The Summer of Jake (4 page)

Dragging in a deep breath, I told her the truth. “I’ve just been playing at being a businessman. It’s not who I am.”

She almost brushed my knees as she put the ingredients back in the fridge. “If that’s playing, you deserve an acting award. You’ve been incredibly successful at it.” She handed me the plates. “Here, carry these out to the table while I put the rest back in the fridge.”

I took the plates but hesitated. Should I say more? Explain how it really was? But, the thing was, Annalise had invited me into her home because she was doing me a favor, not because she wanted to hear about all the ugliness in my soul.

Setting the plates on her dining table, I gave myself a mental shake. Time to refocus.

…

Annalise

When I joined Jake at the table, the mask of self-assuredness was back in place, and I immediately regretted not following up on the opportunity I’d been given—in the kitchen, he’d seemed vulnerable, uncertain. It just all seemed so strange coming from Jake that I hadn’t known what to do.

He picked up his first sandwich. “So can I ask what happened with your job?”

I shrugged. “The studio was making cutbacks. I’d only been there three months, so it was the principle of last in, first out. Plus, I was the most junior—I spent most of my time cutting fabric from patterns.”

He winced. “That’s rough.”

“There had been rumors, so I knew it was coming, I’d just hoped to sell some of my designs before the axe fell.”

“And now you have.” His eyes crinkled as he smiled. My entire body sighed in appreciation of that eye-crinkling. Honestly, this man had charisma in every cell, in every movement. I’d probably never be immune. Never be able to see him and not want to reach out and touch him.

“And now I have,” I repeated faintly. Which brought my thoughts back to the reason for my sale and even this lunch. “Tell me a bit about Scarlett. It might help me know what we need to do.”

He grinned. “Scarlett Logan. She’s a receptionist at Ferguson and Johns. She’s classy.”

That
Scarlett? “Scarlett
Logan
?”

“Yep. Do you know her?”

Did
I
know Scarlett Logan? Did I
know
Scarlett Logan? Scarlett Logan, sister of Thomas Logan? The woman who’d told her brother, my former boyfriend, he could do better than me? The woman I’d repeatedly prayed would be taken by killer tomatoes? The woman to whom I was now going to serve Jake on a platter?
Did I know her?
“We’ve met once or twice.”

“She’s great, isn’t she?”

“Mmm-hmm. She’s something all right.”
Scarlett Logan?
Did he have
no
taste? “So, what attracted you to her?”

“The challenge,” he said simply.

I blinked. “Pardon?”

“I’ll be honest with you if you promise not to tell Kelly or my mother any of this.” He grinned again.

Slowly, I put my sandwich back on my plate. “I promise.”

“I’ve been bored at work lately. The challenge has gone. And dating has never taken much effort; women have always come on to me.”

He spoke matter-of-factly, without conceit, but still I winced. “Groupies.”

“I suppose so.” He picked up a piece of cheese that had fallen from his sandwich and threw it in his mouth.

All those chemicals and hormones surging through my bloodstream from the day’s events suddenly had a new focus. Annoyance. That must be how he’d always seen me, as a groupie. “So, to relieve your boredom, you thought you’d set yourself a new challenge?”

“Something like that.” He shrugged and picked up another sandwich.

“And I’m helping you overcome an obstacle in your plan?”

“Yep.”

“That’s why you were willing to go to such lengths to get me to help.” I knew my voice had a sharp edge, but I was powerless to stop it.

He shrugged and swallowed. “No point taking on a challenge then being half-hearted about it.”

“Do you even
like
Scarlett?”

“Of course I do. She seems nice.”

That he was oblivious to my annoyance was making me even more annoyed. I stood to collect the plates, even though he still had a sandwich in his hands, and carried them into the kitchen.

“Annalise, is anything wrong?” A regular Sherlock, no doubt about it.

I put the plates down then turned slowly to look at him. “Don’t you think it sounds a bit callous?” When he didn’t answer, I continued. “How do you think Scarlett would feel about being considered a challenge?”

He looked a little taken aback. “Scarlett only likes to date guys once or twice before moving on. That’s part of the reason I chose her. Besides, she’s met me—she wouldn’t be expecting more than a short relationship.” He shrugged. “And who knows, there’s every chance we’ll get along really well once we’re together.”

Telling myself to calm down, I forced an imitation of a happy face. I wasn’t sure how much of this emotion was coming from my crush, how much was about his plan, and how much was from a particularly stressful morning, so I let it go for the moment. “You’re right. Do you want a drink?”

