Chapter 7
Jessie
Trey
Did you get me cherry tomatoes?
Jessie
I have no idea what you’re talking about.
Trey
Really? The bag of tomatoes from the farmers market with my name on it in your handwriting wasn’t you? Okayyy
Jessie
I was there. They were there. It’s not a big deal, don’t read anything into this.
Trey
....I’m going to keep my thoughts to myself.
Jessie
Probably wise.
I’m back on day shifts, and today is my first day off in almost a week. I went to the local farmers’ market and stocked my fridge, and now I’m dropping off a few things for Gran. She prefers local produce but can’t get around well enough to go to the market on her own.
And okay, I might have grabbed Trey the cherry tomatoes I noticed he loves to eat his weight in, but it’s not a big deal. I was already there, and he is paying a lot for rent. I didn’t buy them because I feel bad about avoiding him or anything. I’m not avoiding him; I’ve just been busy.
I pull in the drive and see Gran out front, sitting on a stool, tending the flower boxes under the front windows.
I pause, remembering when we put those boxes up.
I was maybe twelve or thirteen, and she let me pick out the flowers we’d plant into them.
Each spring after that, she would freshen up the soil and plant the exact same variety of flowers.
A few years ago, they rotted too badly to be hung again.
They’ve sat in the small garden shed behind the house since then.
“Hey, Gran,” I greet her, wrapping my arms around her.
There are days the only things that keep me going are this woman’s hugs.
I might not have lucked out in the mom department, but I sure did in the grandma one.
The best thing my mom ever did for me was let me go with her mom that day.
I know it breaks Gran’s heart to see how her daughter lives, but I hope I’ve eased some of that pain.
She squeezes me surprisingly tight for an eighty-year-old woman. “Jessie girl, good to see you.”
“I brought you some things from the farmers’ market.” She peers into the bag as I admire the window boxes. These are new but built exactly like the old ones.
My phone vibrates. I pull it out of my back pocket.
Daryl
Heard some interesting news about you today.
Shit.
I lock it and return it to my pocket in one swift motion. He knows. He knows Trey is living with me. I can’t spiral about this now—not in front of Gran. I clear my throat before asking, “Gran, did you buy new window boxes?”
“Oh no, dear. Trey built those for me. He saw the old ones in the shed and offered to make me new ones. He’s a sweet young man.”
“My Trey?” I gape at her.
She cocks an eyebrow. “Oh, so he’s your Trey now?”
“Oh. Uh. No, I just mean my roommate, Trey? Built you new window boxes?”
“Yes, dear. He’s come over a few times. Fixed several things around the house. I figured you knew.” She stands and heads into the house.
No. No, I did not know. Who the fuck does he think he is? He can’t just come to my gran’s and . . . and . . . help her. Ugh.
I hear the screen door slam behind Gran. “Come on, you can be mad in the house,” she hollers.
I narrow my eyes, but follow her in, mumbling, “I never said I was mad.”
“Ha, you didn’t have to. Your red face and balled fists gave you away. Why on earth are you upset?” She sets the bag on the kitchen counter and starts removing its contents.
Why am I mad? Because he came over here on his own to help her? No, it has to be something else, because that reason just makes me feel like an asshole.
“Because . . . because . . . he’s just infuriating, okay? He keeps getting into my business, and now he’s coming over here, too.” I sound flustered because I am. See if I get him any more cherry tomatoes . . .
Gran lets out an incredulous laugh. “So, you like him. Got it.”
“I did not say that,” I all but shout.
“He is a very attractive young man. But then again, you’ve always had good taste in men as far as looks go. Personality-wise, not so much, but I like this one. He’s smart, good with his hands—that’s important in a man. Quick as a whip, too. He can keep up with you.”
“Oh my gosh, do not talk about his hands like that. And there is no keeping up with me. There is no Trey and me.”
“He told me he’s been fixing a few things around your place. I think that’s wonderful. You need some help around there. You work too much and could use some support. Not to mention something nice to look at around the house, if you know what I mean.”
“Enough with the sexual innuendos.” I curl my lip.
“He looks strong, if he feels up to it, I might have him move some furniture. Freshen the place up.” She opens the fridge and pulls out a pitcher of iced tea. “While I can’t say bull riding is the best career choice, he does seem proficient.” She retrieves two glasses out of the cabinet.
I drop my head into my hands, groaning. She’s completely sold on Trey and completely ignoring me. “Fucking window boxes,” I grumble.
“What was that, dear?”
Sure, now she can hear me.
“Nothing,” I exhale. “Don’t get used to him being around. He’s hurt, but once he can ride again, he’ll be long gone. That’s how these rodeo guys work.”
“Hm. Like Kacey’s man?”
Fucking Kacey. This is all her fault; she’s too pretty.
Jessie
You ruined my life.
Kacey
That seems a little dramatic. What did he do?
Jessie
Just the fact that you know it’s him I’m talking about proves my point. He built Gran new window boxes.
Kacey
How dare he! Did you call the cops?
Jessie
You don't get it. She likes him. He's stealing my grandmother!
