CHAPTER THREE JAY
CHAPTER THREE
J AY
S orry about that.” Taylor holds a serving tray in one hand and a drink pitcher in the other. What appears to be a ketchup stain marks her university sweatshirt. “Things get nuts when the Alden Social Club comes in on Friday nights.”
My buddy Lark tosses his napkin on the table. “I hope when I’m retired, my wild Friday nights don’t include a fish sandwich at Betty Lou’s Diner.”
“What are you talking about?” I say, laughing. “It’s Friday night. You’re here.” I point at his plate. “And you just finished a—”
“Fish sandwich,” he says, shaking his head. “Damn it.”
I laugh, raising my pop to my lips and taking a drink.
Betty Lou’s Diner, the preeminent eatery in Alden—and the only one open after four—is bustling. All thirteen tables and five stools at the counter have been occupied since Lark and I arrived an hour ago, and Taylor, Betty Lou’s granddaughter, hasn’t stopped moving.
I wandered into the diner on my first day in town nearly four years ago. It had a bright-green wreath on the door and a welcome sign that felt like an invitation to enter. And since I knew no one in town and had nowhere to go besides back to my rental to unpack, I figured I’d give it a shot.
It’s been an almost daily occurrence ever since.
“What about you, Jay?” Taylor asks. “Do you need anything else?”
I set my glass down. “No. I’m good.”
“Grandma made coconut cream pie,” Taylor says, taunting me with my favorite dessert. “I know you’re dying for a piece.”
Not even Betty Lou’s pie will satisfy my craving tonight, Taylor.
My mind takes the opportunity to replay the day’s events. More like the day’s highlight reel.
Smooth, freckled skin. Bright-green eyes. A dip at the small of her back that fits my hand perfectly.
Now, that sounds delicious.
“I’m good,” I say. “That extra potato salad you brought filled me up.”
“But did it butter you up?”
Lark chuckles, watching the weekly volley between me and Taylor.
“No,” I say.
“Come on, Jay,” she says, the words a plea. “You’d love her. She’s so pretty and smart, and she teaches—”
“No, Taylor.” I laugh. “I’m not going to date your boyfriend’s mom.”
She huffs. “You’re letting all of that”—she sets the pitcher down and waves her hand up and down me like a game show hostess—“go to waste.”
“How do you know what I’m letting go to waste?”
“You can’t be doing anything too fantastic because you’re in here every damn night.”
“Touché.”
She rolls her eyes.
The food and company are both good. Why go anywhere else?
“We’ll take the check whenever you get a minute,” Lark says, smiling.
“Will do.” She swipes the pitcher back up and looks at me out of the corner of her eye. “But I’m charging you for double the potato salad.”
“It’s a small price to pay for avoiding a date.”
She loads our empty plates—and the mayonnaise bottle that Lark can’t eat without—onto her tray. “Do you dream of being alone for the rest of your life? Who hurt you?”
It’s a joke. I know Taylor. She’s a sweetheart. If she had any idea of how on point her question really was, she’d shit.
“He has mommy issues,” Lark says, winking at me.
“It’s more like the idea of not having anyone else’s problems to manage, or feelings to consider, or crap to move on the bathroom counter so I can brush my teeth in the mornings sounds like heaven,” I say.
Taylor makes a face at me, expressing her exasperation, and then scurries toward the kitchen.
The day’s final rays of sunlight filter through the windows, bathing the dining room in a warm, muted glow. Familiar scents and friendly voices fill the air, creating a relaxing, homelike ambiance that attracts as many patrons as the food. As much as I love the fish on Friday nights and the homemade soups for which Betty Lou is regionally famous, it’s the vibe that brings me back.
I yawn, stretching my legs out in front of me.
“How did the walk-through with Weatherspoon go today?” Lark asks, rolling his straw wrapper into a tiny ball. “Did he sign off on the house, or was he a dick?”
“Well, he’s always a dick ...”
Lark chuckles.
“He signed off. I think he would’ve kept us there indefinitely, spinning our wheels, thanks to his pissing match with the inspector.” I roll my head side to side to keep tension from settling in the back of my neck. “But the owner happened to come by the house—pure happenstance—and gushed over how much she loved the woodwork. I think that helped get us out of there.”
“Probably. What are you working on next?”
“We’re starting on a farmhouse out by Fell’s Creek. It’s not a huge job. We’re renovating what’s there and adding a sunroom on the south side. It’s good money for what it is.”
“That’s how we like it.”
I grin. “That’s how we like it.”
“You know what else we like?”
“What’s that?”
A slow, mischievous smile splits his cheeks. It’s his feral smile, and enough to strike fear in a mere mortal. But I’ve known Lark long enough to know not to be scared. Just wary.
“We like five foot one, maybe five two, dark-blond or light-brown-haired women who are wrapped in a towel in the middle of the yard and look at us like we’re the man of their dreams.”
I sigh, tilting my chin toward the ceiling. That was not how Gabrielle looked at me. Damn it.
Somehow, the idea that someone saw the snake debacle a few hours ago didn’t cross my mind. But it should’ve.
And I should’ve known the news would make its way to Lark.
Nothing about what happened should make this conversation awkward. Aside from Gabrielle being beyond beautiful and knowing how she feels in my arms being impossible to wipe from my memory—especially after not having a woman in them except for superficial encounters—our interaction was a thing that happened . Maybe it’s a story brought up over beers or a laugh to be had when I see a snake going forward, but it wasn’t a big deal.
So why does it feel like one?
“I’ve waited the entire meal for you to bring this up,” he says, smirking. “It’s funny that you didn’t.”
