Chapter 6
J ericho
Starting a day so early with minimum sleep is not ideal, but I’ve had worse.
By the time I finish cleaning the place and fixing basic things that are too dangerous to leave them be, I’m caffeinated up to my ears.
Jonah was right, the house might need a little more work than I initially planned, but it’s better this way.
I like to keep busy between jobs. My next gig is not for a few weeks, so I can finish this house and make it home.
I could easily fix everything without getting a permit. It’s just a formality if I’m working on my house myself, but I don’t want to start off on the wrong foot in the new town, so I add stop at city hall to my to-do list.
After fixing the leaky faucets in every bathroom and the kitchen, I go to secure the loose steps on the front porch. I plan on replacing them, but for right now some extra nails will have to do. I can’t leave them like that and risk someone breaking their neck, but I’ve got errands to run .
My first stop is getting permits. Being met with curious looks the moment I step foot into city hall is expected. What is not expected is everyone’s lack of assistance when I ask whom I need to speak to regarding the renovations I have planned for my house.
After being sent from person to person (which surprisingly is a very large number of people for a town this size), I find myself knocking on a door with the name Jaqueline Randolph .
“Hello?” I call out, carefully pushing the door to open slightly.
“Yes?” a female voice responds.
I push the door wider and walk inside. A woman, sitting at a big, brown desk greets me with a small smile on her face. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, hi.” I walk up to the desk. “I was hoping you could help me get a permit for renovations on my house.”
Her smile grows wider as her eyes dip down my body before focusing back on my face. “I might be able to do that. Please, take a seat,” she says, waving her hand at the textile chair across from the desk.
When I plant myself on the chair, she rises to her feet, unbuttons two top buttons of her white blouse with an already low cut, and walks up to me.
I shift in my chair, feeling rather uncomfortable—it’s not that hot in the room.
She pauses in front of me for a few seconds before placing her bottom on the desk. Right in front of me.
“What kind of permits are you looking for, Jericho?”
“You know my name?” I ask, confused.
She shrugs one shoulder, revealing a red bra strap. “Comes with the job description. So.” She pushes herself deeper onto the desk and places one leg over the other. “How can I help you, exactly?”
Trying to ignore her rather forward behavior, I focus on her face. “I need to apply for a building permit, Mrs. Randolph.”
“It’s Miss.” She smiles wider. “And it’s Jaqueline for you.”
Using a friendly tone, I say, “I’d like to apply for a building permit, Ms. Randolph.”
Her smile drops a little. “And I’m the only one who can help you with that.” She points her finger at the door behind me. “Considering the local hillbillies might not even understand what you need.”
So, she’s not local. That makes this easier for me because I can already tell we won’t be friends.
Pissing off a locally born and raised city inspector versus a newcomer are two different ball games, where I might stand a chance with the latter since I’m one of those hillbillies, if she considers everyone from small towns in Maine one of them.
I was born and raised in a small town about fifty miles away from here before we moved to Boston, and small-town politics work the same everywhere.
“What do you need a permit for?” She taps her long nails on the hard surface by her thigh.
“Full renovation. Electrical, plumbing, structural.”
She tsks her tongue. “It’s a lot.”
It’s not. It’s a standard practice.
“Sure. So can I apply here? I tried doing it online, but the website was down.”
“Was it?” The odd smile returns. “Hillbillies, as I said.”
This lady meets me for the first time and feels comfortable using rather narrow-minded words not many would use. All her forwardness is getting lost on me.
“Anyway. I can help you with the permits.” She bites her bottom lip and flutters her eyelashes at me. “Over dinner.”
Fucking great —I’m backed into a corner.
Quickly rising to my feet and retreating behind the chair so there’s at least one barrier between us, I smile nervously.
“Awesome. But I just moved here and need some time to adjust. Some other time.” I head toward the door, trying to escape the thick atmosphere I’ve been caught in. “Thanks.”
“Sure.” Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “Just make sure nothing gets started before you get those permits. Or I’ll have to punish you.”
“Sure,” I say as I close the door behind me and rush toward the exit.
So much for getting off on the right foot. There’s no way in hell I’m having dinner with that lady, so I’ll have to find another way to get my permits. I doubt she’s the only one in town—I just need more time to get acquainted with the locals.
