Chapter 4
Zinnia
She almost didn’t believe it—her heart stuttered. “Did you forget about the background check part?”
“I’ll do it today. We can go together.” Jordan’s easy smile effortlessly reached his intriguing brown eyes.
That wasn’t even his best feature. His natural reddish-brown hair might’ve been first. It also could’ve been the freckles dusting across his nose and cheeks. They were so faint that she only saw them when he was close enough for her to inspect every inch of his face during their conversation.
She sat up a little straighter, raising her chin. “Before we do that, I want you to tell me your secret. There’s something you’re intentionally hiding from me. I can feel it.”
Grace had taught her well. The secret itself was irrelevant. She only cared about the effort he put into reciprocation.
“Everyone has secrets.” His mischievous grin slowly faded into a deadpan expression. “Not to mention that I answered all your questions. All of them. Every last one.”
“Thank you for being so gracious about that, by the way. I really appreciated it.”
“Ah, so that was the test?”
She laughed softly. “I promise you it wasn’t.”
Sam had also taught her a lesson. She now went through her extensive checklist during the introductory call. His Lawyer Barbie remark had gotten under her skin because it was so far off base.
She was actually more like Life in the Dreamhouse Barbie. Applicants needed to know that upfront.
“Back to your secret. I specifically want to know something you should tell someone before you marry them. Think of it like a trust exercise.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Are we getting married?”
She thought, Potentially, but by the time the word reached her mouth it turned into, “Hopefully.”
Grace was going to kill her. She’d issued a yellow flag the second she saw his picture, declaring he couldn’t be trusted. There was no way he wasn’t a stereotypical light-skinned fuckboy who was dedicated to breaking hearts with mind games.
Fiona was going to learn necromancy, resurrect her corpse, and then kill her again. She’d thought he had nice eyes and a good sense of humor—he’d used his giant orange cat, Beta Carotene, for the infamous dating app fish pose, noting his weight and gotcha date—but sided with Grace.
They had no idea Zinnia agreed to meet him. She’d been so intrigued by the introductory call that she even snatched her lucky bracelets out of early retirement.
Jordan checked his phone for the first time in almost two hours. “The event is about to start. We can continue this later over ice cream?”
“That is the plan.”
Coffee meeting, author event for a new book release, and going on a short walk to get ice cream—all his ideas. She followed him back to the bookstore that was now set up with rows of chairs.
“I want to buy these before the event starts.” She picked up the book she’d been eyeing earlier and the featured author’s as well.
“Your money’s no good here.”
“Why?” They chose two seats in the back row and sat down. “Are you giving me a fake five-finger discount? Like that one store that lets people think they’re getting away with stealing until they hit a certain dollar amount and then they get slapped with felony charges.”
“I can’t steal from myself and what’s mine will be yours.”
“Potentially.”
“What happened to ‘hopefully’?”
“I misspoke. Got caught up in the moment,” she admitted. “I’d say we’re at the promise rings stage. Things can still go wrong.”
He regarded her for a handful of heartbeats. “They won’t.”
The author, Spark Kirkland, took to the podium and began adjusting the microphone. He was an older white man with thinning brown hair and a great mustache. She leaned close to Jordan and whispered, “We’ll see about that after I hear your good faith secret.”
Spark began by reading a passage from his book.
Zinnia followed along in her own copy. She preferred listening to stories but never passed on an opportunity for an immersive reading experience.
He also spoke candidly about the book’s heart—the Dust Bowl and the Great Depression—and then asked for questions.
It was a good-sized audience, but they weren’t the participating type.
Zinnia raised her hand. “Hi. First-time questioner, short-term listener. You spoke about wanting the story to feel as grounded and rooted in history as possible. Why, then, introduce fantasy elements? Or did the fantasy come first and then you searched for a compelling historical backdrop?”
He seemed surprised. “What a great question, thank you for asking. I was hoping to talk a little about this.”
And just like that, the Q and A session turned into a one-on-one interview. She felt bad and kept raising her hand because no one else would. Spark thanked her again afterward while signing her book.
“Let me guess…you’re a writer too.”
She shook her head. “I just like reading.”
“Fooled me.” He passed the book across the table. “You know, you really saved me out there. I never know how events will turn out and you made that one infinitely more enjoyable. If you’re free tonight, I’d love to take you to dinner. As a thank-you, of course.”
