Living Backwards (37 page)

“I think I’d like to be doing
that
all the time.” I grabbed her hand and ran my thumb across the soft skin.

“So, you’re going to Reynolds tomorrow? You’ll be gone all day?”

“Most likely. I was going to leave here around ten, so I can get there for lunch. Grace likes to cook when I’m there. And by cook, I mean prepare a mini-feast.”

“I was actually hoping to talk to her about the article. Do you think she’d mind if I gave her a call?”

After the awkward conversation I just had on the phone with Grace, I wasn’t sure if I trusted her to speak to Jillian unsupervised. I had what was either a brilliant or terrible idea.

“Well, if you don’t have plans…you could come with me.”

“Because taking me to dinner and a movie would be too normal of a first date for us, right?” she laughed.

“It’s not a date,” I countered.

“No, you’re bringing me home to auntie,” she exclaimed.

“I think you’ve already been subjected to meeting the family. And it’s just Grace—not auntie. We’ve had this discussion already.”

“I know, Luke. I’m just giving you a hard time. I forgot how much fun you are when you’re frustrated.”

“Oh, really, now? I was just remembering how much fun
you
are when
you’re
frustrated,” I said, liking the blush it brought to her cheeks.

“Yeah, you were frustrating,” she said. She suddenly sounded very breathy. It was hard to suppress my smile. I liked having the tables turned.

“So? Tomorrow?”

“That sounds perfect,” she replied. And it did.

“Well…I should probably get home. It’s been a crazy night,” she said, standing and grabbing her purse. “Plus, I’d like to get a good night’s sleep before our big date.”

“It’s not a date. Trust me. You’d know if we were on a date.”

“Really? Do you have some smooth moves you whip out for special occasions, Luke?”

“If I was whipping out anything, I can assure you that you wouldn’t be going home.”

I heard a faint hitch in her breath and her cheeks turned pink. Mine probably did too because I couldn’t believe that I had blurted that out. It was good that she was heading home because I clearly couldn’t be trusted.

“I’ll just have to take your word for it,” she replied. “So, I’ll see you at ten?”

I held open the door, still wishing that she wasn’t leaving, but knowing I probably wouldn’t be able to control myself if she stayed. While I didn’t actually have any smooth moves, I wasn’t opposed to making some up.

“I wish you weren’t going.” I cupped her cheek in my hand and rubbed my thumb along the soft skin.

“Me either,” she replied, closing her eyes. “Goodnight, Luke.”

With both hands cradling her face, I pulled her forward and kissed her one more time. When she softly pulled on my bottom lip—barely touching, sweet and soft—I knew going slowly wasn’t going to be easy. Maybe for other people, but not for us.

“Goodnight, Jillian.”

I watched her walk down the hall to the elevator, glancing over her shoulder and giggling along the way. We looked like teenagers again, and it felt good.

The next morning, I woke up at seven-twenty feeling restless with hazy memories of Jillian still on my mind. On the bright side, it was the first time I’d slept past five in weeks.

Once I was showered and dressed, I hopped online to check my email. I had another one of those stupid farm notices, so I logged onto Facebook to try and stop them, or maybe kill Nate. Since you seemed to be able to do almost anything on Facebook, I assumed murder was an option as well.

As I scrolled through my admittedly short timeline, I scanned the list for the one person who interested me. Below Danielle, who was “feeling hopeful”, was Jillian. I couldn’t help but laugh when I saw her status.

Jillian Cross has some smooth moves, too.

Before leaving the house, I gave Grace a quick call to let her know I was bringing Jillian along with me. That quick call lasted twenty minutes while Grace grilled me about Jillian’s likes and dislikes. When I wasn’t able to tell her if Jillian had any allergies to shellfish, she obsessed over whether Jillian would prefer seafood salad or vegetable stir-fry instead. After a lengthy debate with herself, she settled on the stir-fry using veggies from the local farming co-op. Apparently these vegetables were by far superior to the run-of-the-mill veggies normal people buy at the supermarket. I knew this because Grace told me so, and I never questioned her—even if, to me, a vegetable was just a vegetable.

It didn’t take very long to get to Jillian’s apartment, and fortunately, Grace’s phone call hadn’t held me up. When I pulled up in front of her building, Jillian stepped outside and bounced down the stairs before I even threw the car into park. I wondered if that meant she was anxious or excited—or maybe a little bit of both.

I watched her walk to the car and tried not to gape at the sight of her. It was hard not to notice the curves on her body. The neckline of her blue sweater hung low, giving me a clear view of her neck, her collarbone and her bare shoulders. She might remind me of the Jillian I knew in high school, but she definitely wasn’t that girl anymore. I was going to be faced with the most distracting drive of my life.

“Good morning,” she sighed, settling into her seat.

“Morning,” I replied. I had been so wrapped up in how she looked and how she felt that I missed my opportunity to lean over and greet her properly. I’d passed that comfortable window where it wouldn’t seem awkward. So much for smooth moves.

“So, I logged into Facebook this morning,” I began, as I pulled away from the curb.

“Oh, did you? Read anything good?” she asked. I could hear the grin in her voice.

“Are you going to showcase these moves?”

“I don’t think so Luke—especially on the way to Auntie Grace’s. You need to be on your A-game and these moves…they might blow your mind,” she added, gravely.

