27. Jasper
27
JASPER
It’s been three days since our Grand Avenue haunted tour date. Technically, sixty hours since I last kissed my girl. Which is fifty-nine hours too many if you ask me.
Which she hasn’t, since she’s barely responded to my texts over the last few days. I thumb open our text conversation while I wait for the drinks I ordered at The Coffee Shop. It’s not as busy as it usually is this time of day, but even half-full, it’s loud in here.
Me: It’s been twenty-four hours, baby. I’m tired of waiting for you to reach out.
Coraline: Okay? Why are you telling me this?
Me: I’m communicating my feelings. That’s the key to a successful relationship, according to the two romance novels I read recently.
Coraline: *fake relationship
Me: Potato, potato.
Coraline: Just so you know, this isn’t real.
Me: So you keep saying, but I’m not sure you believe it, baby.
Coraline: Trust me, it’s all fake. Pretend, you know?
Me: Your hot little cunt rubbing against my dick says otherwise.
Coraline: A temporary lapse in judgment. It won’t happen again.
Me: What if I wanted it to?
Coraline: What’s that thing Mick Jagger always said? You can’t always get what you want.
Me: But if you try real hard, you might get what you need.
Me: Do you know what you need, baby?
Coraline: Yeah.
Coraline: To go to bed.
Coraline: Goodnight, Jasper.
Me: Sweet dreams, baby.
I tried to play it cool. Waited the obligatory three day rule or whatever it is to see her again, but I’m done now. It’s officially the start of day three, and I’m gonna go see my girl. But first, I’m gonna bring her some coffee. Soften her up a little before I tell her we need to plan our next public date.
My phone vibrates with an incoming text, and my heart does this funny little flip. But it’s not my girl. It’s my estranged half-sister.
Naomi: Did you forget about me? I’m still in Rosewood in case you forgot!
I crush the inside of my cheek between my molars. I don’t want to be an asshole, but I don’t appreciate the love bombing either. I debate on what to reply back—if anything—when she sends another text.
Naomi: Let’s get together. Coffee?
I glance around the cafe, paranoia raising the hair on the back of my neck. I don’t see her though, so it’s probably just a coincidence.
Naomi: Or I could come over tonight.
“Fancy seeing you here, Jagger. You wouldn’t happen to be waiting to bring a coffee to a certain baker, would you?”
Mrs. Matthews' voice pulls me from my phone. I slip it in my pocket and turn to greet the best friend trio.
“Mornin’ ladies,” I greet them with a wide smile. I tip my chin toward their matching outfits today. “I’m loving the orange today, gotta say.”
“Oh, this old thing?” Mrs. Weatherby smirks, smoothing a hand over the front of her short-sleeved windbreaker.
“Don’t play coy with us. Martha told us all about what she walked in on a couple days ago,” Mrs. Matthews says.
The way she leans forward and whispers it like it was something salacious cracks me up. I chuckle and rake my hand through my hair.
“I happen to like sweets, what can I say?”
“Mm-hmm. I’ll bet you have quite the sweet tooth, don’t you,” Mrs. Weatherby murmurs, her gaze assessing as she looks at me.
Mrs. Matthews plants a hand on her hip and looks at her friend. “Since when did you start going to Avalon Falls for your desserts, Martha?”
Mrs. Weatherby sniffs, tilting her face so she has to look down her nose at Mrs. Matthews. Which is comical for too many reasons, but the first of which is because they’re exactly the same height. Also, have I mentioned their penchant for wearing matching tracksuits.
“We have to support our own,” Mrs. Weatherby says.
“Even if it is outside of Rosewood,” Mrs. Shepley says primly.
I’ve been here for a decade, and still, these small town politics continue to surprise me. There’s big competition between Rosewood and pretty much every surrounding town. Some were born out of rival MCs, but not all of it. Most of it came from decade-old spats about recipe theft, girlfriend stealing, and land sabotaging.
“Well, I want to support her too. Why didn’t you tell me?” Mrs. Matthews glares at her friends.
“We did,” Mrs. Weatherby deadpans. “But you were three margaritas in though.”
Mrs. Matthews raises her coffee cup in cheers with a laugh. “Those were some damn good drinks. Went down like Kool-Aid. You ever had a margarita before, Jagger?”
I laugh and drag my palm over my chin. “I’ve had a few before. Not really my thing though.”
Mrs. Matthews shakes her head, a grin widening across her face. “I just found this new recipe for spicy ones with jalape?os! I’ll bring you one tomorrow morning.”
Mrs. Shepley tsks with a playful roll of her eyes. “He’s not going to drink at eight o’clock in the morning, Trixie.”
Mrs. Matthews just shrugs and flips her hair at her friend. “It’s five o’clock somewhere, Helen. Stop being such a stick in the mud.”
“Jagger, Coraline,” the barista yells, placing two drinks on the counter.
“Hey, thanks, man.” I nod my appreciation to the barista, and he flashes me a tired smile.
I grab both drinks, and the second my hand wraps around her drink, I hear the trio of women behind me murmuring. I clamp down my urge to smirk. If this doesn’t work, I’m gonna have to toss her over my shoulder and parade her down Main Street.
Actually . . . that’s not a bad idea. Amusement flows like lazy lava through me at the mental image.
I pop a straw in her iced latte, leaving the wrapper on the exposed end, and turn around to face Rosewood’s gossip queens.