“I’d better be going.” He stood and moved to kiss my cheek. “Thanks for lunch, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“It’ll be fun,” I said half-heartedly.

He paused with a hand on the doorknob and chuckled. “Enthusiasm wasn’t a requirement of the job, Annalise, just the advice. You don’t have to pretend.”

“Actually, I think it will be fun. I’ll see you then.” I closed the door behind him, thinking that it
would
be fun putting Jake Maxwell in his place, even if it was only about his fashion sense.

…

That night, I speared my fork into my salad with a little too much force. The monthly dinner at my parents was living down to its usual standards. This was the time I always longed for siblings to share the scrutiny.

So far, we’d covered my nails—apparently, I needed a manicure—and my jewelry—the tangerine necklace was a bit too
outlandish
for dinner. And now we were moving on to their favorite topic—my love life. Or lack thereof.

“But I don’t understand why you don’t settle down, darling.” I could tell my mother was genuinely bewildered. And I could almost understand. A woman who, as a nineteen year old medical receptionist, had made the coup of the hospital’s most promising young heart surgeon, had certain expectations of her only child, especially now that child had bypassed the age her mother had been when she’d married.

“It’s not that easy. I have to find someone first.”

Please don’t bring up Thomas again.

“You had that lovely Thomas. Then as soon as you took him to Kelly’s wedding, you broke up.” My mother paused as I chewed a snow pea.

Please don’t ask why. Please let something distract her.

“And that’s another thing, why won’t you tell us why you split? Was it from seeing Kelly married? Did you want your own wedding and he didn’t?”

Please let the house catch on fire or a freak cyclone hit Sydney.

Given I couldn’t smell smoke or hear wild winds, I quickly counted to ten before replying. “I haven’t told you because I don’t understand it myself. It just happened.”

“Nonsense. Things like that don’t just happen. I’ll never know why you can’t seem to keep a man. You’re attractive and well-spoken. Men don’t mind if your career isn’t flourishing. That’s for your parents to worry about. Maybe if you—”

“Mum, can we not talk about my love life tonight, please?”

She shrugged and continued eating.

At least she hadn’t asked about my ex-job—she just had a standing expectation I wasn’t doing well in my career. One small mercy.

But still, I didn’t need her pointing out on a regular basis that my love life was a disaster area littered with failed relationships. I was
well
aware of its status.

Only Thomas had seemed to last any length of time, but there was just something that hadn’t felt right about being with him. On the surface, everything was fine—he said he loved me, we got along well, we liked the same things, and my mother liked him, despite his modern day hippie family. But something was missing. Maybe my mother was right and the wedding had put me off. I couldn’t see myself staying with Thomas long-term, and truthfully, I knew why.

I was a hopeless dreamer. My parents had always wanted me to focus on my schoolwork, on my music and dance lessons, on
anything
substantial and
proper
.

Instead, I loved silly and frivolous things, like running along the beach and feeling the wind in my hair. Like surrounding myself in vibrant, not-at-all-conservative colors, and designing clothes people might never buy.

Like watching boys in surfing competitions.

I looked at my parents and wondered if we’d clashed because of the large generation gap. Maybe as a child, I’d felt I couldn’t connect with them because they were older than any of my friends’ parents? Then again, I suspected we’d have had the same differences if I’d been born earlier in their marriage. Perhaps I’d been switched at birth.

We ate in silence for a few minutes until my mother spoke again. “Why did your father loan you the Volvo? Has that ridiculous car of yours broken down again?”

I took a breath and said in a cool, controlled tone, “She’s not a ridiculous car. Mindy’s a good car, and I love her.”

“Love a car? That’s absurd—”

I threw a pleading look at my father, who gave a slight nod then cleared his throat. “How are your designs going, dear?”

Finally, a topic I could talk about without seeing that touch of disappointment in their expressions. “I’ve arranged to have two designs in Jake Maxwell’s surf shops. You remember him? Kelly’s brother.”

“Of course we remember him,” my father said. “I read another article about him in the paper last week. About his business expanding. The press loves a local-boy-made-good story.”

“He has done really well, hasn’t he?” I felt an inexplicable surge of pride, even if I was still angry with him.

“Mmm,” my mother said. “
He’s
a good catch. Why don’t you set your sights on him?”

Set my sights on him?
Annoyance flushed through my body. If it were that easy, I’d have just
set my sights on him
years ago. Besides, would my parents have approved of me dating teenaged Jake? He wasn’t a local-boy-made-good back then. Just a local-boy-surfing-all-the-time-looking-scruffy.

