Chapter 5 Friends Again
Chapter five
Friends Again
The diner smelled like deep-fried guilt and over brewed coffee, and apparently that was precisely what she wanted because her stomach rumbled before the door swung shut behind her. Maybe she’d order a second meal to-go and just call it a whole damn cheat day.
“Hey, Jenna,” the hostess greeted with a familiar smile. She was the daughter-in-law of the couple who’d bought LeeLee’s a decade or so prior, and generally worked up front because she was good with people. “Want a seat at the bar today?”
That was precisely the choice Jenna would have made if Jon had declined, or ignored her message outright. But he hadn’t, and she would much prefer to be seated and already past whatever scene her arrival was bound to make before he arrived. So, she opened her mouth. “Actually—”
“Oh, Jenna!” Mrs. Bell pivoted sharply on her feet, her voice nowhere near modulated enough, and she swallowed Jenna in a hug without any preamble.
“I was just devastated when I drove by the bakery this morning, dear,” she said as she stepped back, keeping hold of Jenna’s hands.
“Whatever could have happened? Is the business going to be all right? I couldn’t see any signs or anything. ”
“Yeah, that’s right,” a man at a nearby table called, not bothering to get up as he twisted in his seat. “You gonna be open for business by the weekend? It’s my niece’s birthday and she’s been begging for those strawberry cupcakes you make.”
Jenna felt her throat close, her eyes ping-ponging to each speaker as they talked over each other.
Small towns were wonderful for the sense of community they offered.
Small towns were also crushingly invasive for that same reason.
Everyone felt entitled to know everyone else’s business, even when they really weren’t.
Her chest tightened as she fought to maintain her calm and try to think of a way to extricate herself from the situation.
“Hey, ‘s it true you’ve closed up shop, Jenna?” someone from the kitchen shouted.
The conversational din of the diner lowered as more interest swung her way.
It’d been barely twelve hours and rumor was already circulating that she had closed. Already she was disappointing customers, people she would see while she was out living her life. And she didn’t have a damn thing to tell them.
Mrs. Bell gave her hands a squeeze. “Is that true? You’re closed? Were you forced to close?”
I might be. But Jenna couldn’t bring herself to say the words. She didn’t want to say them.
She didn’t process the movement of air at her back until a warm, strong hand settled at her nape, fingers curling into her skin. Heat rushed to her face and her heart jump-started.
“The closure is temporary,” Jon said, not quietly. “Jenna will be back on her feet in no time. But I imagine she’d appreciate it if her neighbors would give her a little space to breathe and figure herself out in the meanwhile.”
Mrs. Bell blinked, gawking up at him, and the murmurs slowly rose back to their semi-deafening norm. She dropped Jenna’s hands. “I … do I know you, young man?”
Jenna drew a deep breath.
“I’m not so young anymore, Mrs. Bell.”
Jenna watched the older woman struggle with herself for a moment, then looked past her to the hostess who was gaping at them. “I actually would like a booth today.”
It felt like the murmurs followed them—like if she looked, the eyes of everyone in the diner would be following them—as they were led to a corner booth in the back.
Jon’s hand had fallen away as they walked, but not his presence.
Their hostess was unusually flushed when she asked them about drink preferences, and Jenna told herself to let it go.
When they were effectively alone, Jenna finally allowed herself to look at him.
Really look at him. His dark hair was cut short, of course, but not actually as much as was generally depicted of military-types in movies—which was the extent of her knowledge.
Was he of a rank or position where he was allowed to let it grow a bit?
Whatever the answer, the style suited his face.
He’d lost whatever baby fat he’d had as a teen and now his features were strong and angular and too damn perfect.
He lifted his dark eyes up from the menu as she studied him and one side of his lips kicked up at the corner.
Those lips. She tried very hard not to think about all the experiences those lips held.
The ones she knew they held, the ones held between them, as well as the ones she presumed.
She wasn’t an idiot, and they’d never promised each other anything.
Least of all endless celibacy. She hadn’t been, and there was no way he had.
Not that it mattered. They weren’t on a date.
