Chapter 8
Knightley
Emma Jane Williams is a myriad of things.
She is selfish.
Calculating.
In her own head.
Admittedly brilliant.
Charming.
And most surprisingly…
Emma Jane is right about this woman.
Mallory Granger is, in fact, a lovely date.
The light-complected, brown-eyed brunette is currently scooping an expertly twirled forkful of linguini into her mouth, sighing with delight. “I’m so glad you chose this place.”
Yeah, there’s the issue. She thinks I chose the place, time, and day. That was all Emma Jane. Mallory knows this date is a “beta trial” of Emma Jane’s matchmaking services, but she thinks the effort was mine.
And do I feel a smidge guilty over that?
Yes.
But also… I’m starting to think maybe this whole blind date wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
“Do I have something on my face?” Mallory makes a motion to wipe the corners of her lips.
“No.” I laugh.
She grins a bright white smile. “Good. But you do…”
Mallory leans across the narrow table, her fingers outstretched toward my face. Rapid thoughts race across my mind, the primary one being that I haven’t so much as touched another woman romantically, much less been touched by one with uncertain romantic intentions.
Confusion flashes across her face when I lean back, followed by a gentle smile. She points to a spot on the corner of her mouth, and I take a napkin to mine. She gives me a thumbs up then starts to twirl more pasta. “Not a fan of physical contact?”
I shake my head. I love it, in fact. “I don’t know if Emma Jane told you or not, but I’m widowed, and I haven’t dated in eight years.” I laugh hesitantly. “I’m out of practice.”
She nods with understanding and apologizes for my loss. “She didn’t tell me, but that makes sense.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Mallory motions around the table and then between us.
“You know, your awkwardness. You’re the mayor of this town, and I’ve seen you stand in front of crowds and give speeches time after time.
Charisma comes naturally for you, but tonight it’s like you have a mental checklist you’re keeping track of. Kind of like—“
“Like I’m making sure I do all of the ‘supposed tos’ of dating,” I finish for her with a relieved sigh.
Last night, Emma Jane drilled me on proper date mannerisms. I halfway listened because at the time, I thought this date was only a show to get Emma Jane off my back, but from the moment I met Mallory outside, I instantly felt like I wanted to try.
She is attractive, yes, but something about her puts me at ease and feels more friendly. She’s confident, collected, poised, and smart. Her quiet but witty demeanor reminds me of my ex-wife but in a different body.
And it doesn’t upset me.
“I promise you, you’re hitting all the ‘supposed tos’ very well.” She takes a sip of red wine. “Just be yourself. This is only dinner with another human.”
“You’re right,” I agree and sip the cool, tangy drink. “What about you? I’m curious as to why you’re single.”
“Never ask a woman that.” She wiggles her finger back and forth in front of her face. “That is an instant turn-off.”
“Why’s that?” I ask, confused. Shouldn’t it be a compliment that I think she has the personality and aura to have someone devoted to to her?
“Because it’s received as a character flaw. Like there must be something wrong with me because I don't have a ring on my finger.” Mallory speaks with ease and gentleness, not an ounce of condemnation or anger over the misinterpreted question.
But I can’t contain the laughter that flows from me at how completely different our thought processes are. “Mallory, I’m going to be completely honest. I meant that question as a compliment. I don’t think there is anything wrong with you based on what I’ve learned so far.”
“I know.” She grins, then shovels another forkful of food into her mouth. After she finishes chewing, she says with downcast eyes, “I’m widowed, too, you know? My husband passed away two years ago in a car accident.”
In that instant, when we make eye contact, it’s like a mutual understanding has been forged.
I think of my mom and Henry. This is what it must be like for them.
“An understanding only grief can create,” I reiterate my thoughts from earlier this week.
She nods and smiles, shoving more pasta into her mouth.
“Do you want to talk about him?”
“Maybe one day,” she responds. “But I don’t think that's a first-date conversation to be had. Why don’t we talk about how handsome you are or how pretty I am and how cute our babies could be?” The lilt in her voice and crinkles around her eyes tell me she’s joking. I hope she is…
“I like your confidence and…” I try to find the right word, “bravado. It’s not over the top, and I find you quite fascinating.”
“You’re quite the charmer yourself, Mr. Knightley.”
“So, you grew up in Washington, D. C., moved to Juniper Grove a year ago to work on the president’s campaign, and you stuck around.”
After Mallory dabs her lips with a napkin, she says, “I liked the slowness of life here. D. C. can feel like you’re living at turbo speed. Living here feels like third gear at max.”
I nod. “I’ve spent some time in D. C., and I couldn’t imagine living there.
I got into politics here because we didn’t have any great candidates, and I saw improvements that needed to happen in this town.
I don’t think I’d ever pursue anything more.
In fact, I think this will be my last term if I win reelection. ”
“Maybe I can run for office after you, then.” She winks.
“You’ll have to beat the independent candidate, Jay. Jansen Johnson. He’s a formidable opponent. To be honest, I wouldn’t be upset at all if he won. Yeah, it’d hurt my pride if the people of Juniper Grove didn’t want me for a second term, but he’s a good guy and has done a lot for this town.”
I take a bite of my carbonara, wondering why in the world I’m telling her all of this. She’s so easy to talk to; I’m spilling all my secrets.
“Sounds like you’re just the man for the job. The best politicians are the ones who don’t necessarily want to be politicians.”