I put extra effort into ensuring my voice was civil. “Don’t you want me to be happy? Whether I’m with a
good catch
or not?”

“You would be happy with him, dear,” my mother said patiently. “He’s rich, attractive, and successful, despite that unfortunate business with his father. You already know his mother and sister, and you’ve always said he was respectful to them. What more do you want?
Of course
you’d be happy.”

“What more do I want?” I felt my temper rising, an uncommon event with my parents, even considering my regular irritation in their presence. “Love. To love and be loved.”

“Don’t be silly, dear,” my mother answered, laying down her cutlery. “Stability, security, respect, and affection are what you want in a marriage.”

I looked from my mother to my father and back again. They did appear happy in their
practical
marriage. I blew out a breath and looked down at my plate.

Was she right? Maybe I was still stuck in teenage fantasies of what love and marriage should be. Maybe the adult reality of relationships was something more like my parents’ marriage.

I felt a hollow emptiness in my stomach. Maybe I should have married Thomas. What if I’d been reaching toward a fairytale-type dream all these years and missed my real chance at happiness?

Chapter Four

Annalise

I checked my watch again as I looked out my front window. This time it said five to eleven. Jake’s visit was a guilty pleasure, like sneaking chocolate on a diet. I knew I shouldn’t, knew that all this effort was for another woman, but I indulged myself anyway.

Lying in bed the night before, I’d come to a decision. Since I’d agreed to help Jake with his makeover, I may as well enjoy the experience. And I
was
enjoying his company, even if he’d annoyed me yesterday over Scarlett. I couldn’t let my parents’ opinions influence me into turning every attractive man into a future groom. The best thing to do was relax and appreciate the time I had with him.

“
Rrrreht
.” Rover sat beside me on her special table, her paws on the window ledge—her favorite position to bark at passing cars.

Pushing the curtain aside, I saw him pull up in his Jeep and felt a flutter of adrenaline as he stepped out onto the street. Whether I was sixteen or not, he still looked like a love god. At six feet tall, with his body sculpted from a lifetime of surfing, bronzed skin, and striking dark eyes, he radiated healthy masculinity. I wasn’t at all surprised when I saw a woman walking down the street check him out while he paused to set the keyless lock.

But it was more than his looks. It was in the confident way he walked, it was in his slow smile, and it was definitely in his flirtatious eyes. Except that he wasn’t looking at the woman in the street. He was looking straight up at me in the window. My heart hiccupped to a stop, but I somehow managed to smile and casually wave.

He was wearing another pair of old blue jeans with a black T-shirt. With each step he took, the shirt moved, smoothing over his shoulders, tightening with the swing of his arms. Having watched him so many times on the beach without a shirt, I knew by heart how the play of muscles under his shirt would look as he walked.

And the memory was making it hard to get my lungs working properly.

As I opened my door, I tried to hide the flustered effect he had on me. “Hi Jake.”

“Hey, Annalise.” He kissed my cheek. “You want to know something strange? I’m looking forward to this. A shopping trip, of all things.”

I swallowed hard, trying to get my voice to work after feeling his warm lips. “That’s good,” I said, my voice only a little shaky. “Just try to hang on to that enthusiasm after we’ve been shopping for a few solid hours.”

The corner of his mouth quirked. “Hmm, I’ll try.”

As I reached for the doorknob, Rover bounded over and put a paw on her leash hanging on the coat-rack.

Jake frowned. “Your cat has a leash?”

I knelt down to Rover and scratched behind her ear. “How else would we go for walks? Sorry, girl, you can’t come this time, but I’ll take you for a walk this afternoon.”

A muffled laugh came from behind me, but I ignored it as I locked up.

After we climbed in his Jeep, I gave directions to Barbara’s Fancy Pants on Bondi Road. I knew Barb from my internship at a fashion magazine, and we’d become friends.

Jake started the engine and pulled out into traffic. “I think I’ve seen that shop.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see his thighs work as he changed gears. The muscles below the soft denim flexed and relaxed. Flexed and relaxed. The process was mesmerizing—why had I never noticed that before when a man drove?

I turned squarely to the front and looked out the windshield. “So how was your surf this morning?”

We pulled up at a red light, and Jake flashed me a grin. “Embarrassing, actually.”

“Embarrassing?” When was life ever embarrassing for Jake, let alone a morning spent surfing? “What happened?”