“Is it? Because I’m sure you had things happen today that you haven’t told me.”
“Trust me, my man. If I had an angel fall from heaven and land in my arms—”
“Shut the fuck up.” I chuckle in disbelief.
He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “See, if you would’ve brought it up, I wouldn’t have thought anything about it. But ... you didn’t. And that makes me think there’s fire behind that smoke.”
“What?”
“You know, that whole ‘where there’s smoke, there’s fire’ thing. That’s this.”
I take the bill from Taylor, wishing she’d stay and chat. Much to my dismay, she slips the paper into my hand and keeps moving.
Lark sits back. “Did she have a bad personality? Bad breath? Was she mean?”
I fight a smile from forming on my lips.
I’ve known Lark since I moved to town. The first day I came to Betty Lou’s, he sat in the chair he currently occupies. When he commented he’d never seen me before, I said I was new to Alden. The next thing I knew, he was helping me move boxes and invited me to his house to watch a football game.
Our friendship is the easiest relationship I’ve ever shared. We both love sports, trucks, and the outdoors. Neither of us likes to text or use social media too much. We can go days without talking, meet for Fish Friday, and fall back to where we left off.
Despite his being my closest and only friend, I know Lark is puzzled. He wonders why I might see a woman for a week or two and then break it off, and he’s curious about my disinterest in relationships. Lark would love to understand why I change the subject when he starts discussing getting married and having a family.
But he never asks. And I respect him for that.
“Great personality,” I say honestly, because I can’t let my frustration with Lark’s questions unfairly paint Gabrielle in a bad light. “Breath was a little like pizza, but I’m not mad about that.”
Lark laughs.
“Good boy. Go back to your truck. I’ll be fine.”
I chuckle softly. “You know what? She was a little mean, now that I think about it.”
“That’s my kryptonite. I love a woman that can be a little mean. A little feisty. ” He growls. “Sex with them is so damn hot.”
Taylor leans between us. “This is a family joint, boys. Keep the sex talk down.” She looks at me and lifts a brow. “Unless you wanna go out with my—”
“Bye, Taylor,” I say, laughing.
She groans and walks away.
Lark settles in across from me, waiting for me to finish my thought. Our conversation will return to Gabrielle, and Lark will keep digging until he finds the information he wants. My best bet is to take control of the chat and find a way to end it. But how do I do that? What would distract him enough ...
Bingo.
“How did you find out about Gabrielle?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“Della.”
“Oh,” I say like I’m surprised. “You talked to Della?”
Lark’s face reddens, making his blond hair appear even lighter. His eyes glass over like a cartoon character’s. If he sighs blissfully, I won’t be surprised.
By all accounts, the woman across the street is a knockout. Della is in her mid to late twenties, has a tight little body, and always looks perfect—there’s never a hair out of place. She jogs down the street, and every man outside raking leaves stops and stares.
I like her just fine. She’s simply not my type.
But she’s Lark’s.
“She got back to town today,” he says. “She called to see if I wanted to hang out this weekend.”
“Nice.”
“I haven’t seen her in a month. I’m probably gonna get off in my pants like a teenager.”
I laugh. “Where has she been? I haven’t seen her car around in a while.”
“She had a couple of contracts out of town,” he says.
“What does she do for work again?”
He shrugs. “I really don’t know. There’s not a lot of talking between us, and the talking we do is more about times and places.”
“But you had enough conversation for her to tell you about Gabrielle.”
“It’s not every day that a woman falls off her porch in nothing but a towel and you have to pluck her out of the bushes. Then she goes back inside with your shirt wrapped around her waist.”
“Della saw all of that?”
He nods. “She said you two seemed pretty chatty.”
Instead of answering him, I slide my wallet out of my pocket. I find my credit card and hand it to Taylor as she passes.
Lark raises both hands. “Okay, that’s fine. You don’t want to talk about it.”
“There’s nothing to talk about, Lark.”
He takes a wad of cash out of his pocket and slaps some on the table for a tip. “What are you doing this weekend?”
“I’m going to change the oil in my truck and put some shit up in my garage. The Weatherspoon job kept me running around for the last month. My garage became a drop-off zone for tools and materials. It’s driving me nuts.”
I take my card back from Taylor. “Thanks.”
“No problem,” she says. “See you, guys.”
“See ya later,” Lark says, handing her the cash.
We get up and head outside. The sun has slipped below the horizon. Stars twinkle in the clear sky.
“If you and Della get done early, come over,” I say as we reach our trucks.
“I’m going to do my best to make it take as much of the weekend as possible.”
Laughing, I open the driver’s door. “Understood. Have fun.”
“Will do. Try not to organize too much. It’s not good for the soul.”
I shake my head and climb inside the cab, turning on the engine. Now that the sun has set, the air has a bite to it, and I left my sweatshirt at home. Gabrielle has my flannel.
Her waist molded in my hands. Her breath warmed my cheek. The memory of my shirt hanging off her body makes me hard.
I’m sure it was the eventful way we met that makes her impossible to forget. After all, not many exciting things happen in Alden, and seeing a naked woman fall off her porch isn’t a daily occurrence.
Especially when they look like Gabrielle.
My heart begins to pound, and my blood runs hot. I grip the steering wheel and imagine the softness of her skin. I think about how her tits hung off her frame in perfect teardrops. The curve of her hip. Her eyes taunted mine like they held the keys to my inner workings.
I didn’t know I was capable of responding to a woman like that.
Not after what happened with Izzy.
My fingers release the wheel, and I blow out a breath.
And that’s why I have to keep myself in check.
It was a moment with Gabrielle. And it will never be anything but that.