Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Julian
“How’d you sleep?” Tommy asks as I come down the back stairs and into the kitchen. I’m not used to anyone asking.
“Great,” I lie. I was exhausted, but it took me forever to fall asleep.
I kept running through the details of last night's dinner, the side conversations happening without words, and how the hell I’m going to convince Wyn that she can trust me.
I watched her sleep for so damn long in that solarium, anxious about what would happen when she woke up. Fuck, this situation is complicated.
Moving around the stark white kitchen, it’s bright and a far better morning than waking up tied to a chair. Its stainless-steel appliances reflect the morning light coming in from the windows. It’s polar opposite from Birdie’s place. “May I?” I point toward the coffee pot. He gives me a nod.
The Rackhouse Bed-and-Breakfast is as simple as it comes.
Upon first look, I might guess the owner is meticulous, maybe leaning into clean and modern, but after walking through the space, it’s more like Tommy just didn’t have a plan for it.
Most of the decor was white or navy, the fixtures seemed basic too, but the pictures that hung throughout were incredible.
Old posters that had been repurposed and mimicked classically recognized art.
I noted a few modern pieces in the stairwell and an intricately painted mural on the ceiling of the library when I had a look around last night.
“Uncle Tommy,” Nash yells as he comes rushing in from the side door. “Oh, hi, Julian.” He stops and waves, extending a fist for me to bump. Behind him is Stevie, who’s carrying a dino backpack and two grocery bags.
“Thanks so much,” Stevie says as she swipes away on her phone with her free hand. She does a double take at the cup I’m holding. “No, no, no.” Pulling a carafe of iced coffee from the refrigerator, she plops it in front of me. “If he made that, I wouldn’t drink it.”
“I heard that,” Tommy says, watching as Nash unloads his backpack with dinosaur figurines.
“Good,” she says, sending him a playful yet pointed look, making Tommy chuckle. “I made the cold brew. It’s safe and doesn’t taste like burnt paper. It’s good, I promise.”
“Not much of an iced coffee guy,” I tell her as I take a sip out of the hot mug. I try not to cringe at the way it does, in fact, taste like something burned at the bottom of the pot.
She sucks in a dramatic breath. “Do not let Wyn hear you say that; otherwise, whatever it is that’s going on between the two of you will be done,” she says sarcastically as she cracks a tray of ice and pours out a cup of her cold brew coffee.
“How does she take it?” I clear my throat before I add, “Wyn, and her iced coffee? What’s her preference?”
A big, wide smile takes over her face, and she lifts a hand to cover it.
“I feel like I’m about to play an integral role in you sweeping her off her feet here.
” She claps like this is exciting information, the level of excitement a bit aggressive for this early in the morning.
“Okay, most of the time, she’ll do a splash of cream and three sugars.
Sometimes four sugars. We’re Southern girls, we like to really crunch our sugar when we’re drinking.
Same goes for sweet tea,” she says with a wink.
“Anyway, if you can’t handle the cold brew and happen to wander into town, you might want to try Moonies. It’s one of our favorite spots.”
“Thank you.” I smile.
“There, right there, the interested questions and the smile.” She points and squints her eyes. “You’re charming. You went ahead and hopefully charmed her pants off.” She leans closer and whispers, “Don’t stop, keep going. She deserves a good one.”
I’m not sure I’d be considered a good one if Wyn’s sister knew what I was brought here to do, but in the short time I’ve been folded into this family, it’s felt good.
I like to sit back and watch, observe people.
It’s always challenging to get too close.
The few friends I have know about my hand in my family cleaning business, the favors that are given and taken as payment, and the more public life I lead when designing jewelry.
But I haven’t been to massive family dinners or folded into the nuances of people’s relationships like this.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like the idea of being a part of it.
I understood why Wyn came back here when she could, I would have missed this too.
“Is that Nash I hear,” another voice says from behind us.
Nash runs toward him and yells out, “Sonny!”
When I turn, it’s the detective from dinner.
Fuck, I’m usually much better at knowing my surroundings.
Shoving through the double doors from the screened-in porch, Jameson takes off his aviators and crouches down with arms open to greet Nash.
If cops had poster boys, my guess is that guy was one of them about twenty years ago.