“Well, I was out there, sizing up the waves.” His voice took on a touch of story-telling drama as he settled into the tale, thumbs hooked under the top of the steering wheel so he could gesture with his fingers. “I picked my wave and went for it. Turned left, crouched down and grabbed the outside rail of my board—”

Immersed in the visual he was creating, I interrupted. “What’s a rail?”

“The side of the board,” he slipped in without breaking the stride of his story. “All set for a beautiful tube ride…only to realize I’d turned the wrong way. I’d turned into the tube instead of riding the other way. Crash.” He slapped one hand against his thigh. “I went everywhere—legs, board, everything.”

As the light turned green and we started moving again, he laughed at himself with real enjoyment.

“Oh no! Were you all right?” Despite seeing the blatant evidence of his survival in front of me, I felt a strange twinge of concern.

“Just a bruised ego. Everybody out there was laughing.”

In fact, Jake was still laughing, and so I relaxed and allowed myself to see the funny side. I tried to picture the other surfers ribbing him, but I’d never thought of people interacting with each other on the water. “Do they know who you are out there?”

“There are enough who do.” He lifted a shoulder in a self-deprecating shrug.

I turned a little in my seat to see him more clearly. I was surprised he’d told a story like that. Given his time on the pro circuit, I’d have expected him to be boastful or at least proud. There were mysteries wrapped in this perfect package of a man.

“Can I ask a personal question?”

He nodded. “Shoot.”

I tapped a finger on my knee, trying to formulate the words. “You’re hardly over the hill.”

Another laugh erupted from his throat. “Gee, thanks.”

I bit down on an embarrassed smile, but it peeked out anyway. “What I meant is, you’re twenty-three. There are surfers your age still on the pro circuit.”

“Some even older, if you can believe it,” he said, chuckling.

I turned farther in my seat, so I was facing him—wanting to see his face as he responded. I’d wondered about this for a long time. “So why did you leave so young? You were at the top of your game.”

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, yet his voice remained casual. “Sometimes, it’s better to leave at the top than to slide away into mediocrity.”

Jake mediocre? Not likely. But…could
he
possibly fear it? “Is that what you thought would happen if you didn’t leave?”

He shook his head and paused as he reverse parked the Jeep. “To tell you the truth, I was restless.”

I thought about that for a second. “You wanted more than a world title?”

“It’s hard to explain.” He turned off the ignition then rubbed two fingers across his forehead. “It was like, I’d done that, won the title—time to move on. Try something else.” He shrugged again.

Jake had always lived his life large. He’d been famous since before his birth—the baby that almost broke up Heaven’s Garden. When the singer fell pregnant to the wild boy lead guitarist and left the band, everyone in Australia knew of baby Jake. Then, when he became famous in his own right for surfing and later his business, his family history added that extra dash of spice to articles. Photos of his long-dead father still occasionally accompanied his own.

Maybe because of his past, maybe in spite of it, the word “overachiever” had basically been created for him.

But I was beginning to understand something else. He’d said he came up with his plans for Scarlett because he’d been bored at work. He needed a new challenge. And now with this extra morsel of information about leaving pro surfing…it seemed Jake had a restless soul. Either that, or a short attention span.

We opened our doors and stepped out.

“By the way,” I said as he set the keyless lock, “if anyone asks, what do I tell them I’m doing for you?”

He came around to stand beside me, hands in front pockets. “The truth. That we’re going over some of your designs for my shop and you’re giving me some personal fashion advice at the same time.”

“You don’t care if people know that?”

His forehead creased in a slight frown. “No, why would I?”

“No reason.” I didn’t know why I was surprised it didn’t bother him, but I was pleased anyway. I smiled at him.

When we walked through the door, I went straight over to give Barbara a hug. “It’s great to see you again.”

“You too, Annalise. Who’s your friend?” Barb looked over at Jake with an expression suspiciously like lustful admiration. The admiration itself didn’t seem strange—I’d certainly looked at him admiringly myself before—but my reaction was a little disturbing. I was assailed by a strong urge to walk over to him and wrap an arm around his waist. Perhaps even grab his arm and rest it on my shoulders. Proprietorial jealousy. This did not bode well for passing him over to Scarlett.

“Jake Maxwell,” I told her. “We’re looking for a couple of shirts and slacks for him.”

“Jake Maxwell?” she whispered, her eyes widening. “I didn’t know you were friends. Are you two…?”

“No!” Realizing I’d said it too adamantly, I clamped my jaw shut. Barb just smiled mysteriously and blended into the background.

