I wanted to trust that my mother would be fair. However, in light of the fact that painting my nails a different color was seen as an insult (at best) or an aggressive act of rebellion (at worst) worthy of recriminations and hysteria, I needed to take my financial future more seriously. I needed to start planning, rather than allowing others to dictate my path.
“I don’t think your parents will give us much trouble.” Cletus slipped his hands around to my back, adding conversationally, “The Olivers are just as old in these parts as the Paytons and the Donners. I’m sure your parents will be reasonable, when it comes to it.”
My eyebrows bounced high on my forehead and I stared at him with plain disbelief. “Cletus, I love my parents. But they are not reasonable. My mother had a fit last week when I told her I didn’t like wearing yellow dresses. And my father has always had a very particular idea of what kind of man he wants me to marry.”
The dimness and shadow of the porch meant I couldn’t see him very well, but I sensed him stiffen, his hands flex on my back. “What kind of man is that?”
“It’s a combination of things,” I said flatly. “First and foremost, I think he’d like someone who has, or is capable of, achieving impressive wealth and notoriety. If not impressive notoriety, then abundant wealth would do just fine. Now I know you could do both, if you set your mind to it, but I have no desire for abundant wealth or notoriety. And I like—well, I mostly like—that you don’t either.”
Cletus was a talented musician, but he never put himself out there. He never allowed the spotlight to shine too brightly on himself. If he didn’t want the spotlight, that was one thing. But if he feared the spotlight, if he feared rejection or lack of control . . . well, that was another.
Cletus examined me. Eventually, his hands slipped from my back and he recaptured my hand, leading me toward the front door.
“You think he’d be happy with anyone who has money?”
I sighed sadly. “When I was younger, I had a different view of his priorities. He used to tell me that he was going to find me a prince, someone to take care of me.” I swallowed, inexplicably the back of my throat felt hot and uncomfortable. “I think he’s always considered me weak.”
“Isn’t that what you want now? Isn’t that what all this husband business was about? Someone to take care of you?” Cletus reached above the front door and seemed to be fiddling with something I couldn’t see.
“No! That wasn’t and isn’t the point at all. I wanted someone—I want someone—I can take care of. Not the other way around. I have all this energy and affection and I’ve had no one to share it with, no one to give it to. I spend my days at the bakery, and my nights, too. My mother doesn’t need anything from me but to play a part. My brother pretends I don’t exist. And my father thinks I’m an idiot.”
Cletus turned, as though he were going to contradict me, but then remained silent.
“You know it’s true. He thinks I’m simple. He’s not the only one in town who thinks as much, either.” I studied his back, or what I could see of it in the low light. “I bet you used to think I was missing some marbles, too.”
Retrieving what he’d been searching for, Cletus turned back to me. “I didn’t think you were simple.”
“Then what did you think?”
His silhouette moved and I could sense he was struggling. I heard him slide the key in the lock.
Helpfully, I supplied, “The wheel is spinning, but the hamster is dead?”
“No.”
“If she had another brain, it’d be lonely?”
He faced me. “Jenn—”
“An intellect rivaled only by garden tools?”
“Would you—”
“The elevator doesn’t quite reach the top?”
Cletus wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me forward, his mouth easily capturing mine. He turned me back against the outside wall of the house, kissing me thoroughly.
When I was officially fuzzy headed and hot under the collar, he leaned away and explained gruffly, “I never thought you were simple. I felt sorry for you.”
My stomach fell to my feet.
I didn’t like that. I didn’t feel sorry for myself, not anymore. That party had officially ended. I took responsibility for my inaction, seeing things clearly now. Yet the fact that I’d been a person he’d pitied made my throat tight with angry embarrassment.
But before my chagrin could crystalize completely, he added, “But now I realize, I should have felt sorry for myself.” He dipped his head again, brushing a cherishing kiss over my lips, then whispering, “I was the one missing out.”
***
Claire’s house was awesome. And being there with Cletus was awesome. And the entire evening after was awesome.
Cletus drove us back to the bakery after giving me a quick tour of Claire’s place. While I worked and baked, we discussed everything from new chemistry experiments he’d found for me to attempt with the Girl and Boy Scouts, to a recipe I’d spotted in an old cookbook for sausage pie.
We decided to make the sausage pie together. I would make the crust, he would make the filling.