Kacey
*gasp* the audacity!
Jessie
If he was anyone else I'd sleep with his best friend to get back at him.
Kacey
You're ridiculous.
I slam the front door behind me. I want him to know I’m home.
The longer I was at Gran’s, the angrier I got.
She kept going on and on about how nice he was and all the things he’s done for her over the last two weeks.
She’ll get attached and have her heart broken when he leaves.
It’s not a good idea for either of us to get used to having him around.
He will disappear for rodeos for months, and even when he’s back in town, he won’t be living here or hanging out at Gran’s. He’s just hurt and bored. Once he’s healed, he’ll have better places to be and things to do.
I’ve ignored and played down the fact that Trey is very successful at what he does, but he is.
He has multiple national finals qualifications, a huge following on social media, and sponsorship deals.
Our lives—and tax brackets—are very different.
He’s paying me fifteen hundred dollars a month in rent, for fuck’s sake.
Not to mention he hasn’t been in town long enough to hear the whispers about my family, but I’m sure once he does, he won’t hesitate to put distance between us.
Trey Bennett and Jessie Hawkins are Penthouse vs. Farmhouse, Gourmet meals vs. Gas station snacks, Day vs. Night. There isn’t a world in which a man like Trey will ever end up with a woman like me.
“What’d that door ever do to you?” he asks, sauntering into the living room.
“Stop stealing my grandmother!” I angrily blurt, sounding like a complete lunatic.
He looks disheveled, like he’s been working, and his face crinkles in confusion, but I keep going.
“You can’t keep going over there, fixing things and helping her.
She’s going to get attached, then be crushed when you leave.
” I’m breathing harder now. Seeing him in his backward baseball cap, blond hair falling over his brow, baby blue eyes assessing me—probably trying to figure out when I went insane—only makes me more upset.
My sexual frustration is at an all-time high since he’s moved in.
I’ve had more wet dreams in the last two weeks than I have in my entire life.
Gran was right, I have the hottest roommate in the history of the world, and he’s fucking nice.
Why can’t he be a dick?
“Um . . . Sorry?” He shoves his hands in his pockets.
“Listen, we need to talk about something . . . “ That’s when I notice the sheet pinned up, hanging over the entry to the kitchen. “Okay, don’t freak out . . . Things went a little further than planned, but it’s okay.
I’ll fix it.” He takes a step toward me, raising his hands like I’m pointing a gun at him.
“Fix. What.” I grit out between my teeth.
His cheeks are now red, and a hand nervously rubs the back of his neck. “I wanted to show you a sample . . . and . . . “ he hesitates.
I push past him to pull back the sheet. “My floor,” I cry.
“I know, don’t panic! I’ll put in new tile. You just need to pick which one you like.” He points to the sample tiles next to the kitchen cabinets.
I don’t respond. I grind my teeth together and ball my hands into fists.
My floor is gone.
The whole kitchen—floorless. The ugly, mint green, cracked tiles have been completely torn out. There are pieces of tile and grout dust swept into piles. The fridge is moved into the corner.
“What is wrong with you?” I shout at him, snapping out of my shocked state.
Trey paces the kitchen. “I’m sorry. I don’t sit still well, and you mentioned how much you hated it and wished you could redo it.
I had only planned to pop one tile out so we could set samples down and you could pick, but then the tile next to it cracked, so I took that one out and the one next to it was already cracked, so I took it out and things spiraled out of control,” he rushes out in one breath, sounding slightly afraid of me.
Good.
“If you don’t sit still well, go for a fucking walk—don’t destroy my kitchen! Are you insane?” I walk into the space, assessing the damage. “I can’t afford this,” I whisper to myself.
“I’ll pay for everything. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to tear it all out before talking to you.” He sounds sorry. Hell, he looks like a dog someone has beaten. A very cute dog.
I take a breath, leaning against the counter, looking at the tile samples opposite me.
He was trying to do something nice for me, I can see that.
He went about it in the most unhinged way, but he’s well-intentioned.
My conversation with Gran, the text from my father, and now this have pushed me over the edge.
And letting him pay for it makes me uncomfortable, but I truly can’t afford it.
He got us into this mess, so I guess I’ll let him get us out.
After a long minute passes, he steps in front of me, drawing my attention back to him. “Please don’t kick me out,” he pleads.
I stare into his eyes, the same eyes that haunt my dreams. I love his eyes. Shoving off the counter, I step past him and point. “That one.”
He turns, eyes following my finger to the tile. “Okay, that one it is. Sorry again, Jessie.”
“Just . . . fix it. Please.”
“I will, I promise. And Jessie?”
“What?”
“I really like Dot. Can I still go over and help her?” he quietly asks.
I sigh. “If it keeps you from tearing my house apart,” is all I manage to say before disappearing to hide in my bedroom. I need to calm down.
I was hard on him. I did say I hated that tile and wanted to replace it, but damn it, he caught me off guard. I’ve never had anyone help me. Not like this. I’ve never let anyone close enough. I should apologize for yelling, but I don’t.
I’ll buy more cherry tomatoes next time I’m at the farmers’ market.