Mine Would Be You (60)

She grins, always ready to talk about her work, but let’s my dad speak first for once. “I’m in architecture. We’re actually working on a huge project for Brooklyn next year if all goes well.”

“That’s awesome. I really enjoy when new construction starts, watching the building from the beginning and seeing what it turns into. A strange fascination of mine.” Jackson takes another bite, this time of my mom’s tamales, and I can tell he loves it. “But I think both of you should quit and become professional chefs. This is unreal.”

I laugh softly, digging into the various foods on my plate as both my parents beam. Mom’s joy is written all over her face with a big, blinding smile. While my dad’s is softer, it shimmers in his eyes as he looks from me to Jackson.

“Oh, es bueno,” Mom says, sending me a wink.

“Sí mamá, lo sé.”

It goes quiet for a moment as we all dig in. Jackson and my mom go back and forth on her social work and his own personal experiences with it. It’s all going so much better than I had expected. It wasn’t that I thought it was going to be a huge drama fest. I was just paranoid, anxious something would go incredibly wrong. But it hasn’t.

I also thought Dad would be a much harder person to please. But in fact, I think he’s as susceptible to Jackson’s charms as the rest of us.

Jackson listens as much as he talks, and he lets my dad go on about the project, and I see my dad’s appreciative glances when his eyes flicker to mine. My mom goes back and forth in Spanish, mostly out of habit, about cooking or her social work, and even then he listens, with me quietly whispering translations to him as I eat.

Our plates are practically cleared now. Jackson leans forward onto the table, but the hand closest to me snakes over to my leg, where he just gently rests his palm. His thumb moves in small, rhythmic circles on the inside of my knee as I finish my own food.

It takes purely physical effort to not stare at him and to retain some dignity in front of my parents. Especially with the addicting way the pad of his thumb feels on my leg.

I take a sip of my drink, forcing myself to look up at my parents, like I haven’t been staring at the blond next to me for what feels like forever.

My dad’s warm eyes flicker between us. “So, did Nina invite you to our Labor Day party? We’d love to have you.”

Jackson taps my knee with his thumb and smiles at me. “She did, and I’d love to come. I hear you guys go all out.”

My mom grins. “We do. We’re happy you’ll be able to make it.” Dad nods in agreement. “How about dessert? I made cake?”

Jackson’s blue eyes flicker from her to me. “So, that’s where you learned to bake.”

My parents both get up, Jackson and I standing with them to help clear the table before my dad points. “Sit. Both of you. We can handle this.”

I shake my head, leaning forward and resting it in my palm as I connect my eyes with Jackson’s.

“You okay?” he asks me. I nod because I am.

“Not too crazy, right?” I ask him.

“Not at all. Honestly, you’re crazier than both. I should’ve known.”

My jaw falls open, and I narrow my eyes. “Wow. And to think what this could’ve been,” I mutter, feigning disappointment with a small shake of my head. It doesn’t matter because I know he sees right through me.

My dad turns his head as he holds out plates for my mom to scoop slices of cake on. “Where are you originally from, Jackson?”

“Georgia, born and raised until after college.”

Mom leans closer to me. “¿Un muchacho sureño? Me gusta.” A southern boy? I like it.

I roll my eyes as my dad and Jackson share a look. “Eventually you’ll pick it up. If you intend to be around it long enough.”

I glare at my dad because we’re not even dating and he’s already throwing double meanings into his statements, but he ignores me, humor lighting up his eyes.

“Oh, I intend too. She bought me a Spanish English dictionary for my birthday, and I’ve been learning on my own.” Jackson smiles. “Do you speak it?”

Dad laughs, but I also see approval written all over his face. “I do. Until they pick up the pace, and then I don’t even try.”

My mom places slices of cake on the table in front of all of us, and they both seat themselves again.

“Hopefully she hasn’t said anything bad.” Jackson raises a brow, his blue eyes twinkling, and my heart beats harder in my chest, butterflies erupting in my stomach at the quick look.

“Oh, hon, she’s not saying anything bad at all.” Mom winks at him and sends me a sheepish smile, like she feels bad for outing me. Which she doesn’t.

My cheeks flood with heat immediately, and I avoid eye contact with everyone except my slice of cake, which is my only comfort. Jackson leans back now, arm behind my chair like it was at brunch, and slyly twirls the end of my hair.

“That’s good to know.”

Dad smiles. “But you already knew that didn’t you?”

Jackson grins. “I had a feeling, sir. I just had to check.”

I groan, shoving a huge piece of cake in my mouth just to avoid having to speak. Because it’s obvious that tonight I will be outnumbered. I think my parents like him better than they like me.