12. Waterfalls #3
Dinah, who spent long nights whispering secrets in my bed when we were kids so that we wouldn’t be discovered by our parents, says softly so that no one can hear, “I think you should go, Em.”
I can’t help but remember when Dinah was falling for Jack.
I was so worried that there was too much riding against them.
Too many complications for my baby sister to get the happily ever after she so desperately longed for.
Even though I was terrified she’d get hurt, when she needed the push from me to chase the future she wanted for herself, I encouraged her to “go.”
My sister was brave. Braver than I’ve ever been. And I decide I want to be a little more like her right now.
Releasing myself from the group, I turn and face Jordan head-on.
Wearing a denim shirt draped over a soft gray one and what I recognize as the same well-worn jeans as the other night—trust me, I’m an authority on this particular pair—he looks no different than when he left my house four days ago, but something flutters and comes to life inside me all the same.
“Hi.” I wipe my cheeks then my running nose, apparently giving up on sex appeal altogether at this point. Take it or leave it, man. I’m a mess.
“Red…” He steps closer, and our audience collectively sighs. “What happened? Is Molly okay? Are you okay?”
No, I’m not okay. We had a sleep over, and now I’ll never be the same, Dr. Love. That’s what happened.
“Allergies.” I shrug. “Lavender’s really blooming.”
“Tough line of work to be in, Red.” He nods and fills my space. He smells like the perfect combo of cologne and the vet’s office. Like he’s been snuggling puppies all day but looks really, freaking manly while doing it. Which, as it happens, would be at the tippy top of my pro list. “Can we talk?”
“We are talking.”
“I’d like to talk… alone. Please.” He glances around the room where all four women have taken their respective seats and are now eating pretzel bites out of bags like popcorn at the movies.
I’m pretty sure Brooke might be trying to read our lips, translating—poorly—for the others.
“I’ve tried to give you space, but I just had a very interesting conversation on the street with the Cottens and that PTA lady, and it made me think that maybe—”
He pauses. I do an excellent job of staring at Jordan’s Adam’s apple, afraid to let my eyes graze anywhere else.
“I miss… Molly,” he says slowly.
“She is your friend.”
A blush blooms across his cheeks. I don’t know if I ever noticed before how bashful Jordan really is. Another endearing green flag I’ll have to add to that imaginary pro column that I am definitely not giving merit to.
“I, um… I miss you, Red,” he amends, voice suddenly husky and low and not entirely confident.
He leans so close I doubt Brooke could read his lips even if she were standing beside us, but his hands are shoved into his pockets.
Almost like he’s just as afraid of me as I am of him.
“I’ve been worried about you, and… there are some things I need to talk to you about. ”
Sure. Sure. Sure. You smell like springtime and fresh linen and windblown grass, and you just heard from all of Honey Hill how amped I was after sleeping in a bed with you… so let’s just go talk somewhere? Alone?
No way, mister. I’ll collapse quicker than a gooey pecan pie.
Delicious? Yes. But too messy. And since when did I start thinking of Jordan and the word delicious in tandem?
“I wish I could, but I’ve got to get back to the farm. Busy, busy day, ya know? Only a few weeks before that festival. PTA. Kids. Responsibilities. Brownie baking.” I wish I could stop talking. “And don’t you have work? Animals to heal? Owners to pacify? Puppies to hold?”
Do not picture the man holding puppies, Emory. Be strong.
“I just left a meeting at the bank, actually, so Bill’s doing all the puppy holding today.” Jordan leans closer, breath tickling my cheek.
There’s no sensuality in his voice or the way he tentatively and ever so gently touches the small of my back.
Just one friend asking another friend to speak privately.
But all my brain can think about now is pecan pie and the warmth of Jordan’s hand pressing against my body.
Right above where my butt is packed tight into a pair of high-waisted mom jeans.
In fact, I think I’m having a hard time breathing.
“That’s what I’d like to talk to you about. Please. I want to see you and Molly. To spend a little bit of time together. Tonight?”
I know I talk a big talk about bravery and Dinah’s ability to jump all in and how I admire her.
Yada yada. Etcetera. Etcetera. But I am what I am.
And that’s a scared and confused little lady, suddenly and highly attracted to a man who stood beside my husband on my wedding day.
So, baby steps is what I tell myself when I make the one excuse I never thought I’d make to avoid Jordan for just a little bit longer.
“I can’t tonight.” Deep breath. Gird your loins. Swallow the regret. “I have… book club.”