “Okay then, get back to work.”
The rest of the weekend, I worked. Jake practiced being a beach bum and came back to the house looking deliciously tanned. We went to Poe’s Tavern on Sullivans Island for dinner because Jake had never been to the center of the universe. After two of the best burgers on the planet, incomparable fries, and a couple of Lowcountry crafted beers, he was a very happy guy.
Poe’s isn’t exactly the place for intimate conversation. It’s loud and friendly and wonderful. So we didn’t talk a lot, except to a young couple sitting at one of the community tables. We asked if we could share their table; turned out they were from Madison, Wisconsin. And they were horse people and knew of Jake’s parents’ farm. Since this was their first trip to the Lowcountry, I gave them a long list of must see places and an even longer list of great restaurants, and by the time we left, we’d exchanged business cards and promised to keep in touch with Randa and Dave.
It was dark by the time we got back from Poe’s. We ended up sharing a bottle of wine on the deck, listening to the ocean. Laughing that Mike Lemieux kept walking by his window, giving us the eye like we were teenagers. We weren’t doing anything, just talking, and, while doing something with Jake was extremely appealing, talking was good too.
“I got a lot done today.”
“Good. So did I.” He brushed his hand across my knuckles and then laced his fingers in mine. “Thanks, Tara. I really needed this. Today was pretty perfect, with one notable exception.”
“Yeah?”
“Next time, I hope you’ll be on the beach with me.”
Next time? Jake Randall was thinking beyond the next twenty-three days. Next time.
We drove back to Atlanta earlier Sunday morning. I’d offered to pay the fees to change our tickets so we could fly out of the Charleston Airport. Jake said it was better to stick with our itinerary, but I don’t think that was the real reason. I hadn’t stopped to think how our being together might affect him or his career. At the very least, his boss would have his head, or maybe even his job.
Getting on a plane after driving five hours in a car wasn’t ideal, but it gave me some time to think. As much as Jake had bitched about needing a vacation in the beginning, I knew he loved being a publicist and he was good at it. If it helped him keep the job he loved, I could wait to claim him in public; at least I thought I could.
The flight attendant had already told Jake once to power off his iPad, but we were sitting on the runway, nineteenth in line to take off, according to the captain. “I think that woman is going to hurt you if you don’t turn that thing off.”
He obliged and stuffed it in the seat pocket in front of him. “I need to get a picture from you,” he whispered like the flight attendant had told him not to talk too.
I knew how important it was to keep my distance from Jake in public, but I couldn’t resist nipping at his ear. “What kind of picture?”
“If I tell you, you might stop the flirting, and I have to say I really like it.”
“Try me.”
He pulled back so that I could revisit Serious Jake. “I need a picture of Jim to give to Janzen’s head of security. I started to take one out of the frame at the beach house, but I didn’t know what was current and what wasn’t. And I thought it
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