Everybody Falls (6 page)

Wait.

Those others?

Shit.

He didn't want Lacey like he'd been with the others. He wanted her…for him. He wanted her body, her sweetness for only him. Those soft looks that he'd caught as she'd cleaned and worked on his scrapes meant for only him. Her delicious voice as the sound she reserved for only him.

God.

Where'd that come from?

One girl for just him?

Denny would be laughing his ass off.

You can't get possessive, bro'
, he heard his brother say in his head.
The bitches here on planet Earth are all here to be enjoyed. So just enjoy!

No, Denny. She's special
, his brain argued as he realized that he'd just disagreed with Denny for the first time, even if it was only the Denny of his memory.
I want her for myself.

Fuck.

Arguing with someone long since gone wasn't a sign of recovery, was it?

Shit.

Enough of that goddamn stuff.

Jax began to recreate the playlist he'd heard in Lacey's place that morning.

Great music. Maybe not music he would've put together, but enough so that he had a good sense of her. The essence of Lacey which is what he considered other people's playlists; their choice in tunes that they placed in their players was almost a movie score of their lives.

Better than Ezra, Augustana, Collective Soul. Great tunes. Heavy lyrics.

The side-roads with Lady Antebellum, Five for Fighting and Toad the Wet Sprocket.

Damn.

What kind of girl played 'December' for God's sake?

His girl was deep. A thinking girl, then.

Much like Grams.

A girl that would keep him on his toes.

Oh, fuck. Maybe he'd bitten off more than he could chew. Perhaps with his new found confidence and with his road rash, maybe it wouldn't be more than he could swallow.

Man, he wanted that girl.

Chapter 5

My first thought of the morning was a question. A question before I'd even opened my eyes.

Had he said his name was 'Jack' or was it plural like he'd pronounced it when he came with his grandma when they'd come after hours with the flowers?

The flowers.

How charming was that?

I'd never received flowers before. Other than the ones for Grandma Lilly's funeral which weren't for me, really.

God, he'd looked so good and so familiar there in the remaining sunlight of the bakery when he and his grandmother had shown up. It wasn't unusual to have visitors at the store that didn't know to use the back door after the bakery closed, so I had originally made my way down the stairs and into the store without thinking. As soon as I spied his tall form on the other side of the glass that prevented entrance without invitation, my heart had gone into overdrive.

I almost didn't notice the diminutive woman in front of him.

Him
.

Holy white chocolate covered pretzels, he was one gorgeous hunk with awesome eyes.

His eyes.

Those lickable, chocolate, freakingly sinful eyes that talked a language so deep it was almost, yet not quite, understandable.

His eyes that had remained glued on me each time I'd been in his presence.

Eyes that made me feel special; that created feelings in other places, those secret places within me. Causing the soft places on me to harden and the other places within me to moisten and swell with just the thoughts of him.

I allowed my eyes to rest on the small stalk of freesia from his bouquet that I'd stuck in a bud vase and placed on the nightstand.

I love freesia.

And I loved that it'd been a part of the flowers he'd given me.

Gosh.

What a teenager, right?

Getting all excited over some guy that was good-looking, who had given me flowers for helping him after he fell.

Shit.

I was doing what I'd accused my friends of doing for years. Mooning over a guy that you'd looked at twice.

Geez, girl. Let it go.

I pushed back the covers and started towards the shower.

Reality check, I assured myself. I just needed a reality check.

But that argument went right out the window when I saw him sitting on the wooden steps when I came downstairs.

It was only five in the morning and the man I was crushing on was sitting on the steps waiting for me.

I must be seeing things.

"Hey," I called, opening the door to the store with the hand not holding my coffee.

He turned and, honest to God, he was as stunning as I remembered. And just as tall, as he unfolded his full length when he stood up.

Were there heart problems in my history that I wasn't aware of, because my heartbeats were so fast, rabbit fast, that I was starting to breathe funny and I couldn't hear things clearly. But, I heard him.

At least, I thought I did when his deep velvet voice replied, "Morning, Lacey."

"What are you doing here?" I blurted out. "I mean, so early. Uhm, not running."

I watched as a blush bloomed across his face.

"I decided to walk today instead of run. Give my body a chance to heal, you know?" he answered.

Okay. That made sense I guess. He hadn't really answered my question, the original question of why he was sitting on the steps waiting for me.

"Can I get you a coffee?" I asked.

"That'd be great. The weak stuff my Grams calls coffee just doesn't cut it," he replied.

Not knowing what else to do, I turned and made my way over to Bertha, firing her up. I glanced over my shoulder and saw he was still standing in the open door. Or should I say filling the open doorway.

He moved back when I approached the door and handed him the cup.

"Want to sit on the steps with me?" I asked quietly. I liked that he wasn't filling the air, the easy quiet of the morning with a lot of chit-chat.

I watched him nod a he seated himself. His moves were almost graceful for being such a tall drink of water.

Grabbing the remote from just inside the window ledge, I scrolled to the playlist marked 'Morning' and adjusted the volume to low.

He'd sat himself in the middle of the step, facing the trees whose tops were just starting to become dappled with sunlight. I took my usual place and realized that he'd deliberately left that space open.

"Do you…ah," he started, then took a sip from his cup.

