Page 91 of The Fallen Man

“Not any more than last week,” he said.

“No! There was a guy. Earlier. I thought he was casing Mrs. Carpetti’s place.”

Jackson looked around, checking the street. “Looks empty.”

“I don’t know. There was some guy. It doesn’t matter.”

He took the opportunity to kiss her and her arms went back around him, as the kiss became deeper.

“Did I miss a text? Did I know you were coming?” she asked pulling back. This was her moment to switch to cool and reserved if it was going to happen. Jackson tucked her golf club into the corner by the door, which was probably a good place for it.

“No,” he said, looking a little embarrassed. “I was…” He shook his head. “I thought I’d take a chance and see if you were home. I should have called.”

She didn’t know what to make of his sheepish look. Other than it was adorable. She felt a flutter of frustration. How was she supposed to reinforce boundaries if he was going to be charming? She wanted to hug him again.

“Well, I’m home,” she said, giving up. So they’d had a weird moment due to heightened emotions and violence, so what? All of her fretting while he’d been gone seemed silly now that he was here. “Come inside.” She tugged him by the collar. She made room for him in the tiny foyer. He came in and she shut and locked the door. He jogged up the stairs ahead of her, pulling off his coat. He dropped it on the coat rack and ditched his shoes into the basket, while she went back to the kitchen.

“Drink tests?” Jackson asked hopefully, looking at the mess on the table.

“Yes! Go sit down and I’ll bring you a tester.”

“You need to start writing these down, so I remember whichones to ask for,” he said dropping onto the couch and putting his feet up. She loved the way his long legs looked stretched out on her couch.

“I do write them down,” she admitted, blushing. “Sometimes think it would be fun to write a cocktail recipe book. But you have to be famous to sell one of those. It would never work,” she added in case Jackson thought she was silly enough to believe she could do something like that.

She used the ice pick on the lump of ice in the ice bucket and he laughed. “Remind me not to argue with you when you’ve got the ice pick handy.”

“Eeee. Eeee. Eeee!” She mimedPsychostabbing motions and he laughed again. “How was your trip?” She selected a wide bowled glass that she’d picked up at the second-hand store and poured in a careful measure of her infused bourbon.

He took a deep breath. “Fine.”

She looked up. “That seemed like there was going to be more than fine?”

He shrugged. “I like my family the more time I spend with them.”

She laughed. “I really thought that was going to go a different direction.”

“I sometimes feel like…” He ran his hand through his hair, making it stand up in spots. “They are really smart. Educated. The best at what they do. And sometimes I feel like the shaggy kid they let follow them around.”

“Do they say that?” Her hand curled a little tighter around the icepick. From his occasional comments he’d made, she knew Jackson had grown up poor and come into money much later. She admired the way he was navigating the transition and she thought it was impressive the amount of research he put in to learning his new life. He genuinely cared about making his stupid family look good, and she could tell that he cared abouttheir opinions. The idea that they might treat him badly made her angry.

“No. That’s just it. They never do. They are ridiculously loyal. And they treat me like I… well, they treat me like I can keep up. But damn, it’s a stretch sometimes.”

Caitlin looked down at the table. “All I have is booze,” she said.

“What?”

“I can’t fix that. All I have is booze.”

“You don’t have to fix that. This is just me bitching about my cousins being hyper-successful bastards. There’s nothing to fix.”

“Oh,” she said.

“I’ll still take the booze though.”

“Not quite yet.” She tossed the ice cubes into the glass.

“How was your week?” he asked, as she went to the cupboard for the Frangelico.