3. Chapter Three
Chapter Three
June
W hen you grow up in a city like Denver, its hard to imagine living in a town as small as Laketown, where theres a single traffic light and the mayor knows everyone by name. And then theres the privacy. Or lack of. Keeping a secret from your neighbors in a place like this requires being closed off and guarded.
Most of the time, I dont mind being the towns enigmatic spinster. All people know about me is that I rolled into town on fumes more than two years ago, bought the hardware store within a week of my arrival, and am content to stay single and independent.
I mean, its not like there are any people to date in Laketown anyway. Hank is the only single man under the age of sixty, and while I love the guy, hes too academic for my tastes. Plus, he never leaves his house. The fact that he came to town the other day to see Bonnie is still blowing my mind. Even more surprising is the fact that he agreed to be Bonnies fake boyfriend for publicitys sake.
He came to Laketown to hide from the world, just like I did, which is a huge part of the reason we became friends. And now that hes changing his tune, Im left feeling unsettled. Unmoored. Which is ridiculous, because I could not possibly be more settled. I own a business and a house and a cat who may or may not hate me.
Here, kitty, I say as I crouch down low on my porch with a can of tuna. I caught sight of the beast when I went to close the blinds in the front room, and Im not one to miss an opportunity. Tonights the night youre going to let me touch you, right?
I dont know why I bother. Its been six months since Samson first showed up in my bushes, and hes never once let me close enough to pet him.
Come on, you fuzzball. Its time.
I can see him staring unblinkingly at me through the leaves, his squashed face catching the porch light. I have no idea what kind of cat he is other than orange and furry, but he keeps coming around, so I keep trying to turn him into a house pet so I can have some company after a long, quiet day at the store.
I know you like tuna, big man, I tell him. And I will gladly give you this whole can if you ask me nicely.
Could I pretty please have the tuna?
I shriek and scramble backward, realizing far later than Id like that it wasnt the cat who spoke to me but the shirtless man standing on the sidewalk.
Jonah .
What are you doing here? I gasp, pressing a hand to my heart as if that might calm it down.
Smirking in his annoyingly handsome way, Jonah glances around my quiet street. Im on a run, he says, as if it should be obvious.
Maybe it would have been obvious if Id gotten a chance to really study him. Tennis shoes, running shorts, and earbuds make up his entire ensemble, though I have no idea why he isnt wearing a shirt when its maybe forty degrees out right now. Im freezing just looking at him.
And look at him I do. I knew he was built, but Jonah James has some serious muscle definition. I shouldnt be surprised, given his resume, but he has managed to find that perfect in-between, plenty strong but not burly like his friend. He could keep a girl safe if she needed him to.
A shiver runs through me. Because of the cold. Not because Im imagining a guy like Jonah stepping between me and a ready fist.
Samson rustles in the bushes and pokes his head out, curious about the half-naked man standing on my sidewalk.
Oh hello, Jonah says, dropping into a low crouch. I take it youre the tuna lover. To my surpriseand burning jealousySamson walks right up to Jonah and head butts his hand, leaning into his touch as Jonah scratches his back. Youre an ugly thing, arent you?
How did you do that? I gasp.
Jonah looks up. Do what?
Samson has never once let me touch him.
Huh. Cant imagine why not, with your friendly personality.
Scoffing, I stand and take a single step toward the two of them. Samson immediately darts back into the bushes, and my eyes inexplicably sting with tears. Its a cat . I dont even like cats! It shouldnt matter that this one likes the smug, pretty-boy actor but not me.
To my reliefdisappointment?Jonah grabs his shirt, which hed tucked into the back of his shorts, and pulls it over his head. Oh . Not a shirt. A tank top that still shows off his well-defined arms. In my defense, he says, Im a farm boy. The animals always tended to like me.
Shoot . That shouldnt make me like him moreIm a city girl through and throughbut it does. Farm boy? I ask, unable to keep the surprise out of my voice.
He laughs, and the sound seems to warm the air around us. Why the tone of surprise? Is it because you cant read that on the internet?
Oof, its like he has access to my search history. Yeah, I may have looked him up a little bit after talking to him on the set the other day, but he doesnt have to be so cocky about being famous enough to have a Wikipedia page. Hank has one too, so its not like it makes Jonah special.
As if I would bother looking you up, I say.
Samson yowls in the bush like hes calling out my lie.
Jonahs smile shifts into a smirk again as his eyes flick to something behind me for half a second. He takes in the street once more and raises an eyebrow. Quiet place.
I fold my arms, suddenly defensive of my tiny neighborhood. I happen to like it.
I never said I didnt.
Does he ever stop smiling? I cant decide if hes perpetually happy or if something about me amuses him, but either option unnerves me. Ive gotten used to seeing the same people day in and day out, so I dont know how to act around this guy. He, on the other hand, gets paid millions of dollars to play pretend. I cant trust that any of his charm is real.
The last time I trusted a charming guy, he turned out to be narcissistic and manipulative. Besides, even if Jonah is genuine, hes only here until theyre done filming, so I shouldnt drink in the way his muscles shift and stretch with each movement. I shouldnt wish hed keep talking so we can spar like we did on the set the other day.
I shouldnt be itching to invite him inside before he freezes.
Something down the street catches Jonahs eye, and a wider grin stretches across his face. Looks like my bodyguard has caught up to me, so Ill be on my way. Ill see you around, June.
Dont count on it.
He chuckles and takes off running. A few seconds later, the trunk-limbed guy from the store huffs and puffs past, a look of desperation in his eyes as he gasps out Jonahs name and lumbers onward.
Samson yowls again.
Oh, shut up, I tell him and leave the can of tuna on the step, heading back inside with no plans to hit play on the Jonah James movie I pulled up earlier.
Definitely not going to watch it.