“What? No. I didn’t even see her.” I was so tired of folks thinking I had any residual romantic feelings for Ashley Runous. We’d been friends all through school, dated for a half minute when we were seventeen, I’d been an asshole, she left. Then she came back years later, and now we were friends again. End of.
“Then I’ll go over by myself.”
“No.” I covered her hand on my arm to stop her. “Please don’t.”
“Then come with me.”
My gaze darted beyond Charlotte to where the Winstons and their wives surrounded Raquel, and something lodged in my throat. “Charlotte,” I croaked. “I really don’t want to.”
“You’re being ridiculous and you’re going to regret not going over there. As your friend, I really must insist. And I’m sure she’s used to it. Come with me. Why’re you being like this?” She tugged on my arm again.
I didn’t budge.
She gave me an assessing narrowed glare and then turned, lifting her arm, and before I could stop her, she called across the room, “Hi! Hi there!”
Oh my God.
“Hi, I’m Charlotte. This is Jackson. You’re Raquel Ezra. We’re big fans!”
My gaze dropped to the floor, and I breathed in. I breathed out. I breathed in. I breathed out. I breathed—
“Hi Charlotte,” Raquel’s voice, made of sunshine and rainbows, called back. “Nice to meet you.”
“Do you mind if we come over?” Charlotte tugged on my arm again.
I clenched my jaw, still staring at the floor, so very grateful that Charlotte was a tall woman. That’s right, I hid behind my girlfriend.
“Not at all. Please come over,” Raquel responded easily, and a bolt of heat shot straight to the base of my spine, making my collar feel too tight and sweat prickle between my shoulder blades.
“Come on. Don’t be shy,” Charlotte whispered to me, and I could hear the laughter in her voice.
What could I do? In the next moment, we were moving, walking toward Raquel. I readied myself the best I could. I worked to distance myself while on autopilot, I lifted my chin and muttered greetings to those gathered.
“Cletus.” I shook hands with my friend, quick and perfunctory.
“Deputy. That’s a nice suit. Did you call that tailor I told you about?”
“I did.”
“Wise man.” Cletus nodded somberly.
“Thank you.”
He stopped nodding. “I was referring to myself.”
Typical Cletus.
Next was Ashley.
“You feeling okay, Jackson?” Ashley Runous—formerly Winston—asked, pulling away after a quick hug. She always greeted me with a hug.
“Just fine,” I rasped, hammering a closed-mouth smile in place. “How are you?”
“I’m okay.” I felt her concerned eyes follow me as I continued shaking hands with her brothers and their wives—until I got to Jethro. He didn’t extend a hand.
“Deputy James,” he said flatly, his arms crossed.
“Jethro.” I gave him a single nod, unsurprised by his cool greeting tonight but paying it no mind. This sort of thing tended to happen after I’d arrested someone more than once. In Jethro’s case, I’d arrested him many, many more times than once, back when I was new on the force and hadn’t quite topped out to my present height of six feet.
The frequent arrests paired with me being shitty to his sister in high school meant we’d likely never be friendly. But sometimes, like the handful of times I’d babysit for him and Sienna, I thought maybe we could be.
“I hope you don’t mind that we interrupted your evening. I just wanted to introduce myself to Raquel, I am such a big fan,” Charlotte gushed, not seeming to notice my cool exchange with Jethro Winston.
I had no idea if Raquel noticed either as I couldn’t look at her. I was here with Charlotte. I am here on a date with my girlfriend. I will not look at another woman. But Raquel wasn’t just another woman. She was . . . well, I had no idea what Raquel was.
I supposed Raquel was an idea. A memory I’d made too much out of, remembered too often, relived until the edges had grown worn and soft and frayed. Who’s to say that night ever really happened? Maybe it didn’t. Maybe it had been a figment of my imagination.
Regardless, she should’ve been nothing to me.
“Jackson is also a big fan.” Charlotte pulled me forward so that I stood next to her and directly in front of Raquel. “In fact, I’d say he’s probably your biggest fan. He absolutely loves you.”
My heart stopped and then lurched painfully, and I knew—I just fucking knew—my face was on its way to turning a bright shade of tomato red.
“Is that so?” Raquel asked, still rainbows and sunshine.
“It is so! He owns all your movies on streaming and on DVD. I was a little worried when we first started dating that he’d make me wear a Raquel Ezra costume for Halloween.” Charlotte laughed.
“And did he?” Cletus asked, earning him my hard stare.
Charlotte laughed harder. A few other people laughed as well. I did not.
Kill me. Kill me now. As far as embarrassing situations I’d experienced, this one ranked eleven on a ten-point scale.
“I’m honored to have such an avid fan,” Raquel said. Her voice sounded a little breathless, and I knew I was being a complete ass because I hadn’t looked at her yet.
I didn’t want to be an ass to Raquel. My issue with her was my issue, not hers. She didn’t deserve rudeness for being friendly and more gracious than I deserved. Using self-censure as a shield and a sword, I pulled my head out of my ass, took a deep breath, and finally looked at her.
Our gazes locked.
She wore a barely-there smile that looked a little uncertain, her eyes a deep, rich, dark velvet of indescribable color, and depth, and sweetness.
And just like clockwork, I felt it. The pull. The sense of everything else falling away, leaving only us. I’d felt it years ago when we were introduced at Jethro and Sienna’s wedding. I’d felt it that whole night we were together. I’d felt it when I spotted her in the crowd on Saturday, at the station earlier today, and I felt it right now.
“Hi,” I said, my heart racing like mad, and then suddenly just . . . slowing.
“Hi,” she said, her small smile becoming a slightly bigger one. “It’s good to see—uh—meet you.”
“You as well.”
“I hear this place is very good,” she said softly. Or maybe she didn’t. Maybe her voice only sounded soft to my ears.
“Depends on what you like to eat.”
“Food, mostly.”
“Then you’re in luck. They serve food here.”
She grinned widely, taking my breath away, and her gaze dropped to my neck, then to my chest. “I like this suit.”
I caught myself before responding with, If you want it, it’s yours.
It’s what—instinctively—I longed to say. The easy back and forth banter at the sheriff’s station earlier in the day, the way my heart beat in time with our game of verbal ping-pong, had been much the same.
Effortless. Easy. Euphoric. . . until I remembered who I was, and who she was, and who I was not. Not anymore.