I barked a disbelieving laugh. “So you’ll blackmail someone into putting itching powder into his shirts, but you won’t work through proper channels to resolve the issue, because you don’t want to tattle. Do I have that right?”
“It’s more complicated than that. But yes, that’s the gist of it.” His grumpy expression persisted. “I like deciding how to deal with those people who insist on being assholes.”
“You like control.”
Some of his grumpiness was replaced with suspicion. “That’s one way of putting it.”
I examined him, the unhappy set of his jaw, then spoke without premeditation. “I’d like to understand you.”
“I told you, I’m not very understandable.” He wasn’t meeting my gaze in a way that felt like avoidance.
On a hunch, I said, “Your brothers said that you don’t like bullies.”
Cletus’s hand stilled. He took a breath, then responded, “I don’t.”
“Maybe your vengeful impulses stem from your dislike of bullies. Speaking from firsthand experience, bullies can make you feel like you don’t have any control. And, if that’s the case, you are exceedingly understandable.”
He lifted his eyes to mine and our gazes held. I sensed he wanted to say something. I remained quiet, hoping the silence would drive it out of him.
He turned me such that my back was against the couch and we were both laying on our sides facing each other. His fingers dug into my hip.
“Jenn . . .” He stopped, as though he didn’t know how to continue.
I cupped his jaw and placed a soft kiss on his lips, then leaned away to gaze into his eyes.
He gathered a large breath, clearly torn about proceeding. I waited and offered a small, encouraging smile. Instead of speaking, he kissed me. He kissed me, and he tasted like me, and that thought had me warm and tingling all over.
Eventually, he pulled away, shaking his head. “Never mind. Never mind about that.”
I pressed my lips together to hide my disappointment, but said pragmatically, “One day, Cletus. One day you’ll trust me enough to speak your mind.”
His gaze moved over my face. “I already trust you.”
“But not enough.” I scratched his jaw through his beard. “One day.”
“Jenn, some of my secrets won’t make you happy. In fact, they’ll horrify you.”
“I know.” I continued threading my fingers through his bushy beard, liking the texture just as much as the hair on his chest. “Remember how afraid of you I was? When I first came to you? I know you have dark corners, and I think I know why.”
Cletus’s expression became carefully blank, but his eyes communicated a depth of sadness that felt like a punch to the stomach.
“Oh, honey.” I gave him a small smile of compassion, then kissed him again, wrapping my arms around his neck and pressing my body to his. “You take your time. Anything you want to share, I want to hear. But something you taught me over these last few months is that no one can control who you are—fundamentally, who you are in your heart—except for you. The decision is always yours.”
His arms came around me tightly, holding on as though I might disappear. Or I might leave.
“No matter what happened in your past, what ghosts might lurk there, the road you take is ultimately up to you,” I squeezed him back, “but—selfishly—I hope it’s always the road I’m on.”
CHAPTER 25
“Three things cannot hide for long: the Moon, the Sun and the Truth.”
― Gautama Buddha
Jennifer
I waited as long as I could. When I could wait no longer, I blurted, “Where are we going?”
“I have an idea.” His eyes darted to me, then back to the road. “More precisely, it’s a surprise.”
It was Tuesday late afternoon. We were in Cletus’s car—the Geo, not the Buick—and we’d left the bakery so he could take me to some undisclosed location. Cletus had come to the bakery after work as promised and said he wanted to take me someplace before night fell.
Presently, we’d been driving in the direction of Cades Cove for about ten minutes.
“A surprise at four-thirty?”
The sun was setting and had set the sky on fire: puffy red, pink, and orange clouds painted even more vividly by the forty-degree temperatures. Something about cold weather this time of year made the sunsets more intense.
“This surprise isn’t dependent on time of day.” He slowed, flicking on his blinker. “And we’re here.”
I squinted out the window, recognizing the long driveway and the white farmhouse at the end of it. “This is Claire McClure’s place.”
“It is.” Cletus pulled into a spot at the front of the house and cut the ignition.
“What are we doing here?”
Not missing a beat, he said, “We’re robbing the place.”
With that, he exited the car, then walked around to my side, leaving me to shake my head at his antics. I opened my door, but he caught it, offering a hand as I stood.
“What should we take first?” I pointed to the front porch. “The flower pots or the house numbers?”