She loves me.
“Did you ask a question?” I was still thinking on Claire’s place, the ideal privacy it would afford, and the fact that Jennifer loved me.
After cuddling for too short a time, I drove Jennifer home. I held her hand as we walked to the car. I held her hand while I drove. I held her hand as I walked her to her porch. And then I was forced to let go of her hand.
I’d had indigestion since. Not real indigestion; I was suffering from a type of heartburn caused by missing a person.
Agitating matters, I’d spotted an article in The New Yorker on Saturday morning about verbing and wanted to share it with her.
Saturday afternoon, I’d been forced to call Repo—the highest ranking member of the Iron Wraiths other than Razor St. Claire—and request a sit down for the week after Jethro’s wedding. Repo knew us Winstons as kids and used to insist we call him Uncle Repo. He and my daddy used to be good friends, but I had no idea if they still considered each other brothers.
Also of note, I suspected Repo was—in fact—Jessica James’s biological father. I hadn’t shared this theory with Duane about his woman, but I was fairly certain. However, that’s a different story for a different day.
The good news was Repo sounded amused by the whole business with Isaac Sylvester. The bad news was I could hear Catfish in the background making threats.
Then on Sunday, the pastor’s wife had cornered me after church and asked if I knew anything about roses. I did not. But I knew who did.
“Yes, I asked a question. Where were you on Friday?” Jethro asked again.
I scratched my beard. My phone buzzed in my pocket, so I pulled it out and read the screen.
Jenn: I had a lox bagel for lunch and thought of you.
I studied her text for a full minute, re-reading it several times. Jenn and I had sent each other a quantity of texts since Saturday morning. I’d never sent a quantity of texts to anyone. Up to this point in my life, text messaging was for relaying grocery lists and status updates.
But now they were mini-conversations, each holding weight and importance, yet none adequately satisfied the missing-person perpetual indigestion. I wanted to see her. We had too many things left unsettled. It was time to impose order on the chaos and plan our course. It was time to move forward together.
And, in the interest of full disclosure, I couldn’t stop thinking about her body. I couldn’t stop thinking about all the things I wanted to do to her, all the ways I wanted to monopolize her time and space
“Cletus?” Jethro asked hesitantly.
“Just a minute.” I held my finger up and typed a quick response.
Cletus: Why’d you think of me? Because I’m fishy? Cheesy?
Jenn: Because it had capers; lox bagels give a whole new meaning to the word “capering.”
I grinned at that. She had this effect on me. Was my case was terminal?
“So, Friday?” Jethro prompted again.
“I was, uh . . .” I scratched my jaw. “None of your business.”
He was quiet for a stretch and I could feel his eyes on me. Finally, he said, “Fine. Suit yourself. I’m here on a mission.”
“What’s that?”
“Are you bringing anyone to the wedding?”
“Yes,” I said, but then frowned. I’d forgotten to ask Jennifer to the wedding. My frowned deepened because, last anyone heard, she’d agreed to go with Jackson James.
“Well?”
“Well what?” My eyes flickered to his, then away.
“Who is it?”
I slipped my phone back in my pocket and glowered at my brother. “Why do you want to know?”
He gave me a patient smile. “It’s Shelly, right?”
“What’s Shelly?”
“Who you’re bringing. You’re bringing Shelly, right?”
“Why would I do that?”
Two lines of surprise and consternation formed between Jethro’s eyebrows. “Because you said—I mean, last I heard you’d decided she was it.”
I thought back over the last several months to my conversation with Jethro in early September. And then I decided I’d been a damn fool.
“No. Not Shelly. Shelly Sullivan is my employee and I’ll thank you not to speak of her in such terms.” I glanced at my watch, remembering that the last time I’d spotted Shelly she was trying to replace a leaky radiator. I needed to check on her progress. It was almost closing and I didn’t want her staying late. She always stayed late. The woman needed to find some sort of work-life balance.
Jethro sounded like he didn’t know whether to frown or laugh. “Are you serious?”
“As an armadillo in a laundry mat.” I turned from the counter and marched to the door at the back of the office.
“Hey, where are you going?”
“I need to close the shop,” I called over my shoulder.
I heard his footsteps follow around the counter and he hastened to keep up. “What happened to finding your life partner?”
“I changed my mind.”
“You changed—”