Page 38 of A Perfect Fit

This isn’t the usual obnoxious Jackson or the Jackson I’ve always known and remembered from high school. It’s not even the Jackson who helped me with tidying things that day at the market when Daisy collapsed and fell.

“Nothing.” My voice is quiet. “Everything’s great.”

Our server from earlier brings me my drink. Perfect timing. I thank her and take a few large gulps, relishing the sweet taste and rich, tropical flavors of pineapple and coconut. “Actually, I’m doing amazing.”

Jackson’s eyes narrow. “You’re a great debater, but a terrible actor.”

“Gee, thanks,” I say. “Only you could compliment someone and insult them at the same time.”

Despite my sarcasm, the softness in his expression doesn’t fade. “Do you want to talk about it?”

I play with the straw in my drink and sigh. Even though it’s surprisingly nice of him to offer, what happened with Ivy isn’t something I’m eager to discuss with him. “Not really. No.”

Jackson goes silent for a moment, and then his face lights up. “Okay. Do you want to hear a joke then?”

Shock flashes through my spine like an electric bolt. Not only did Jackson touch my hair earlier and get my name right, but now he also wants to tell me a joke instead of saying that I’m the joke?

Maybe today’s a good day to buy a lottery ticket because miracles sure are happening all around.

“You mean, your life?” I say, not sure where this is going to go.

“You mean, my life after I met you?”

I snort. “I could say the same about my life.”

Jackson rolls up his sleeves, his face growing solemn. “All right, listen up. What do you call a jacket that catches on fire?”

“I’ve heard this one before,” I say. “A blazer. Very original, Carter.”

“I have another one.” Jackson leans forward. “Two fashion designers were in a competition to see who could make a suit the fastest. Guess what happened.”

I stare at him in disbelief. What’s with all the fashion-designer-themed jokes and puns?

He takes my silence as a cue to continue. “The race ended in a tie.”

I take another sip of my drink. “Okay, that one wasn’t too bad.”

“Tough crowd.” His lips press into a tight line. “Looks like I’ll have to bring out my favorite.” He pauses for suspense before asking, “Which famous singer-songwriter is also talented at making clothes? I bet you won’t get this one.”

That sparks my curiosity and competitive spirit. I think long and hard about it, but no one springs to mind. “Who?”

“Tailor Swift.” Anticipation blossoms on his face as he awaits my reaction. “Tailor, as in the job.”

A laugh escapes my throat and then another. “I should’ve gotten that one.”

Jackson chuckles. “I’d tell you another joke, but I’m running out of material. I might need to visit the fabric store for some more.”

Maybe it’s because of Jackson’s jokes, or maybe it’s because of the alcohol—or a mix of both—but I can feel myself relaxing, loosening up. Talking to Jackson is helping me to forget about the drama with Ivy, and if I dare to admit it, I’m more than merely tolerating his company. I might actually be … enjoying it.

I drink my piña colada again. “You know, I’ll admit, you’ve got some great dad jokes there.”

“Hang on a sec. Isabelle Curtis-Wong is giving me a compliment? Today must be a good day to buy a lottery ticket.”

I can’t believe he’s also joking about buying lottery tickets now. Normally, I’d say something witty, but that’s nowhere on my mind because my attention’s on something else.

Dimples.

Jackson Carter has dimples.