12. Jaxon
JAXON
When she doesn’t respond to my text, around three, I start to worry the tiniest bit. What if she’s in that weird spiral like she was last night? What if she tried wearing heels in the dirt and sprained her ankle? What if she’s gone?
I know I should stay at work tonight since I arrived so late, but I can’t help myself from leaving the office right on time and heading to cabin three.
Although we have two thousand acres here, the living quarters are close together.
My golf cart and truck are at my house, so I throw my earbuds in and start on the twenty-minute walk.
When I arrive, her Toyota is gone, but the golf cart remains.
My God, she left.
She must have decided to take on the detour and breezed out as quickly as she breezed in. It’s not like she owed me anything, but a goodbye would have been nice.
My feet are climbing onto the porch, and I’m looking in her window before I process what I’m actually doing. Holy shit, what’s wrong with me?
“See anything good?” her voice rings out. Spinning around, she’s standing behind me with a shit-eating grin on her face. How the hell did I not hear her car?
“I was… no… I just…”
“You just became a full-on stalker. I listen to those kinds of podcasts too, you know,” she laughs.
“Or I’m making sure you were okay since I never heard back from you,” I try to smooth over the fact that I have lost my ever-loving mind. “As someone who provided exceptional cougar murder sound protection, I’m pained I didn’t get a response,” I flirt.
“Jaxon, I’m better than good,” she holds up bags full of stuff.
“I went to town today for art supplies and groceries. Then, I met the owner, Rose, and she was… she was just so wonderful. And she showed me the gallery upstairs; it was the kind of place you’d find back home! I completely forgot to text you back!”
She is tittering with excitement, and I can’t help but fall into that with her. My artistic talents top out at fingerpainting with Mazie.
“I haven’t painted since… well, since my mom’s death, but Quinn suggested starting again.
Maybe it’s the fact that this morning was beyond words, and I don’t think a photo can capture that the way a painting with layers and textures can, or the fact that I saw your niece and nephew outside the store, and they are the reason I got out of my car…
” she stops talking and holds my gaze. “I don’t know. Something just feels right.”
Funny, I think to myself. Feels right is my first impression of Della Tatroe too. I want to hug her because this person in front of me has me captivated more than she should, but her joy is that contagious.
“Let me take that for you,” I say, realizing I’ve left her standing there with full arms.
“Oh, I’m okay, but if you could open the door, that would be great. The keys are in my front pocket. There are more bags, too.”
She juts her hip to me, and I see the keys sticking out. My thoughts are dirty because old habits die hard, but I do what I’m told and open the door.
While she puts everything on the counter, I swear to God, I feel her sunshine. What a beautiful place to bask. Part of me wants to ask her if she wants me to go because she needs time to dive into painting, but I’m far too selfish a man for that. Especially since I only have two more days..
“Are you a creative, Jax?” she asks, looking at me hopefully.
“Not in the least. I like practical applications, like if I attach this to this to this, I have a car engine,” I laugh. “I mean, it’s much more detailed than that, but you get the idea. My artistic talents top out at fingerpainting.”
“Well, I could never put an engine together,” she says, and then flips the conversation.
“So I was wondering if your family had any dietary restrictions. I was going to whip up a few treats as a thank-you for the kindness. Nothing crazy, and I’m not a phenomenal baker or anything, just a little something,” she says as she puts a few groceries away. “Or is that too much?”
I can’t believe I thought this woman would take off without saying goodbye. “You can do whatever you want to. There are no restrictions, and my entire family loves a little sweet treat.”
“Perfect!” she beams. “I hate being a burden…”
“Della,” I say. “No part of you is a burden. Stop saying that shit, you said it last night too. What are you doing for dinner tonight?” I ask.
Her head snaps toward me. “A salad with rotisserie chicken. Why?”
“I’m not going to knock the grocery store salad, but want to do something more exciting?”
“Maybe you missed where I said rotisserie chicken. That’s pretty exciting,” her smile teases with a hint of playfulness.
“Maybe we have different definitions of exciting,” I laugh. “The restaurant at the lodge is a two Michelin star restaurant and it’s fucking incredible, but I have a feeling that you’ve gotten enough of that with your ex.”
It’s her turn to laugh, but she nods her head in agreement anyway.
“I’m sure you saw some of the nicer places on the strip today,” knowing damn well that she passed the best restaurants and bars in town if she went to the art store, “but what if I were to offer a more… authentic experience.”
“I’d say I’m in,” she replies without a hint of hesitation before biting her lip, like she knows she’s about to get into something.
“What do you have to wear tonight, Del?”
“Not much,” she admits. “Pajamas and comfy clothes. Wedding heels and a veil. The reason my car was such a mess yesterday was because those were the clothes I gathered in my hands when I was in the penthouse. It was whatever I could collect, including a bathrobe. I have what I have on,” she gestures down.
Not that I don’t appreciate how she looks right now.
Truth be told, she looks fucking stunning in her jeans that hug her form, paired with a fancy-person soft pink blouse.
