“I promised your son I wouldn’t.”
That brought me up short. “Oh.”
“I know he was the one to escort you out of the compound that night, after.”
My attention dropped to the floor. “I see.”
I turned and walked to the kitchen table, wondering if I should just leave. Any sane person would leave. Instead, I gripped a kitchen chair and tapped my fingernails on the back of it, sifting through all this new information while eyeballing the food on the table.
“We should eat.” He’d made food. It would be a shame to waste it.
Darting from the table, I grabbed two dishes from the cabinet and whatever silverware we might use from the drawer.
By the time I made it back to the table, Jason had drifted over, his expression hard. “I think it would be better if we didn’t do this tonight. I think maybe you should go.”
I deposited the plates on the table—across from each other—then turned back to the kitchen island to grab the meat. “I’m hungry.”
“Diane,” he said, his voice low with something that sounded impatient but also resigned.
It was the resignation that firmed my resolve.
“Babydoll.” I spun and set my hand on my hip. “I am hungry. And I don’t know what to think about your confession, but I do know we both need to eat. Let’s eat. We can discuss you spying on me some other time.”
Jason drove me home after dinner.
I’d tried to keep things light, ask him questions about topics that typically put him in a good mood, like his previous travels, or when he would teach me how to ride a motorcycle, but he didn’t wish to speak much. I filled the silence, telling him all about the plans we’d finalized for Jenn and Cletus’s engagement party. Then I told him about the new staffing decisions at the Lodge. Then I’d told him about Monsieur Auclair’s training, how well it had gone, and how the man would be fit to take over operations if or when I ever needed him.
But when I’d mentioned Cletus Winston and the dairy, Jason had stood up, his chair scraping against the floor, and walked to the coat closet. He’d grabbed my jacket and bought it over.
“Come on,” he’d said, pulling my chair out and lifting my hand. “It’s time to go.”
I’d filled the silence in the car too. Talking about the dress Jennifer had already selected for the party and how we were planning to wear matching colors. “But her dress will be more youthful than mine, of course.”
Based on how his temple kept jumping, I’d wondered if he was grinding his teeth. I’d needed him to talk. I didn’t think he was angry with me. If I’d read him right, he’d appeared angry with himself.
The next few days weren’t easy ones, and definitely not as fun as they had been. Jennifer and Cletus’s engagement party was just around the corner and I couldn’t seem to stay focused on all the last minute details.
One might think Jason’s confession would lead me to scanning the horizon, looking for him every time I walked to my car in the morning and at night, but I didn’t. If he still watched me, well . . . I honestly didn’t know how to feel about that. After Miller’s actions in the Piggly Wiggly, I kinda liked the idea.
I did text him a few times, asking how his day went, telling him about mine. I suppose this was my continuing attempt to fill in the silence between us because this time it felt like a giant, gaping, empty hole in the center of my chest.
I missed him. I missed how solid and sure he was. I missed his teasing and flirting and quick comebacks. I missed his smile and how he seemed so comfortable in his own skin. He’d made me feel more comfortable in mine, and I missed that too. I loved that my pushiness and bossiness and sharp tongue didn’t seem to bother him one lick. He took me in stride.
After six days of not seeing him, I sent Jason a message once my last meeting of the day ended.
Diane: I want to see you. Are you free today or tomorrow?
After sending the text, I frowned at it, feeling heartsick at the thought of having to wait until tomorrow. Luckily, I didn’t have to wait long for his response.
Jason: Tonight. Normal place. Wear jeans and a jacket.
Jean and a jacket? I tapped my bottom lip. I didn’t think I owned a single pair of jeans. Kip had always said jeans were for farmers, a belief I’d espoused whenever my daughter had dared to wear a pair. But did I actually think jeans were for farmers?
I did not know. I would have to run down to the Merryville Mall and see for myself.
I typed out a response to his message, then deleted it. This went on for a while, likely because I had so much I wanted to say. I wanted to tell him I missed him, but I wasn’t sure whether we had a future now. I wanted to ask him why he thought it was okay to follow me around. I wanted to ask him so many things, none of which were conducive to text messages.
Finally, I sent a lukewarm,
Diane: Okay. See you then.
Grabbing my purse, coat, and keys, I locked up my office and left the Lodge to go shopping.
Kip—unsurprisingly—had been wrong. Jeans were for everybody. The sales lady had said the pair I currently wore made my backside look fantastic and I had to agree.
Since I’d been in Merryville anyway, I stopped by the fancy grocery store and picked up some fancy foods, figuring I could prepare a no-pressure picnic-like dinner of cheeses, cut up fruit and veggies, crusty bread, pâté, and dips.
Armed with my jeans and groceries, I drove over to our house and wasn’t terribly surprised Jason hadn’t arrived yet, though my heart would tell you I was disappointed. I had no use for miring in discontent. I grabbed as many bags as I could handle and made for the front door. A glass of wine and a warm fire sounded like a nice way to wait for Jason’s arrival.
I returned to the car for the second load of bags and the tell-tale sound of an approaching motorcycle met my ears. Forgetting the bags for now, I turned at my trunk to watch the gate open and Jason drive on in. He stopped just next to me, pulling off his helmet to regard me but not cutting the engine.
My heart gave a little flutter at the sight of him, all his rugged handsomeness, and most especially at the way his eyes traveled over my jean-clad legs and hips. Then he tilted his head, motioning that I should come over.
Wanting to talk to him, but not wishing to yell over the hum of his engine, I walked over.
Before I could utter a word, he held out his helmet. “Put it on.”
I rocked back on my heels. “You want me to put it on?”
He nodded, pushing it into my hands. “Put it on and climb on.”
Squinting at him and smiling, I did as he commanded. “You still make everything sound like a command.”
“Please,” he said, the side of his mouth curving upward, his handsome eyes twinkling back at me. “Better?”
I laughed, standing still so he could adjust the strap at my chin, the food and my open trunk forgotten. He then held my hand and helped me on. No sooner had I straddled the bike behind him and put my arms around his torso did he take off. I gave a little squeak, and I felt his chest rumble with a laugh.
“Where is your helmet?” I scolded, squeezing him tighter.
“On your head,” he said, sounding pleased with himself.
I didn’t get a chance to chastise him further because he accelerated. My heart climbed to my throat with the indescribable sensations of exhilaration and fear twining together in my stomach. We drove until the fear became fearlessness, until the press of his warm back to my front and the vibrating seat between my legs and the wind in my face felt like flying.