Just a Small Town Boy
Ashton
Let me tell you something. Jordy can make even the rattiest bathrobe look like lingerie.
When I walk into the house, the first thing I see are her long legs peeking out from beneath Bec’s ancient robe, those tiny shorts riding high on her golden thighs.
It’s hard to tear my eyes away—even after everything.
She’s wearing my ex’s clothes and my mother-in-law’s robe. I’d spent the evening dodging her puke, and still, she’s the sexiest woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.
Too bad she’s completely off-limits.
I’m already in enough hot water with this town for selling The Till.
If they find out I’m even thinking about Jordy this way, I might as well set myself on fire.
But seeing her chatting with Bec, sitting next to my daughter at the breakfast table—it’s like catching a glimpse of a life I didn’t even realize I wanted.
Ridiculous.
Jordy’s a stranger, a corporate shark’s errand girl, and she lives on the other side of the country.
And me? I’m a single dad, the town’s favorite topic of conversation, tied to a relationship that ended long ago.
Dating anyone in Lahoma is impossible. As far as this place is concerned, I’ll always belong to Sasha, even if she’s gone.
The town’s loyalties run deep, and as long as I stay here, I can kiss my dating life goodbye.
But Jordy? She isn’t from here. She has nothing to do with my past. She’s like fresh water in the desert, but I’d be an idiot to take a sip.
By the time I’m out of the shower, Jordy’s dressed in another of Sasha’s outfits, her damp hair smelling like chamomile shampoo.
She’d swapped the bathrobe for a pair of old jeans with sunflower patches and an orange t-shirt that reads, “Cluck around and find out” with a cartoon chicken.
The jeans hit just above her ankles, where Sasha used to have to roll them at the hem.
“Nice fashion choice,” I tease, immediately regretting it when she shoots me a stony glare.
“It’s not like I had a choice. My suitcase is in my car, and my clothes from last night are a mess. Bec offered to wash them, but they’re dry clean only.” She huffs. “But maybe it doesn’t matter. I don’t think puke and silk go well together. I’ll probably just throw them away.”
She glances down at the t-shirt, sighs again, and crosses her arms over her chest. I wonder if this is normal for her—jeans and a t-shirt—or if it feels as foreign as she looks wearing them.
“I can take you to the dry cleaners on the way to pick up your car,” I offer, scooping a happy Lottie out of her highchair.
“It’s fine. I’ll figure it out.”
Her gaze flickers to the bag on the counter—her ruined clothes, wrapped up and useless. A twinge of guilt hits me. I brush it aside and nod toward her empty plate.
“Do you feel any better?”
“Tons.” Jordy’s shoulders relax for the first time all morning. “I wasn’t sure I could stomach it, but Bec didn’t give me much choice. I guess she was right because I don’t feel nauseous anymore, and my head doesn’t hurt.”
She stands and carries her dishes to the sink, washing them and setting them on a towel to dry. Efficient. Like she doesn’t want to owe anyone anything.
“I really need to get going, though. Could you drive me into town?”
“Sure. Let me just get Lottie’s car seat out of Bec’s car. Do you mind watching her?”
I don’t wait for her answer, just hand Lottie over without thinking. But the second Jordy takes her, I see it—a flicker of something sharp in her expression, her whole body going stiff.
I frown. “Sorry. I just assumed—”
“No, I’m fine,” she cuts in, but her voice is tight.
She holds Lottie like she’s holding a live grenade, barely moving as my daughter grabs for her necklace. The expression on Jordy’s face is stuck in a grimace as she eyes Lottie.
“You can put her down,” I say. “She walks.”
“Oh. Right.”
She lowers Lottie to the floor immediately, stepping back fast like she needs distance. She watches her, but not like she’s making sure Lottie’s safe. More like she isn’t sure how to exist in the same space as a child.
“You haven’t been around a lot of kids,” I muse, half-laughing. But when I see the offense darken her expression, my smile fades.
“I’ve been around plenty of kids,” she huffs, then she hesitates. “I just don’t particularly like…”
She trails off, pressing her lips together in a tight line.
“So you haven’t been around kids,” I repeat.
Her jaw tightens. “My cousin just had a baby girl.”
“Oh, that’s great. So you babysit her a lot?”
Her eyes narrow, something unreadable flashing across her face before she looks away.
“We’re wasting time, and this conversation is boring me,” she says, voice flat. “Just get the car seat so I can get to work.”
We leave the farm with Jordy sitting in the passenger seat, scrolling through her phone, and Lottie babbling in her car seat in the back.
My daughter’s hair is extra wild this morning, though I’d managed to pull it tight into floofy poms on the side of her head.
She got the auburn shade and pale freckled skin from her mother, but those coiled spirals are all me.
Thankfully she’s learned from an early age to just sit still while her daddy pulls at her hair—just like my own mother used to do for me back when I was young and wore my hair long.
Jordy’s stilettos lay on the floorboards at her feet, hosed off and dried before I returned them to the truck.
Hopefully water won’t ruin them, but I choose to not tell Jordy, just to be on the safe side.
I’m starting to understand that Jordy is very particular, and all of this is outside her comfort zone—from the sunflower jeans to the kid in the back seat.
Jordy is a puzzle I’m not sure I want to solve, but damn if I’m not fascinated by her—and attracted.