Sighing, I walked over to where Jake was looking at clothes and mentally filed the jealousy issue away to obsess about later.

“What do you think?” He held up a burgundy shirt.

“Yep, that’s nice, try it on. And while you’re in there, I’ll get some other things together. If you like any, try them on and let me see.”

“Let you see me try them on?” He raised one eyebrow but kept a blank face.

My breath caught in my throat as images assaulted my brain. Jake pulling his T-shirt over his head, his abs taught from the action. Jake with a dress shirt hanging open as he pushed his arms through the sleeves. Jake grabbing my hand and pulling me into the changing room, then backing me against the wall as he closed the curtain.

Crap. How was I going to make it through the next half hour, let alone the rest of the day?

I straightened my shoulders. “Jake, you said you weren’t going to flirt.”

His face was a picture of angelic innocence. “That wasn’t flirting, that was an actual misunderstanding.”

“Do you remember we’re doing this for Scarlett? Don’t spoil my good image of you by flirting with me while you’re chasing someone else.”

“You have an image of me? What’s it like?” He lowered his voice and leaned close to my ear. “Am I wearing anything in this image?”

My knees wobbled. I was surrounded by the scent of soap and ocean spray.

“Jake…” I said, hoping my voice sounded stern, and not like the moan I suspected it was.

“All right, I’ll be in the changing room if you need me.” He started to walk off but turned to look back. “Just don’t say you weren’t invited.” Then he disappeared behind the curtain.

I felt a blush creep up my neck and turned back to the clothes racks to hide it. If I could just keep my hormones under control—a task Jake was making more difficult all the time—this makeover could be fun. Then, when it was over, I’d willingly hand him over to Scarlett. I knew I could do it. Of course I could.

Though, I passed the clothes to Barbara to take in to him, just in case I was wrong.

Jake emerged from the changing room soon after in black dress slacks and a mustard shirt I’d sent in. The colors and cut were sensational, and even he seemed pleased.

“Good choice, Annalise. How’d you know my size?”

I wasn’t about to tell him there weren’t many aspects of his body that had escaped my notice over the years, so truthfully said, “Working in fashion, I can usually guess a person’s size.”

Luckily, he seemed to accept that and headed back to the changing room, but I made a mental note to do a better job of hiding my over-familiarity with All Things Jake.

After flicking through more racks of clothes, I picked out an indigo linen shirt and paused. There was something familiar about this shirt. I turned it over, looking for what element I’d recognized. Nothing special about it… Then I realized—it was almost identical to the shirt my headless man wore in my dream collage.

My stomach pitched and rolled. Was I subconsciously using this makeover to turn Jake into Mr. Headless? I thrust the shirt back on the rack and grabbed a cream one instead.

But thoughts of the man in my dream collage didn’t fade. I remembered the realization I’d had the night before at my parents’—that I’d potentially undermined my chance at a relationship by always reaching for a fairytale, my headless prince, who wasn’t grounded in reality.

Add to that the lack of perceptible pride from my parents during dinnertime conversation and two areas of the collage were looking shaky.

And since I was having an impromptu collage assessment, I needed to consider Mindy being under the weather. My collage was starting to look less like becoming reality by the minute.

“Annalise, what do you think?” Jake stood before me in a powder blue shirt, adjusting the cuffs.

What did I think? That before me stood a vision of masculine beauty. That I’d give most anything to touch just my fingertips to that vision. That he took my breath away simply by breathing. And that Jake was not, nor would he ever be, my headless man.

“It looks great, Jake. Here,” I thrust the cream linen shirt at him, “try this one on as well.”

He took the shirt but cocked his head to the side, lips parted, as if about to ask a question. Before he could say anything, Barbara was there, fussing around him, commenting on the fit of the clothes, adjusting the shirt across his shoulders, asking him about his comfort—things that normally came to me with ease. But watching Jake look at his reflection in the mirror, I couldn’t string a sentence together, let alone one that made sense. What would I do at the next shop when Barbara wasn’t there to cover for me?

I mentally practiced suitably detached responses I could call on quickly when Jake was trying on clothes.

Yes, that one’s flattering.

Hmm, the fall of those pants doesn’t suit your shape as well as the others.

Yes, that shirt makes me want to run my lips along your naked shoulders.

Unfortunately, some of the backup comments were less appropriate than others. I was doomed.

…

Jake

After trying on a pile of clothes, I bought the black pants and both the yellowy and dark red shirts, and we set off again.