“It looks like you might’ve grabbed the wrong drink there, Jagger,” Mrs. Weatherby says with a knowing grin.
“Oh, this?” I shake her drink a little, showing it off. “Nah, I’m grabbing this for my girl.”
Mrs. Matthews gasps. “You’re dating Coraline Carter?”
I lift my brows at her reaction. “Sure am, Mrs. Matthews. For as long as she’ll let me.”
“Mm-hmm,” Mrs. Shepley says, tapping the end of her neon pink nail against her coffee cup. “Is this a new development? Because I seem to remember just last month how vocal our dear Coraline was when it came to, how did she say it, Martha?”
Mrs. Weatherby smirks, her eyes bright and cunning. “She said she’d rather sit on a pin cushion of needles than ever date a Reaper.”
I shake my head with a chuckle. Damn, she never pulls any punches, does she? “You’d be surprised what can happen in a month.”
Mrs. Shepley arches a brow, a small smile on her face. “A woman is allowed to change her mind, right, girls?”
“Of course. I just hope you know what you’re doing, that’s all,” Mrs. Weatherby says with a nod.
“That girl’s gonna eat you alive, honey,” Mrs. Matthews says, clapping her hand on my bicep a few times. “But maybe you’re into that sort of thing.” She looks up at me, the very image of a caring grandmother. If my grandma was dressed in matching neon tracksuits and ran on coffee and gossip.
“Alright, ladies. As much as I enjoy our morning coffee chats, I gotta get this to my girl. She’s a real bear without caffeine in the morning, you know how that is.” I wink at them.
“Tell Coraline to expect my call,” Mrs. Matthews yells, waving at me.
“Will do. You all have a good day now.” I wave as I push open the door, letting the hot summer sun bake in my good mood.
I give it twenty-four hours before the whole town knows Coraline Carter is mine.
Coraline’s iced matcha latte sweats in the cup holder next to my iced Americano. My truck idles at the stoplight, the engine a gentle hum underneath.
The newest addition to my Coraline Carter playlist blares through the speakers, this one familiar. A little while ago, I decided to add the songs from her social media captions to a playlist. Not every single song, because I’m told that would be decidedly obsessive.
But all the ones I recognize or pique my interest when I listen to ’em.
And today’s caption, well, that song title has me curious as hell.
One-Eighty by Summer.
I think she thinks it’s a fuckin’ dig at me, but she must not know the lyrics as well as I do.
Or fuck, maybe I’m looking into this too hard. Maybe it’s just a song she likes. I’d bet this truck it doesn’t have anything to do with the chocolate dipped biscotti she posted though.
The sun’s still climbing, casting long shadows on the road as I weave through the sparse morning traffic in downtown Avalon Falls. Which makes it easy as hell to spot the same two vaguely familiar guys from a few days ago.
They’re a block away from Cora’s bakery, but something about the way they’re looking over their shoulders trips my internal alarm. Their movements jerky and rough, like they’re up to some sketchy shit.
My intuition perks up, and I pull into a metered parking spot down the road. Far enough away to not be conspicuous, but close enough to see what they’re doing.
I throw the car in park, turn down the music, and pull out my phone. Utilizing the zoom function, I quickly snap a few photos.
No kuttes or apparent gang tattoos. But still, they seem so fucking familiar. I can’t quite place them, but I bet Hawke could. I swear that asshole has one of those photographic memories.
My fingers fly over the screen as I forward the pictures to Hawke. It’s early, but he should be at the garage already, covering the morning shift.
I don’t wait for him to respond, tapping the call button. Ringing fills the cab, and I keep my eyes trained on the pair, my instincts on high alert.
“Jagger,” he answers, sounding half-awake.
“I need a favor,” I say, cutting straight to the point.
“Bro. I’m opening the garage for you. Isn’t that favor enough?” he grumbles.
“I just sent you some photos. They look familiar to you?”
There’s a pause and some rustling. I watch the taller guy light a cigarette, the flare of the lighter momentarily illuminating his face. They’re not from Rosewood, that much I know. I’d remember them if they were.
“Yeah, think so,” Hawke finally replies, his voice sharper now. “Seen ’em around a few times.”
“In Rosewood?”
“Nah,” he says. “Maybe The Alley? Or shit, I dunno, somewhere though. Why?”
“Saw ’em hanging around Coraline’s bakery the other day. I don’t know, something doesn’t feel right about them.”
Hawke sighs. “Sure it’s got nothing to do with the fact that some guys are sniffin’ around your girl?”
My tongue flattens to the roof of my mouth. “Look into them for me, will you?”
“Is that an order?”
I pause, my eyes narrowing on the dash. “Does it need to be?”
He huffs a laugh under his breath. “Yeah, yeah. I’m on it. Anything else?”
“Yeah, check out the old tailor’s place in Avalon Falls, too. I want to know who owns it now, and any other properties near Sugarplum Bakery.”
“Someone’s obsessed,” he mutters.
I ignore his dig. “Do it quickly, yeah? And let me know what you find.”
“Got it. Later, man.”
I hang up and toss the phone onto the passenger seat, my eyes locked on the two men. They’re still loitering, not making a move, but that doesn’t ease the knot tightening in my chest.
I take a deep breath, trying to shake off the unease. But it lingers, like a shadow in the corner of my mind. I need to stay sharp, keep my cool. Whoever these guys are, whatever shit they’re into, I’ll figure it out. And then I’ll make sure it doesn’t touch my girl.