7. Jean
Chapter Seven
JEAN
I'm curled up on the couch in my pajamas, watching a movie without really seeing it, when my phone rings. Shelby's name flashes on the screen.
“Hey,” I answer, voice hoarse from disuse.
“Jean, what the hell is wrong with you?”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“I mean Grayson and I get back from my parents’ place, and the first thing we hear is that you’ve had some kind of thing going on with Viper, but now you haven’t been seen in town for days…”
My stomach clenches. “How do you?—”
“Kieran’s Grayson’s brother and he’s in Ridge Renegades with Viper. Also, Viper’s grandma likes to gossip. Everyone knows… Snowflake’s a small town, honey. Including the fact that you two had some kind of falling out after…” She pauses. “Well, after whatever happened between you.”
Heat floods my cheeks. “Shelby?—”
“I don't need details right now. But I need you to put on your cutest outfit and come meet us at the Fall Festival.”
“I can't. I look like hell?—”
Her voice softens. “Cuz. What are you so afraid of?”
“I don't know,” I whisper.
“Well, whatever it is, hiding in that cabin isn't going to fix it.” I hear muffled conversation, then Shelby's back. “Grayson says if you're not at the festival in an hour, we're coming to get you ourselves.”
The line goes dead and I stare at the phone. Maybe it’s time to stop hiding.
An hour later, I'm walking through the entrance to Snowflake Falls' Fall Festival, wearing jeans and a sweater, with some makeup that doesn't completely hide the fact that I’m a mess.
The whole town seems to be here: families with kids, elderly couples sharing apple cake, teenagers clustered around the game booths.
I spot Shelby and Grayson by the apple cider stand and make my way over, trying to ignore the curious looks from people who recognize me as either the dildo girl or have heard the gossip about me and Viper.
“There she is,” Shelby says, wrapping me in a fierce hug. She links her arm through mine. “Come on. Let's walk around. Get some air.”
We stroll through the festival, Shelby chattering about her parents and the engagement and wedding plans, but I'm only half listening. My eyes keep scanning the crowd, looking for a familiar leather jacket and dark hair.
“He's at the community center booth,” Shelby nudges me.
“What?”
“Viper. He's helping at the community center booth with his grandmother.” She points toward a cluster of booths near the main stage.
My heart starts hammering. “I wasn’t looking for him.”
She stops walking and turns to face me. “Jean, I know you too well. Look, we both know you’re usually careful.
Your mom and dad kept you on a tight leash when we were kids.
They taught you to be careful, maybe too careful.
You have a sensible job, you research restaurants before you go to them.
You read reviews of movies before you watch them.
You made that pros and cons list about whether to get highlights. ”
“Your point?”
“My point is that you texted a stranger by mistake, got on his motorcycle, and had what I'm assuming was mind-blowing sex because you really liked him.” Her smile is soft. “That's instinct.”
‘Shelby—”
She squeezes my arm. “And your instincts aren’t wrong. So maybe you should trust them now.”
Before I can respond, she's steering me toward the community center booth. As we get closer, it's clearly one of the busiest spots at the festival. There's a long table covered in baked goods, handmade crafts, and what looks like a silent auction.
And there, behind the table, is Viper.
He's wearing jeans and a black T-shirt that stretches across his chest in ways that should be illegal. His hair is slightly messed up, and there's flour on his shirt. He's laughing at something an older woman beside him is saying while he arranges cookies on a display plate.
He looks... happy. Relaxed in a way I've never seen him.
Shelby nudges me again. “That's his grandmother. Everyone calls her Gram. She's basically the unofficial mayor of this place.”
A little girl approaches the booth, clutching a dollar bill. Viper crouches down to her level, his whole demeanor softening as he talks to her. She points at something, and he nods thoughtfully, like whatever she's saying is the most important thing in the world.
He hands her a cookie and refuses her dollar, putting a dollar from his back pocket into the cash box.
“He's been doing that all morning,” someone says behind us. I turn to find a woman about my age with kind eyes and paint-stained fingers.
“I'm Jamila,” she says. “I run the art program at the community center. Viper volunteers with us every week.”
“He does?”
She grins. “Jump rope team, mostly. But he helps with crafts too when we need extra hands. The kids adore him. He's got more patience than anyone I've ever met.”
I look back at the booth. Viper’s now helping an older man examine one of the auction items: a beautiful woven blanket in shades of copper and gold that makes my breath catch.
“You know that he made that? Been working on it all week.”
The blanket. Those colors. They're almost exactly the shade of my hair.
“Jean?”
I turn to find Shelby studying my face.
I swallow hard. “I need to talk to him.”
She gives me a gentle push. “Good. Go.”
My legs are shaky as I approach the booth. He hasn't seen me yet as he's focused on explaining something to a customer. His grandmother notices me first, her sharp blue eyes taking me in with obvious interest.
“You must be Jean,” she says, loud enough to get Viper’s attention.
He looks up, and it’s like time stops.
“Hi,” I say, because it's all I can manage.
“Hi, Red. You came,” his voice is calm, neutral.
“I did.”
We stare at each other for a long moment, two days of hurt and misunderstanding hanging between us.
“Viper. Russell,” I start, then stop. There are too many people around.
He seems to understand. “Gram, can you handle things for a few minutes?”
The older woman waves him off. “Go. Jamila can help me if I need it.”
Russell comes around the table, and suddenly we're standing face to face with no barriers between us. He's close enough that his spicy cologne washes over me, and I take a deep breath in.
“Let’s take a walk.”
I nod. We move away from the booth, away from the crowds, toward the quieter edge of the festival. Neither of us speaks until we're standing by the fence that borders the community center grounds.
“That was a beautiful blanket you made,” I say finally.
He glances back toward the booth. “Yeah?”
“Those colors…”
He shrugs. “Reminded me of your hair. Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
I take a breath, gathering courage. “I'm sorry.”
“For what?”
“For being scared and pushing you away. For saying you were just my escape when you're so much more than that.” The words tumble out faster now.
“I've spent my whole life playing it safe, doing what other people expected, and when I met you, suddenly I was doing things I never thought I'd do. It terrified me.” A tear rolls down my cheek.
“What about now?”
“I think maybe being a little scared isn’t always a bad thing. It means something’s changing.”
“Jean…”
“I do know you. I know you're nothing like the dangerous stranger I was afraid you were.”
“I am dangerous when I need to be. Just not to you. Never to you.”
“I know that, too.”
He reaches out, fingers brushing my cheek. “So what do we do now?”
I lean into his touch. “Let’s try it for real this time. No running away, no second-guessing. Just... us.”
He gazes down at me.
“I mean, if you'll have me. I know I messed up?—”
He cuts me off by kissing me, soft and sweet. When we break apart, both of us are smiling.
“Red. You don’t need to worry. I've been yours since the moment you texted the wrong number.”