I purposely avoid sitting in my bedroom, fighting the temptation to peer out the window at the barn building progress or any other thing that might involve Jedd working as hard as he does. I feel guilty about the missing cookie pieces, and think I should have made him more treats. I didn’t find the container on the back steps this morning, but two sunflowers sit in its place. Jedd told me he hadn’t taken the butter tub. He also admitted he hadn’t left the flower the other day, so I can’t ignore the suspicion I suddenly have as to who the cookie-thief-slash-flower-giver is.
I scan the yard through the front window, but I don’t have any hints as to where my secret admirer could be or where he came from; all I know is he’s out there. Feeling generous and a little tickled by the flower offerings, I’d left a sealed container with an extra helping of dinner on the steps after Hannah went to work. A Post-it note on the returned container held a single initial: B. It’s funny how I’ve always been Beverly. I’ve never been a fan of nicknames. Thought the reduction in a given name seemed like an insult. But being called Bee by Jedd, and now the singular letter B by this stranger, doesn’t feel so much like diminishing me, but more like a forbidden secret. Something private between me and the name giver. Jedd sees me as sharp and stinging but persistent, like the pollinator. The hidden homeless man sees me as something singular and unique. All the same, the new names suggest a new me.
Willing my eyes back to Tripper and Virginia Hanes in a rerun of Nailed, my thoughts cannot be contained. I stare at the couple I greatly admire for their devotion to one another and their dedication to hard work. Tripper isn’t just some man who stepped in front of the camera for five seconds in miraculously clean attire. His boots are scuffed. His shirts show sweat stains. Hats often cover his head. Yet he is a reality star.
“I’m living a dream,” I mutter as my eyes drift back to the front window. A real man who works hard is out there, hammering together a barn. He has scuffed boots, sweat-laden tees, and the occasional ball cap, and he is the real deal, not some fantasy on my television set.
“Love you, GinGin,” Tripper calls out as he takes the Hanes’ crew of children home after a pizza dinner with their mother. Virginia then speaks about family and loving her children, but having to work late into the night to make the home they’ve designed just right for others. My eyes gaze around the living room, taking in the three walls and the large bay window. Has this ever been a home? It’s my house. I live here. I raised Hannah here, but inside these walls is so much heartbreak.
I close my eyes and hear Ewell and his son fighting. I smell the cheap perfume on Howard after another night of stepping out on me. I feel the presence of a man and slowly open my eyes to find Jedd just inside the entrance of the living room.
“Sweet butter on a biscuit,” I mutter. “Have you no respect for personal property, letting yourself in my home at your will?” My heart leaps, and my fingers spread over my chest.
“You shouldn’t leave the door unlocked,” he says, his eyes fixed on my television. “Besides, I called out your name.”
Silence passes only a second before he speaks.
“Tripper Hanes?” Jedd’s expression morphs from watching the program to agitated wonder. “Tripper Hanes.” His eyes snap to mine as he crosses to the television set and stands in front of it, his back to the screen. His hand rests on his hip with the ball cap dangling off his claw, and he hisses at me. “You let me believe Tripper was a real man. Your man.”
“Get out of the way,” I snap, the familiar fight in me returning as he blocks the screen. I don’t really need to see the remainder of this show. I’ve seen it before; I’ve watched it too many times, in fact. Yet Jedd standing before it, learning my secret obsession, pisses me off.
He takes a step forward, his wide stance making more of a door than a window, and I sigh in defeat.
“I never said he was my man. You just assumed that.”
“You didn’t deny it,” he states, irritation filling his tone.
“You’re the one who mentioned assumptions.” My mouth hangs open, ready to say more, and then catching my tone, I clamp my lips shut.
Jedd huffs, dismissing his words thrown back at him. “Why?”
“Why what?” I retort although I know what he’s asking.
“Why fool me?”
I…don’t know why I didn’t correct him.
Was it foolish to pretend I had a beau? Yes, it was.
Was it interesting to watch his expression when he mentioned Tripper? It also was.
Suddenly, Jedd is in my space, which is becoming a habit of his like entering my home unannounced. He balances over me, his arms like fence posts on either side of me as he sets his hands on the armrests. The chair tips, and Jedd’s eyes widen.
“Is this a rocking chair?”
I nod in response, glancing up at him like a petulant child and then dragging my eyes away as he’s too close.
Wood shavings. Fresh air. All male.
“Oh, the things I could do with this seat,” he mutters, his voice that sleepy rumble sound, and I risk another gaze at his face. Big mistake. Those dark eyes. That crooked smirk. “Don’t you dare look at me like that when I’m upset with you.”
My eyes widen at the roughness of his words, which contain a chuckle.
“Upset with me? What did I do?” I snark, but a grin graces my lips, and I bite the corner hard, fighting against the curve.
“You little vixen,” he mumbles. Lowering his body, he slips to his forearms as he kneels on one knee, wedging his chest between my legs. He’s trapped me in the cushioned seat, and my hand comes to his chest.
“I…can’t.” I don’t know what I’m saying I can’t do. Kiss him? Why can’t I?
“Oh, because of Tripper?” Jedd mocks. He tips his head to motion over his shoulder. “Is he watching us?” I humorlessly snort. Turning back to me, he reaches for the edge of my hair with his fingers, pinching the tips. His eyes watch the motion. His face is only inches from mine, and my hand on his chest pauses. Fingers caress flannel. His heart beats underneath.
“Bee, why do you have such a tough shell?” he questions without looking at me, his Southern drawl deep.
I shrug. He waits.
“It’s not a shell. I’m just cautious. I don’t…” trust anyone, I think as he answers for me.
“Trust anyone.”
“I don’t need anybody anyway,” I reply, watching my fingers spread on his flannel-covered chest, pressing at the soft fabric barrier to a firm chest.
“Everybody needs someone.”
“Men are all hot air.”
“Howard was hot air,” Jedd retorts. “I’m just hot.”
Shaking my head, I can’t help the smile growing on my lips. He’s ridiculous but not wrong. Heat permeates through his shirt, warming me with his nearness to a pulsing body part that hasn’t pulsed for a long time.
“What are you afraid of?” he asks, softening his tone as his fingers comb through my hair.
My lids lower, and I shake my head again, denying him an answer.
“Are you afraid I’ll leave?” My gaze momentarily jolts to his before drawing away. I tug at his collar, my fingers needing something to do. He’s hit it on the head. People don’t stick. My parents disowned me. Howard left. Friends are gone. Ewell dead. Hannah will go soon.