I shrug. “Maybe so. Oh, and if you want to win, you might need to become male and get married and join the Southern Baptist denomination.” It started as poking fun, but by the end of my statement, even I admit I sound a little bitter.
“Well, I am a part of the Southern Baptist denomination, and I am open to marriage, obviously. But I don’t think changing my gender is in the cards for me.
I’m happily female, just as the Good Lord intended, and will continue living that way.
” She laughs. “Do you have something against my denomination?”
I squirm a little in my seat. “It’s nothing against the denomination. It’s more so against the new president of the local association. He misinterprets scripture a lot and seems to have a thing against me being Presbyterian.”
“How so? Forgive me, but I haven't been in the loop of evangelical happenings lately.”
“No worries. I wish I wasn’t. He is promoting Jay over me because he’s Southern Baptist and has a family.
Vance Green, the president, has said on numerous occasions that he believes First Timothy 3:12 applies to all men who proclaim to be Christians in positions of leadership, not just those who are deacons.
He’s subtly stating he doesn’t believe me to be a true Christian, and that stings to hear, you know? ”
Mallory nods and offers a soft smile of understanding. “I can see how that would be hurtful. For the record, I think he’s completely wrong. The scripture is clear without his wacky interpretation.”
“Glad you agree.” There’s a pause in conversation, both of us taking sips of our respective drinks.
We make eye contact, and I realize there is no zing. Mallory is full of understanding and empathy, but she lacks…
What does she lack?
“Do you think we might be too alike, Knightley?” Mallory asks as if she’s hunting around inside my brain.
Pressing my lips into a line, I nod.
That’s it. That’s the issue.
We agree too much.
The absence of a challenge is a wet rag on the miniscule amount of attraction I had for Mallory.
Laughing at my idiocy, I fold my hands in front of me and evaluate Mallory once more. She is beautiful, no doubt. Fun. Smart. Agreeable.
But I think I like my women a little… less agreeable.
A feisty blonde takes center stage within my thoughts, and I swallow the budding lump in my throat.
“I like you a lot, Mallory, I do, but…”
She holds up two petite hands. “Say no more. There’s no romantic spark. Just the kindling of a sweet friendship. To be honest, I thought I was ready to date, but I don’t think I’m as ready as I thought I was.”
Breath exits my body, an easy smile slides over my face, and we slip into political conversation. We continue chatting throughout the rest of our dinner, and though the conversation is stimulating and we have a lot in common, no spark ignites.
I search for it in her laugh, in her smirk, in her body…
But nothing.
No “I have to kiss you right now” chemistry.
No challenge to be met.
When I hug her goodnight beside her car, there are no feelings of wanting to do it again or to not let go.
Not like when Emma Jane was in my arms or on top of me—
A knock at my driver’s window thankfully pulls me from my inappropriate memories that need to be exorcized from my brain.
Which is not a word I need to think of, especially if I want to keep thoughts of Cami and her awful past at bay…
She never would tell me what happened during her time away, before she moved to north Mississippi, but I knew the pentagram branded into the back of her neck was nothing good.
Couldn’t be removed. We tried. The best we could do was tattoo colorful wildflowers over the nefarious brand, but even then, she refused to wear anything that revealed her neck while she was in public.
A shiver runs down my spine.
“What’s up?” I ask Mallory. She points to her car.
“It won’t start. My engine light is on. Do you think you could give me a lift home?”
“Of course,” I say, right as a call from Marcus comes through. I answer as she gets into my truck, and he asks me to come over to talk about something he’s conflicted about. I agree, but I want to change vehicles if I’m going to go out to Hartfield. “Where do you live?”
She tells me, and it’s past my place. “Do you think we could stop at my house so I can switch vehicles? I’m going to visit a friend out in Hartfield after dropping you off.”
“Not a problem, as long as you aren’t trying to take me home…”
Heat crawls up my neck at the insinuation. “Uh, um, no. I’m not that kind of man.”
“I know.” She laughs, settling into the passenger seat. “I was just teasing. You’re a great guy. I hope we get to work together politically one day. Let me know how I can help out with your campaign, okay? Oh! Actually, I have an idea if you’re up for it.”
I crank the truck. “What is it?”
“You’re worried about losing because you’re single, right?”
“Yes.” I cut my eyes to her as I pull out of the restaurant’s parking lot.
“Well, what if…”
We talk shop back and forth the short distance to my house. Her idea is bonkers, but honestly, it just might work. Politicians do this kind of stuff all the time, right?
Her offer is a rip current in my head, and you know what they say about rip currents: you have to swim with them. I turn into my gravel driveway, and my headlights reflect not just my car sitting in front of my house instead of in the garage where it should be, but also Emma Jane’s car.
And Emma Jane.
Sitting on my steps with a wide grin directed at my truck.
I shut off the truck, which was blinding her.
Something inside me screams that I should stop Mallory from getting out of the truck, but that’s crazy, right? This is what Emma Jane wanted…
She will be thrilled to hear our date went well even though we aren’t romantically interested in each other. Mallory and I will have an image to keep up soon…
But the moment Mallory steps out of my truck, Emma Jane’s eyes grow wide under the front porch light, and she shoots to her feet quicker than a bottle rocket going off on the Fourth of July.
Her smile falters for the briefest of seconds as she eyes Mallory, and when she turns in my direction, where I’m finally moving myself out of the truck on wobbling legs at the false implication of this moment, I swear I see her bare her teeth.