Chapter 42 #2
The scarred bar. The mismatched furniture.
The brothers who could annoy the shit out of me before breakfast and still be the first men beside me if something went sideways.
The old ladies who liked to mother more than just the kids.
My business was here. The club was here.
Most of what I’d built as an adult existed within a few miles of where I sat.
Fiona had never seen any of it.
Not really.
Pictures didn’t count. Stories didn’t count.
She knew Diamond Creek through whatever I chose to show her from fifteen hundred miles away, one conversation at a time.
And now she knew the weather without asking me.
Me: So, Christmas.
Ma Belle: You’re persistent.
Me: Very.
Ma Belle: What about it?
Me: Hypothetically, if somebody from Virginia ended up spending Christmas in Nebraska someday, what would she need?
Ma Belle: A plane ticket home
I smiled.
Me: Cruel.
Ma Belle: A coat.
Me: Covered.
Ma Belle: Boots.
Me: Easy.
Ma Belle: Gloves.
Me: Done.
Ma Belle: Hot chocolate.
Me: Thought you drank coffee?
Ma Belle: I contain multitudes
Me: Expensive multitudes.
Ma Belle: And a Christmas tree.
Me: Obviously.
Ma Belle: A real one.
I frowned at the screen.
Me: Now we have a problem.
Ma Belle: Why?
Me: I’m a landscaper. I know what happens when you drag a dying tree indoors.
Ma Belle: You’re impossible
Me: Fake tree. Looks good forever.
Ma Belle: Absolutely not.
Me: This could end us.
Ma Belle: Then it was nice knowing you
I shook my head.
Me: You’re choosing a tree over me?
Ma Belle: A real Christmas tree is nonnegotiable.
Me: Fine.
Ma Belle: That was easy.
Me: I know when I’m beaten.
Ma Belle: I’m saving this conversation forever
Me: Delete it immediately.
Ma Belle: Never.
Me: Anything else?
Ma Belle: Ornaments.
Me: Those generally come with Christmas trees.
Ma Belle: Not matching ones.
Me: What’s wrong with matching ornaments?
Ma Belle: Everything.
Me: Very compelling argument.
Ma Belle: They’re supposed to mean something. Ones kids make. Ones from trips. Stupid ones people give you because they remind them of you.
I stopped smiling—not because there was anything sad in the words, but because I could see exactly what she meant.
A tree like that didn’t come from a store.
It came from years.
A crooked paper ornament somebody made in kindergarten. Something bought on a vacation because it made someone laugh. A gift that looked ridiculous to everybody except the person who understood the story behind it.
A life collected one piece at a time.
Me: You’d need a big tree then.
Her answer took longer.
Ma Belle: Eventually.
I rubbed my thumb along the edge of the phone.
Me: Plenty of room in the imaginary house.
Ma Belle: You remembered the tree too?
Me: Adding it to the plans.
Ma Belle: You really do remember everything.
Me: Told you.
Ma Belle: That might be my favorite thing about you.
For once, the joke didn’t come.
I knew what people liked about Romeo. The smile. The flirting. The stupid shit that made people laugh when things were getting too heavy. I’d spent years making sure those were the easiest parts of me to see.
Fiona liked that I remembered what mattered to her.
That landed somewhere entirely different.
Me: I like knowing what matters to you.
Nearly a minute passed before the reply appeared.
Ma Belle: You matter to me.
I read it once.
Then again.
Around me, somebody shouted about a pool shot. A bottle hit the bar. Blade laughed at whatever Indie threw back at him.
None of it registered.
Fiona didn’t toss words around carelessly. If anything, she guarded them too fucking much.
I typed an answer, erased it, then tried another before giving up on making it sound clever.
Me: You matter to me too, Ma Belle. More than you know.
Her response came slowly.
Ma Belle: I think I’m starting to.
I leaned back and let the phone rest against my leg.
That was enough to keep me sitting there like an idiot for a while.
Eventually, the phone vibrated again.
Ma Belle: Jasper?
Me: Yeah?
Ma Belle: If I ever came to Nebraska...
I straightened. The message ended there, and the three dots appeared again.
Ma Belle: Would you show me everything?
A smile pulled at my mouth.
Me: Everything you wanted to see.
Ma Belle: Clubhouse too?
Me: Absolutely.
Ma Belle: Your business?
Me: Definitely.
Ma Belle: The town?
Me: All of it.
Ma Belle: Your favorite places?
I looked around the common room.
There were plenty of places around Diamond Creek I could show her. Roads I liked riding when I wanted to clear my head. The diner that knew my breakfast order. Quiet spots outside town where Nebraska opened into nothing but sky.
None of them were the first answer that came to mind.
Me: I’ve got a new favorite place lately.
Ma Belle: Where?
Me: Anywhere you are.
Her reply came immediately.
Ma Belle: That was smooth
Me: Wasn’t trying to be.
Ma Belle: Somehow that makes it worse.
Me: You asked.
Ma Belle: I know.
I hesitated before typing the next message—not because I didn’t mean it, but because I did.
Me: When, baby, not if. When you come to Nebraska, I’ll share my whole fucking life with you.
I was taking a chance; there was no misunderstanding what those words meant.
Me: I’ll leave the porch light on.
Ma Belle: Good
I stared at the heart until the screen dimmed.
Fiona was still in Virginia.
I was still in Nebraska.
Nothing about that had changed tonight, but the distance between us felt different than it had months ago. Less like a wall and more like a road Fiona might eventually decide to travel.
Not because I expected her to abandon everyone she loved because I wanted her near me, and not because I planned to tell her where she belonged.
Diamond Creek was my home because of the club, my brothers, and the life I’d built here.
If Fiona ever made it hers too, I wanted that choice to belong completely to her.
Maybe checking Nebraska weather was nothing.
Maybe asking about my favorite places was nothing.
Maybe imagining a Christmas tree in some ridiculous house with two porches and too many books was still safely hypothetical.
I was getting less convinced by the day.
My phone buzzed again.
Ma Belle: Goodnight, Jasper.
Me: Goodnight, Ma Belle.
I was about to set it down when another message appeared.
Ma Belle: Don’t forget the real tree
I laughed.
Me: Never gonna hear the end of this, am I?
Ma Belle: Nope
Me: Fine. Real tree.
Ma Belle: Knew you’d see reason
I shook my head and finished my beer.
A giant kitchen. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Two porches. A light left burning for whoever was coming home. A real Christmas tree covered in mismatched ornaments collected over years.
None of it existed.
We hadn’t promised each other anything.
But for two people doing their damnedest not to call it planning, we were getting awfully fucking specific.