She will just get looks if she goes into The Rusty Lantern, which is the name of the place I’m going to take her.
It’s where all us locals go. We avoid the tourist bars unless we’re looking for something specific, and for me, that usually means someone to warm my bed.
“You look beautiful right now, but that’s not going to fit the vibe of where we’re headed,” I say.
Pulling out my phone, I text my sister, who confirms she’s home and having a glass of wine.
Looks like I’m not the only one who clocked out right on time today.
“Hazel is home right now, and you’re going shopping in her closet,” I laugh. “Hope you like flannel.”
She excuses herself to freshen up, and I hang out at the table and look through my phone.
Personally, I think she could go with no makeup and still be gorgeous, but she comes out in that stupid tank top that drives me crazy, and now I see the entirety of how her ass looks in her dark jeans.
Holy shit. Realistically, she would be fine wearing that alone to the bar, but she’d get too many looks.
A new stranger in town who looked like that?
She’d have the entire bar barking up her tree.
“Should I eat a little something here? I don’t want to drink on an empty stomach,” she says.
“We’re going for the authentic Lantern experience, Tatroe, and that includes eating the Rusty Lantern’s finest. Wait, do you have allergies? Specifically, peanut allergies?”
“No,” she says. “Why?”
“Because there’s a barrel of peanuts you can eat from. You throw the shells on the ground.”
A horrified look settles on her face.
“Authentic experience,” I reiterate.
“But what about people with allergies?”
“They don’t go,” I say. “There are other bars on Millstone to patron.”
“But that’s dirty,” she continues.
“After two beers, I bet you’ll join in the fun.” I laugh.
“Like… do the peanut shells get put in people’s mouths and then thrown on the floor? I mean, I like to suck the shell before I spit it out.”
“Some do.”
“So you’re wading around in people’s spit?!” She is aghast at the whole thing.
This is going to be even more fun than I intended.
“Are you in or out, Tatroe?”
Her mouth opens and closes a few times, as if she’s deciding what to say.
“I’m game, Jaxon Wills,” she finally affirms. “Show me this authentic experience.”
We load up in her golf cart and drive to my sister’s house. Of course, Molly is here too. The two of them are waiting on the front porch for us, and they lift their glasses in cheer when we get out.
“Where are we headed tonight?” Hazel asks.
“We are headed nowhere. I’m taking Della out for an authentic Amberheart experience.”
“So help me God, if you say The Rusty Lantern, you know we’re coming,” Molly chimes in. “I’m Molly, by the way. Pseudo-member of the Wills crew. Haze and I are a package deal. I’m so sorry I missed you yesterday!”
“Yeah, that is where we are going!” Della replies with a delighted smile.
Damnit, I was going to lie to them. I wanted her for myself tonight.
“Oh my God, yes!” Hazel says, and she and Molly clink their glasses. “This is going to be my favorite part of the week. Let’s get you dressed and ready, Della,” she says as she hands her a glass of wine they had in reserve for her.
“What about me?” I say to their backs.
“Drink from the bottle or something,” Hazel laughs, walking inside.
I look at the way they so seamlessly grab her like they’re old friends, and smile.
Hazel is historically closest to Everest, and me to Cayson.
But as we got older, Hazel has become less annoying and more someone I admired, which was cool.
While they disappear to find her an outfit, I decide to walk home to grab my truck and change myself.
Seeing as Hazel and Molly have already been drinking, I’ll drive this motley crew into town tonight.
When I return, the girls are in a full-on fashion show, and I walk in while Della is in the back room changing. Molly and Hazel are sitting at the island with whiteboards, rating the outfits. Apparently, everything has been a ten.
“It’s not fair; you’re perfect,” Hazel shouts from her stool.
“Well, I’m literally wearing your clothes, so you are too,” Della shouts back.
I chuckle at them, but stop in my tracks when she comes out. My mouth drops open, and I realize that whatever she puts on, everyone will be barking up her tree.
Right now, she is the poster child for hot fucking cowgirl, and someone I’d hit on ten out of ten times.
She has the same dark jeans on, but has switched her black tank for a white one.
It fits her the same, dipping low into her cleavage, but the color brightens everything about her.
The girls have outfitted her in a caramel suede jacket, and put her in boots and a hat.
I’m sure I’ve never seen someone more beautiful.
“How’s this?” she spins for the crowd. They whistle at her and write one hundreds on their boards, but I find I’ve lost the ability to speak as I drink her in.
Her eyes find mine as if she’s looking for my validation, so I tell her just how good she looks.
“You look radiant, Della, and you’ll fit in perfectly,” I say without breaking her gaze. It’s an odd choice of words, but maybe the truest I’ve said today.
“Let’s go, girls,” I follow up with, and immediately realize how wrong that is, because all three of them follow that up with the opening to the Shania Twain song, and my palm flies to my forehead.
But when the three giggly girls hop into my car and we make our way into town, I’m curious to see what this night brings.