Way too attracted. Even though I barely know her, I can tell we are two entirely different people, and yet, I’m drawn to her like a bird to open sky.
There’s something about her that calls to me, and I can’t quite name it.
Maybe it’s because we’re both outsiders in this town, though I doubt she sees anything in common between the two of us.
Maybe it’s the way she carries herself—tough on the outside, but with something fragile just beneath.
Or maybe it’s the fact that she isn’t throwing in the towel, even though this town has given her hell from the moment they learned who she is.
All I know is that every moment I’m next to her, I feel both the excitement of our nearness, and the pain of not quite reaching her.
Of course, my complicated feelings toward her hardly matter. She’s here for only a few weeks—just one more reason why I need to keep my attraction in check.
That, and she’s working for that asshole.
Besides, we didn’t exactly get off on the right foot, and the way things are going, that’s not going to change.
I turn the radio on to help break the silence in the front seat, trying not to feel affected by the wall between Jordy and me.
Leon Bridges fills the cab, doing little to change my mood.
I can’t place why I even care. After today, I plan to never see her again.
She’ll get to work, I’ll go back to the farm, and that will be it.
How this town treated her isn’t my business, or my problem.
Her obvious disdain for children has nothing to do with me or Lottie, and isn’t something I need to feel offended by or try to fix.
I’m just the idiot who brought her home last night in her hour of need. I did my part, now my part is done.
“Where is Lottie’s mom?”
Jordy’s question surprises me. Her curiosity is normal, but given the way she shut down, I didn’t expect to be quizzed about my life … especially about that part.
“I don’t know.”
She turns to me, and I glance at her long enough to see the confusion on her face.
“What do you mean, you don’t know? Lottie is two, right? You mean to tell me that her mom had her, and then up and left?”
Pretty much.
But to Jordy, I just shrug. “It’s a bit more complicated than that.”
I can feel her questions mounting. What kinds of complications? Why did she leave? What kind of person abandons their child?
But all she says is, “It’s nice how involved Bec and Bob are with Lottie.”
I breath out a sigh, my shoulders lowering with my defenses.
“They’ve been like parents to me, and they love their granddaughter.
” I look at Lottie in the rearview mirror.
She’s busy studying her hands, talking softly in her own little language.
I smile, my heart expanding like it always does when I feel overwhelmed by the love I have for this little girl.
“Honestly, I wouldn’t be able to do it without them.
They let us move in before Lottie was born, and then after…
” I pause, my eyes shifting to Jordy, then back to the road.
“Let’s just say I owe a lot to the Felixes.
Bob and I built a small house on the property around the time Lottie was born, and it’s where we live now. ”
“Just you and Lottie.”
I keep my eyes on the road as I nod. It’s been years, and I still feel that weight of anger building in my gut whenever it comes to Sasha and all the allowances everyone makes for that woman—especially the excuses I’ve internalized about her.
But enough time has passed that those excuses were weak.
Every morning that I wake up to my daughter is a reminder of everything Sasha willingly gave up.
Most days, I don’t think about forgiving her anymore.
On the best days, I don’t think about her at all.
Jordy says nothing for a moment, long enough that I think the conversation is over. But then I feel her eyes on me.
“Did you grow up here?”
I shake my head. “No. I lived on a farm in Oregon for a few years before Lottie was born. Before that, I grew up in Louisiana. I’ve been in California for just about three years.”
Jordy makes a noise in her throat, saying huh without uttering a word. Again, silence fills the cab except for Lottie’s soft singing in the back seat and the music on the radio.
“So, you’re kind of an outsider here, huh?”
Bingo .
But I can’t help the laugh that stays in my chest. “You’re awfully curious. What about you?”
“What about me? I’m definitely an outsider.”
“No, silly. I mean, what’s your story?”
She shakes her head. “Not much to tell. I live in a cramped apartment in New York, and before that, I lived in Southern California.”
“Ah, a native. So this isn’t some strange place to you.”
She laughs, and I feel her relaxing next to me.
“I mean, kind of. SoCal and NorCal are so different, they might as well be different states. But yeah, I grew up on the West Coast, so there’s that.
But it was Santa Barbara, not a small town like Lahoma Springs.
So this whole town loyalty thing is pretty foreign to me.
Especially now that I live in New York. God, everyone there is out for themselves.
” She huffs a laugh. “The irony is that I was almost a small-town girl.”
“How so?”
I feel the layer of hesitation immediately. The way she shifts in her seat. The pause in her breath. Then she waves her hand.
“It’s not important.”
I want to leave it alone. I really do. But the sudden shift in the cab eats at me. “If it wasn’t important, you wouldn’t have said it.”
She looks at me, and I hold my breath under the weight of her gaze.
“I suppose you’re right.”
Then she turns back to the window.
Obviously, my job is just to be a good chauffeur and drive her into town.
But it seems unfair that she gets to ask me all these questions and I can’t even make small talk with her.
She’s so guarded, and while it should repel me, it only makes me lean in more.
What’s eating her? The longer she stays silent, the more I need to know.
But I’ve done that before—pushed when I should have let go—and it cost me, more than I care to admit.
So I keep quiet, biting my tongue as we near the corner of Main Street, and drive the rest of the way into town without another spoken word.