“I think I can handle anything you throw my way.”

“And
I
think we should be discussing the article for a bit instead,” she countered.

She dug into her pocketbook and pulled out a mini tape recorder and steno pad. She pressed the record button and set it down on the center console. She was actually serious.

“And the conversation was just starting to get interesting,” I muttered.

“Well, we can try to keep this one interesting, too. Tell me: why buy a restaurant when you seem to have your hands full with the bar?”

“That’s hardly an interesting story.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she replied, opening her notebook.

“Well, I told you already that I was taking classes at U-Dub and I had to take this Business Policy class as a prerequisite. Horrible class—professor was even worse. Anyway, one of the case studies involved a holding company that bought a number of neighborhood pubs. They targeted businesses that were floundering and refurbished them so they were able to buy them at a reasonable cost and help revitalize the neighborhood at the same time. It was something that really struck a chord with me. So, I started looking at some of the neighboring businesses. The Rusted Nail had been hemorrhaging capital for years. I don’t know how they stayed afloat as long as they did. When I heard the owner was looking to sell, I had my lawyer make an offer. It was in such tough shape that I’m actually paying less than the value of the property. We’re scouting out a couple properties now for a third acquisition.”

I realized I was babbling, and suddenly felt embarrassed. Even once I had stopped to take a breath, Jillian hadn’t said a word. I glanced over quickly to make sure I hadn’t put her to sleep. She was staring at me—wide-eyed and honestly, freaking me out a little.

“You okay?”

“You’re…you’re buying a
third
property?” she stammered.

“Well, I imagined five—a couple bars, a couple restaurants, and I have my eye on this diner, but it’s actually not in Seattle. But yeah, just the third for now.”

“Jesus,” she muttered. “So, wow…I...um…I actually forgot my follow-up question.”

She flipped her pad over and ran her finger down the page.

“So, how does this normally work?” I asked, needing to break the awkward the silence. “The article, I mean.”

“Oh, well, it’s simple. We’ll highlight the aspect of the renovation that will best attract business—both for you and for Danielle,” she added absently.

Once I got her to talk about the areas she was planning to highlight, the conversation flowed comfortably. I explained how I wanted to combine the feeling of a neighborhood pub with that of a gourmet restaurant. Grace’s Fire wouldn’t be the type of place where you’d need a translator to read the menu. It would be good food for everyday people.

Before we knew it, we were driving into Tacoma.

“God, it’s so weird being here,” she said softly, staring out the window.

“You don’t come back often?”

“No, I do. It’s just…weird. I forget…” she said sadly.

We passed the site of the old Greasy Spoon where Jillian sat cross-legged on top of a picnic table and inhaled a cheeseburger.

“Oh my God! Ink Credible Art is still open!” she exclaimed.

“I thought you said you came back here?” It was like she was seeing Tacoma for the first time.

“I do, but I never paid attention...I guess I just missed it,” she added. “Does Seth still run it?”

“I haven’t been inside in years,” I replied.

I was bombarded by images of her tattoo—the raised skin—how I wanted to feel it. Then suddenly I began wondering, in the time we’d been apart, who had seen that tattoo and touched her skin. It made me crazy.

“Have you ever gone back? Gotten more work done?” I asked.

“No,” she replied. “I just have the one.”

“You?”

“I had Seth do some work with the flames, but that was years ago.”

When I asked him to add a few more.

It hadn’t occurred to me that the ride to Reynolds was a veritable minefield of memories. It also hadn’t occurred to me that our route was going to take us right past the cliffs. There was no way around it without tacking an extra half-hour onto the trip.

The conversation had lulled as we approached the area where I had parked my bike years ago. My whole body tensed as we passed the trees that lined the border. What was I supposed to say?
Over here on the left, you’ll find the cliffs where you were deflowered?

“Have you…do you ever go back there?” she asked, looking out toward the trees.

“To the cliffs? No. Well, once,” I replied, remembering the day with Carter, and how he told me that I couldn’t throw my life away. He kicked my ass in gear, and then made me eat a biscotti.

“Did you…bring someone?”

“There? What? No,” I replied, outraged. “I went with Carter once after you were gone. I could never do that.”

“I had no right to ask you that, Luke. I’m sorry. I was out of line—”

“Jillian, if we’re going to do this, we can’t tiptoe around each other anymore. I’m here because I want to be here. If you want to know who I dated, I’ll tell you.”

I’d obviously leave out how Vanessa broke up with me when I couldn’t manage to take her to a Green Day concert.

“I don’t think I want to know all of that,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re not dating anyone now, though, right?”

“No, I’m not dating anyone right now.”

She smiled softly and fidgeted with the bracelet on her wrist.

“I have a hard time imagining you showing up at my door and taking me to a movie. It’s so…conventional,” she said, laughing.

“I can do convention. I can do a lot of things.”

When I looked over at her, Jillian was opening and closing her mouth, but no sound was coming out. I had to admit that I liked knocking her off her game.

I finally pulled down the windy road to Grace and Carter’s house. Once I parked the car, I met her on the other side, grabbing her hand and leading her up the walkway. Her fingers curled around mine as we climbed the stairs. Grace must have been watching from the window because I never had a chance to ring the doorbell. The door flew open and Grace came barreling out.