People could be so nice sometimes. “Sorry, but I already have plans.”
“With me. Hi, Spark.”
“Jordan.” His smile tightened. “I didn’t see you there.”
“Oh, I’m sure you did. Ready, Zinnia?” He lightly pressed his hand against her lower back, and an anticipatory chill danced up her spine.
“Ready.” She waved at Spark. “Bye, it was nice to meet you!”
Tantivy was nestled in a row of businesses along the main downtown strip.
Urban planning at its most efficient, the two-lane road was lined with huge trees, benches, convenient crosswalks, and plenty of parking.
The warm late spring breeze smelled irresistibly delicious, thanks to the fruit and elote street vendor they passed on the way to the ice cream shop a few blocks away.
“I bet you were a pleasure to have in class,” Jordan teased.
“That’s not the word my teachers would use to describe me.
Maybe delinquent? Hellion? Jezebel—hated that one.
I went to a Christian private school, so the insults were either biblically inspired or pure slut shaming.
” She shrugged. “To be fair to them, I was a whole-ass different person back then. Growing up was good for me.”
“What changed?”
“I almost died.” She didn’t mean to laugh at his suddenly concerned expression. “I guess I should’ve said being able to grow up was good for me. Oh, but my grandma used to call me a ham. I don’t know if people still say that, but that’s pretty much my default personality.”
“But what happened? You’re obviously okay but…”
“It’s not worth talking about.”
“Then why did you say it? I’m not going to be able to stop thinking about that until you tell me.”
“See how it feels when people keep secrets?” She grinned at him and his reluctantly amused smirk was everything she wanted.
“How are you so sure I even have one?”
“Because this is too perfect. Look at that.” She pointed to Ice Cream Sunday’s beautiful window display, a daring swirl of colors that put rainbow sherbet to shame.
The patio’s frilly, patterned tent made her think of cherries jubilee and creamy vanilla.
“You just happened to own the coziest bookstore slash coffee shop slash bakery known to man and it’s within walking distance of the most delectable-looking ice cream parlor I’ve ever seen. Sir, this is a setup.”
“No, this is community,” he said thoughtfully.
“It’s what happens when a city, business owners, and residents care about where they live.
I specifically chose this location because I knew Tantivy could have a positive impact here.
Helping to enrich neighborhoods is a core component of my business mission statement. ”
Jordan didn’t have to answer so seriously, but she was thrilled he did. They could’ve met anywhere. He chose to invite her into his world because his work was truly important to him.
“The perfection continues.” She sighed.
Unsurprisingly, Jordan knew everyone working behind the counter. They were all happy to see him too, one employee going as far as to prepare his usual order without a word—rocky road with chocolate sprinkles.
Instead of sitting on the patio, they found a mostly private spot between two brick buildings.
Two sapling nurseries took up most of the small courtyard, but the walkway separating them was bordered by benches every few dozen feet.
Each one had a small gold plaque to note who’d donated it or whose memory it preserved.
Zinnia ordered two scoops of her dad’s favorite ice cream flavors, rum raisin and butter pecan, because it’d been a while since she’d had them. She didn’t go home often. Little choices like that kept her parents with her.
“Raisins get such a bad rap,” she mused.
“You wouldn’t believe the number of complaints we get when customers accidentally buy oatmeal raisin thinking it’s chocolate chip.”
“Those cookies are so good, though. I don’t get it.”
“Me either.” He was poking at his ice cream instead of eating it.
“Something wrong?” she asked, hoping he’d look at her, but he didn’t.
“I was just trying to think my way through something. Besides being a delinquent artist, did you have any other extracurriculars? Like acting in school plays or anything like that?”
“Why?”
“Just wondering. Most of the artists I know usually have more than one creative talent.”
“Ah, and you landed on performer?”
“It made the most sense.”
She thought about it. “I did used to get accused of having theater kid energy back when that kind of thing mattered. But really, I’m just super extroverted, you know? Being able to talk to anyone is my superpower.”
“Got it.” He nodded. “So, uh, how flexible is your marriage timeline?”
“I’m fairly set on a month. That feels long enough.”
“What’s your minimum?”
“Why?”
“I’m leaving soon,” he said, still poking away. “I only have about a week left.”