I waited, only glancing at him when he stopped speaking.

"I was wondering if you do this every day? Sit out here," he asked, looking at the trees. There was a light breeze, that held a little chill, but it caused the tall trees to sway and the sunlight on them to now shimmer.

"Yeah, I do. I have to get up early to get the stuff ready for the shop. So I have about a gallon of coffee and sit out here while they bake," I replied, probably saying more words in that little bit than I'd ever said before seven a.m.

"I'm not keeping you from anything am I?" he asked quietly.

"I've still got a few more minutes," I assured him, my voice just as quiet as his. "How're you feeling today?"

"Sore. Bruised. Stupid." I didn't even realize I was looking at him until he glanced at me and our eyes did that crazy catch-and-hold thingie.

"Why stupid?" I asked, almost on a whisper.

"For not looking where I was going," he answered.

I broke our connection and turned my eyes back to the trees. "Anybody can fall."

"Yeah," he said with a sigh.

There were a few beats of silence, a good kind of quiet. The stillness of camaraderie and maybe of new friendship.

"So is your name 'Jack' or 'Jacks'?" I asked after a bit.

"My legal name is Jackson but almost everybody knows me as Jax," he replied. "You can call me either one. It's a family name. What about yours?"

"Me? You mean Lacey?" I asked and saw him nod out of the corner of my eye. "Gosh. I couldn't tell you. Something my mother came up with, although Grandma liked it enough that she named the shop after me."

The quiet descended again and it was just as still and good as it was before.

I turned and glanced at the huge antique clock that hung on the back wall of the store.

"I've got to get started on some of the batters. Can I get you more coffee?" I asked, rising to my feet.

"Yeah, ah, sure," he said, standing too. "Could you, uhm, use some help?"

I could feel my eyebrows raise at his question. "Do you bake?"

He shot his eyes to mine as his cheeks colored again.

"No. I don't even know if I can boil water, to tell you the truth," he admitted with a self-conscious smile. "Grams says I'm getting to where I can follow directions pretty good, though."

I couldn't help the giggle that escaped. What kind of man, especially a man that looked like him, told people that his grandma told him he could follow directions?

Please. He couldn't be serious.

"Okay, then. Since you can follow directions and all," I said as I moved back inside. "Let's get a refill and see if you can prepare the pans while I work some magic."

*.*.*.*.*

He watched as she performed the Espresso dance, refilling the cups, each movement sure, short and sweet.

What was it about her that was so beautiful? It wasn't just the way she looked. Well, okay, maybe a lot of it was the way she looked.

Or maybe it was the looks she gave.

"Come with me," she said simply and moved to the swinging doors, holding one side open for him as she went through. He watched as she went to a cupboard and pulled out some white material. "Here's your apron and your cap. Put them on then wash up at the sink."

Apron? Cap?

He took them from her and saw her pull a clipboard down from a hook as she began to read.

Her eyes glanced at him as she began to flip a page.

"What?" she asked. "You've never worn an apron?"

He shook his head. Shit, he didn't even know how to put one on. He thought you had to tie them or something, yet the long length he held didn't look like the ones he'd seen on TV or even what Grams wore.

"Here. Let me show you," Lacey said finally, her mouth moving like she was trying not to smile. She took the fabric back and shook it out. "Bend down."

He bent and she looped a piece of the fabric over his head then pushed on his shoulder to turn him around.

"There," she said as she reached for the other white piece. "Bend down again."

He bent again. This time feeling her hands on his head, sliding her fingers in his hair. It felt so good that he closed his eyes to better savor the feel of her touch. She placed the elastic edged cap over his hair, tucking all the stray pieces in and underneath, stroking the sides of his face and neck in the process.

The apron made a great cover which helped hide his body's reaction to the feel of her hands.

"Now go wash up and use the soap in the pump bottle," she instructed, turning back to the clipboard.

The water hitting the metal of the sink sounded almost like a bass drum which seemed to help him calm his body as he washed his hands. He glanced up and caught his reflection in the window over the sink.

Shit, the paparazzi would have a field day if they could see him now. Hair completely covered by some kind of shower cap looking thing and the funky apron that went down past his knees was not like anything he'd ever had been seen in.

Every job had its uniform.

Even rock stars had their uniforms.

He turned off the water and looked for something to dry his hands on.

"Use the paper towels," she said, moving beside him, bumping against him with her shoulder to nudge him away from the sink. She turned the water back on and pumped soap into her hand.

He saw that she, too, now sported an apron and her hair was covered in the cap thing.

Ugly costume, yet Lacey worked it.

"Next?" he asked.

"Let me get out the pans we'll need and I'll show you how to get them ready," she said a bit louder to be heard over the water. "Can you hit the green switch on the oven?"

He looked around for a stove but didn't see any. Ovens were the big space under the cook top, right? He didn't see one.

"Uh, Jack?" he heard her say with a soft giggle after the water shut off. "That big silver thingie there?" she stretched her head to a huge silver cabinet kind of object. "That's the oven."

Oh, okay. He pushed the green button as instructed and waited until she was done drying her hands. She pulled out a bunch of plastic from a box next to the sink and handed him the gloves, putting on a pair as well before moving across the room to pull out all different sized, different shaped pans.