He greets me with a handshake. “Julian,” he says, nodding once. “Tommy said you were staying here too. Didn’t realize you were sticking around. Thought you might have just been passing through.”
“I’ll be here for a while,” I say, glancing at Stevie, who’s smiling at me like she knows something I don’t.
The truth is, I should be on my way out of here.
The minute I step foot outside, I should get in that truck, call in a flight plan, and get the fuck out of this town.
Complicated usually means dangerous with the life I’ve led.
But there isn’t anything waiting for me back at home.
I have friends in numerous places and work that I can do almost anywhere.
And I had planned to find her. I’ve been alone for a long time, even when my dad was still alive.
I’ve been gliding through life, enjoying what my talent allowed for me, but from the moment I left her, I wanted to find the woman who made me feel something.
The one I couldn’t stop thinking about. And now I have. Yeah, I’m not fucking going anywhere.
“Where’s Theo?” Jameson asks.
She tips her head back to the ceiling as she mumbles, “It’s too early for this shit.” When she looks at him, she says, “I don’t know; I’m not his keeper.”
“Just his wife, though, right?” he bites back, trying to speak more quietly when I look at him. “I was just asking where he might be today and why you’re dropping Nash here.”
She smiles, like what she’s about to say is going to be sweet. “Theo was tied up,” she smirks. “And I have a podcast I need to record, but you already knew that. I am, after all, practically doing your job for you.”
I sniff out a laugh that has both of them looking at me.
Leaning against the counter, I cross my feet at my ankles.
I glance at Jameson, and while he’s not the kind of guy people would want to piss off, I’m finding their exchange a bit entertaining and can’t help myself when I add, “Whether or not you’re doing other people’s jobs for them, you’re pretty damn good at yours and hunting down information. Entertaining while sharing it, too.”
She’s smiling from what I’ve said when she looks back at Jameson. “When’s the last time someone said you were pretty damn good at your job?”
He runs his hand along the back of his neck, trying his damndest to keep himself in check. “I’m a homicide detective, not a shit stirrer, so you’re not doing my?—”
She crosses her arms. “Do you have any idea what’s going on in the department you’re a part of?”
He crosses his arms, and under his breath, mutters, “Here we go again.”
Stevie doesn’t stop though. “I know you were MIA for a long-ass time, but seriously, Jameson? Sexual assault allegations aren’t being followed through on, there are dozens of missing persons, and those are just the violent-like crimes alone . . .”
“I don’t need to hear this right now. I’ve got a case that won’t close, a serial . . .” He pauses and takes a breath. “I’ve got a lot on my plate. And to top it off, a missing deputy.”
“Oh, so a missing cop is more important than?—”
“I’m not in charge, Stevie. I have to do what I’m told. I know it’s a novel idea to you. Deputy Billings has a helluva reputation, too, and I wouldn’t mind focusing my attention elsewhere, but like I said, I need to follow what is being asked of me. So, I’m in town . . .”
I focus on what Nash is doing as soon as I hear about the missing cop. “Dinosaur fan?” I ask him as he starts lining up a parade of figurines.
The chances that the body I cleaned up is exactly who the detective and the entirety of the Rumor County Sheriff’s Department is looking for has me feeling nauseous. Fuck my life.
Nash empties the rest of his bag and gives me the side-eye. “I said, the Quetzalcoatlus is a pterosaur, which means it’s not really a dinosaur.”
Focusing back on him, I ask, “I thought they were all dinosaurs.”
“Technically, dinosaurs can’t fly, so anything that flew during the Jurassic or Cretaceous period were just flying reptiles,” he says as he moves the pterosaur in a flying motion above the line of herbivores.
“I have a few more we can paint later, Nash,” Tommy says from his spot at the kitchen table.
Nash’s eyes light up when he looks at Tommy, who starts helping him.
And though Tommy is his great-uncle, I remember looking at my dad like that as a kid—he always made time for me.
“Auntie Wyn said that you have some books in your library about dinosaurs. I need to show my mom and dad that I’m right about pterosaurs. ”
“You could look it up on my phone and show them,” Tommy offers, but Nash is already shaking his head.
“Not as reliable. A book would be better,” he says, and I can’t help but crack a smile.
I glance over to Stevie, who just swatted Jameson’s hand away from pointing to a spot on her neck, quieting the back-and-forth between them.