Still mortified by my morning meeting, I pull into the grocery store off Main Street and head to the parking lot when an old Toyota Tacoma truck takes the spot in front of me before I can even blink.
That car is not small, and it’s not so easy to maneuver it into a fairly small space.
But this person does it in one go without slowing down.
Tapping my fingers on the steering wheel, I contemplate if I should go and ‘introduce’ myself.
That’s what I would usually do—a way to show dominance and lack of fear.
Old habits die hard. But I’m in my new hometown now, so starting my second day with a fight is probably not a good idea.
I have zero doubts about who’d win it, but common sense prevails. For a moment.
But then the driver door opens, and a white boot dangles in the air, followed by a woman’s body with a flaming mane.
When the witch jumps out, she flips her loose hair back and gives me a wink.
Refusing to be impressed with her driving skills, I press my lips tighter and head forward to find another parking spot.
With zero luck. Looks like every single person of Big Love decided to get groceries at this exact moment.
After rounds upon rounds of driving around the parking lot, I finally find a spot and head to the store. By the time I grab a cart, I’m fuming. Getting groceries shouldn’t be so complicated, and it sure shouldn’t take so much time.
While I’m peacefully grabbing things off the shelves, every single pair of eyes is trained on me. It’s to be expected in a small town like this where a new face is bound to stir some interest. Especially if it’s a guy. So I prepared myself for that.
What I didn’t prepare myself for is the witch who dives right under my arm and takes the last strawberry milk from the shelf.
“Excuse me,” she says politely like she didn’t just push all my weight away to grab the box.
“What do you mean ‘excuse me’? I was getting that.” I nod at the box in her hands.
Her eyes follow my gaze. “Oh, this one?” She lifts the box in question in the air. “I have it now though.”
“Yes, you do.” My teeth clack together. “Because you grabbed it right from under my hand.”
She shrugs with a big smile and heads down the aisle. Desire to follow her and rip that carton from her hands is strong, but I take a deep breath and go to find someone who works here because I need that milk.
A kindly looking lady maybe in her sixties is stacking some cans in one of the aisles.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” I start as I walk up to her. “Could you please help me?”
She pauses with her hand halfway to the shelf when she turns to me.
“Oh, my,” she purrs in an unnatural voice. “You are that man.”
The way she says that makes my skin crawl.
Like she’s talking about something I don’t know but everyone else does.
Suddenly feeling uncomfortable in front of this lady who’s barely five feet tall and many years old, I start backing away.
But I’m a second too slow because the lady’s hand shoots up toward me and grabs my arm. My bicep, to be precise.
“Oh, my,” she keeps talking. “You are indeed a stud. Everyone’s been telling the truth.”
Everyone’s calling me a ‘stud’? What type of twilight zone is this?
“And look how strong that muscle is. Do you work out?” She giggles. “You must. With a bicep like that.”
Her small hand with a surprisingly strong grip roams around my arm, making it hard to focus because I’m desperately looking for an escape. I don’t recall being in a more uncomfortable situation, and I’ve seen plenty in my thirty-four years.
“You are almost as big as my third husband. But he wasn’t big enough,” another giggle, “so I found the fourth one.”
Trying to discreetly shake her hand off doesn’t work because she’s holding for dear life. To say I’m confused would be an understatement. The small town I grew up in was a prude one, and we didn’t have cute old ladies groping people in grocery stores.
“Ms. Lenny,” comes a soft female voice, barely containing laughter. She doesn’t use that voice with me. “How are you this fine day?”
“Oh, Nora, dear! I didn’t see you over there.” ‘Ms. Lenny’ loosens her grip on me but doesn’t totally release it.
When my head whips around searching for the voice I didn’t think I’d welcome, I must look really desperate because Nora cackles and walks up to us.
“I wanted to ask you for some help if you don’t mind,” she says, glancing at me with a wide smile.
“Sure, honey. Do you need help lifting some of that heavy stuff,” the old lady gestures at Nora’s cart, “to your car? ’Cause I’ve just got a solution for you.
” She starts flashing her lashes in my direction.
“Our new resident feels ,” she gives my bicep a squeeze, “like he’d be very capable in that department. ”
Nora’s snort is loud enough to be heard back on our street. “This is exactly what I was looking for actually.”