The Billionaire's Temporary Bride (Scandal, Inc #3)(37)

"What does that even mean?" Jack asked. "I like you. I like you a lot. And I like your family, by the way. They're kind, and they're funny, and they treat me like a person instead of some kind of celebrity or royal who needs to be coddled and praised. I like this house with all its books and quirky pictures on the walls, and I like that this is where you came from. Charlotte, you dropped into my life like an artifact from a distant world. I had no idea what to make of you. You were smart and beautiful and you didn't care who I was, or who I knew, and you didn't seem interested in money or power or any of that crap and I like that. I like it a lot. And if you're mad at me for wanting to kiss you, then you'll have to stay mad at me, because the feeling isn't going away any time soon."

Charlotte lay there, speechless. She had expected some flippant joke or some quick remark, but how could she have prepared herself for this? Her heart raced and her mind reeled. "Why didn't you say any of this before?" she asked.

"You said you didn't want to think about what any of it meant, so I left it alone."

Charlotte raised a brow. "Are you just trying to get me to sleep with you?"

Jack grinned. "I mean, that would be a nice side benefit, but that's not my goal right now."

Charlotte smiled. She shook her head. This was crazy. Jack Coburn was lying on the sofa bed in her parents' den telling her he had feelings for her, telling her that he wanted her, that she was beautiful, and that he, the man who didn't believe in love, saw something in her that he liked enough to want more.

Charlotte could feel Jack's body against her as she moved slightly under the sheet.

"What do we do now?" she asked.

"When we get back to DC, we should have a real conversation about what's going on, how we can spend the next year together without driving each other crazy," he said.

"How do I know what's real and what isn't?" she asked.

Jack ran his hand against her cheek.

"There, that's real," he said.

He placed his hand over hers and held her palm against his chest. She could feel the steady beat of his heart.

"That's real too," he said.

Charlotte leaned against him and felt his warm breath against her skin.

"I have to know something," she whispered.

"Anything."

"Will you promise to never lie to me?"

"I never will," he said, brushing back her hair.

The words hid in Charlotte's throat for a second before she could work them out. "What's happening between us?" she asked.

"I'm about to kiss you," Jack said with a smile. He kissed her cheek, right next to her ear. She closed her eyes and turned to meet his lips.





***

The next morning, Charlotte woke to the smell of bacon wafting in from the kitchen. Jack was already out of bed. In fact, judging by the dishes in the sink, he had already eaten breakfast and was out in the driveway, helping Charlotte's dad set up the apple press before the guests arrived later that morning.

"Your dad looks thrilled to have some help," Ellen said, from her seat in front of the window. She blew on her tea as she watched her husband and soon-to-be son-in-law set everything up. "He must be explaining the whole process to Jack. You know how your dad likes to explain things."

Charlotte watched as her father yanked on a lever without moving it an inch.

Ellen put her tea on the window sill. "Maybe I should go out there and do the explaining before your father hurts himself."

Charlotte laughed. The cider press had been in her mother's family for generations, but her father had never quite gotten the hang of using it. Her mother pulled on a sweater and headed outside.

Charlotte watched the scene safely from inside. Her mother turned the wheel on the side of the press that crushed the apples and turned the bar on top to press the juice out for Jack. Charlotte couldn't help but wonder if the smile on Jack's face was genuine or forced. She wasn't sure she wanted to know. Either way, it looked like he might need backup to deal with the Crowleys. Charlotte decided she should head out and help.

After another half an hour, the antique press was all set up next to a few buckets of water for washing the apples. Jack cheerfully followed Ellen's orders, washing and preparing the apples for the arrival of all the neighbors.

"Ellen, will you help me understand what we're dealing with here?" Jack said, looking over the whole production line. "I don't want to screw anything up."

"These are drop apples. We buy them off of a local orchard in bulk at the end of the picking season," Ellen said. "We probably have a few hundred pounds of apples here. We clean them in bleach solution first, then you wash them in the water buckets. Once to get any traces of bleach off, and again because Pete's squeamish."

"We've been at this for decades and the extra step hasn't harmed us yet," Pete called from the garage.

As they moved the last bushel of apples into the driveway, the neighbors started to arrive. A few cars parked at the end of the driveway, and before she knew it, she was crushing the first load of apples with Jack as the Millers and the Kowalskis from down the street gawked at her ring and asked if she and Jack had set a date. People Charlotte hadn't seen since high school were pitching in, cleaning apples, and discussing the Crowleys' newest holiday decorations.