Jenna cleared her throat at the stupid thought and ripped her gaze away before she could try to identify the tattoo peeking out beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt. It looked like writing, maybe, but too much was covered for her to be sure. “So, um, how—”
“How’re you holding up?”
I’m probably not. But she didn’t feel right saying that.
Sure, her business was in a weird limbo state and no one was willing to bend first on giving her answers, as if somehow their pride would be wounded if they did.
But saying that to a man who’d been shot protecting her, whose friend might never walk properly again because of her, was the most insensitive thing.
So, she tried for a smile. “I’m just frustrated.
One minute things are doing okay, the next some jerk is shooting up people in my parking lot and even the sheriffs are treating me like it’s unreasonable to want answers. ”
Jon frowned. “You can’t move forward until they release the scene, I’m assuming?”
“That’s right,” Jenna said as their drinks were set on the table. A flavored iced tea for her and a hot, black coffee as well as an iced water for him.
Their waitress shifted backward on her feet. “You two know what you want?” Her gaze rolled over Jon before she tilted her head and raised a brow at Jenna, but Jenna couldn’t tell exactly what the gesture was supposed to mean. Was it disbelief? Was it some type of approval?
“Jen?”
She blinked and realized he was waiting for her answer. “Oh, yeah. If you’re ready?”
He inclined his head and proceeded to order, and pointedly instructed the waitress to make sure everything was put on his tab at the end.
Jenna scowled at him after the waitress shuffled off. “I can pay for my own food.”
“I assume so,” he replied, immediately reaching for his coffee. “But not with me.”
Her mouth dropped open. What even was that supposed to mean?
“There might be some strings I can pull,” Jon said after a moment. “Parker and his pal really fucked that up yesterday. The sheriff’s office should be kissing your ass, not doubling down on behaving like one.”
Jenna snorted into her drink, nudged it aside, and gave him her best curious look.
“While I agree with that assessment, I don’t actually know what you mean.
” She shrugged. “We both know Drew’s hated me forever, and he was basically handed his position on a silver platter, so his attitude is about what one could expect. ”
Jon’s lips thinned. “Parker’s immaturity aside,” he said, in a tone that suggested he was not actually setting it aside, “if all four of us had returned fire, no damn way those guys would have made a clean getaway. Instead, Lance and I had to focus on keeping the fire centralized on us, because we couldn’t assume the goal wasn’t maximum devastation instead of targeted execution.
If your call for assistance had been treated with a proper response, those two punks might still be breathing.
” He curled two fingers around the handle of his coffee mug.
“And in this case, if any of that, then one damn good Marine would not be hospital-bound today. We might’ve been discharged, but we still have friends. ”
Jenna rolled his words through her head, and snagged on a detail that was arguably not his point. “Wait, discharged?” She had assumed his return was temporary, if not somehow work-related.
Jon inclined his head, but his expression didn’t soften. “Little over a month ago,” he said.
“Doesn’t that mean—” She cut herself off and licked her lips, not sure how to phrase her question and less sure whether she was hoping for or afraid of the answer she’d get.
Jon had been very clear about his ambitions.
Was there a scenario where he fell short of that primary goal that wasn’t a bad thing?
“It means I’m home.” He met her widening stare. “Haven’t quite figured out what I’ll do with myself yet, but whatever that is, I want to do it here.”
It was like seeing him alive for the first time all over again. Jenna had never thought he’d come home, even before she’d heard the lie of his death. That was part of why she’d left Misty Glades after high school.
Yet there he sat, one average-sized table across from her, a grown and seemingly healthy man.
And instead of choosing to spend his days doing unofficial Marine-stuff, which she was sure he could figure out a way to do, he was choosing to come home.
It felt like he was saying he was coming back to her and her heart wanted so badly to run with that.
That’s not what he’s saying. He wouldn’t even have known she was there until after he’d returned.
Just like he didn’t know all she’d endured while he’d been away.
Jon leaned forward, stretching an arm across the table, and pulled one of her too-tightly clenched hands into his.
“Jen,” he said, speaking softer, “if my being local will be a problem for you, you can tell me. I don’t give a fuck how it might mess up George’s reputation, and most of the town still thinks I’m dead. But if it’s you—”