“Hello,” she says warmly and motions me into a small living room with a wide smile. “You must be Jerico. I’m Trista’s mom, Jolene.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I say, calling on my suave side I’ve cultured over the years since going into private business. I’ve had to schmooze with big wigs, including everything from U.S. senators to sheiks.
I’m prepared to engage in small talk if necessary, but Trista walks out of a small hallway wearing a beautiful, sleeveless gown I bought for her and had delivered today. It’s a deep sapphire blue and made of satin. It’s simplistic yet very elegant with a square neckline and thin crisscross straps across her shoulders. It drops wickedly low in the back. While it’s not overly tight, it perfectly silhouettes her body. She did her hair in a loose bun that sits low on the right side of her head with wisps of hair left out to frame her face and long neck.
She looks simply amazing as I drink her in, perusing her up and down. When I finally catch her eyes, she’s smirking at me. I give her a wink right back and tell her, “You look stunning. I’m glad the gown fit.”
Trista gives a one-time around twirl, and my throat goes slightly dry at her bare back. I sneak a peek over at her mother, who has one arm across her stomach and the other pressed over her mouth where I can tell she’s hiding an extremely affectionate and proud smile if the light in her eyes is any indication.
“So beautiful,” Jolene finally says. “But then, I’d say that if you were wearing a burlap sack.”
Trista rolls her eyes at her mom. “You have to say that. You’re my mom.”
Jolene laughs and waves off her daughter’s comment. Trista walks over to the couch and for the first time, I notice the little girl sitting there, reading a book.
Her niece, Corinne. She looks like any ordinary child would look, and I see the family resemblance although Corinne’s hair is darker than Trista and Jolene’s.
Trista bends over her, putting her hand under Corinne’s chin to lift it so she gets her attention. “Can you say hello to Mr. Jameson?”
Corinne’s eyes cut to me, and she gives a lackluster, “Hello.”
“Hi Corinne,” I say with a smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Her eyes drop to her book again, and Trista’s eyes go dim with worry.
Jolene walks over to the couch and sits down beside Corinne as she says, “Now, you two get out of here and enjoy your night. Corinne and I are going to read some books for a while and maybe watch a movie.”
Corinne doesn’t react, but I catch the look between mom and daughter that says all at once, “We love this little girl, yet we can’t make everything right in her world.”
Jolene gives a confident nod to Trista—a silent statement that she’s got it covered. Trista smiles and bends over to kiss Corinne’s head. “Night-night, sweet girl. I’ll see you tomorrow morning for pancake day, okay?”
At that, Corinne lifts her head and gives Trista a delighted smile. “Can I help you flip them?”
Trista makes a scoffing sound. “Well, duh. Of course you’re going to flip them, silly.”
Corinne giggles, and the lines of worry around Trista’s eyes disappear.
“Okay, we’re out of here,” Trista says as she turns to me with a smile. I hold my hand out to her, and she takes it. Turning to her mom, I say, “It was nice to meet you, Jolene. And you too, Corinne.”
Jolene gives me a sweet smile as she puts her arm around Corinne’s shoulder. I even get a shy smile from the little girl.
We walk out of Trista’s home and when we hit the sidewalk that cuts over to the driveway, I say, “Corinne having a bad day?”
Trista sighs in frustration. “Danielle was supposed to call her today but didn’t.”
Never met Trista’s sister, but I can categorically say I officially can’t stand either of her siblings.
When we reach the car, I open the passenger door and help her in. When she settles and starts to grab the seat belt, I ask with a jerk of my head over my shoulder at the realtor sign in the yard. “You’re selling your house?”
Trista grimaces. “Trying to. Had a buyer, which would have given me the equity I needed to pay off my… um… loan, but found out there’s a termite problem. So that fell through. I’m kind of at a standstill now because I don’t have the money to fix the damage.”
Oddly, I’m relieved that’s the reason she’s selling, and not because she may be moving away. I give her a nod and close the door.
When I get in on my side, I turn to her. “Do you need some money to get it fixed?”
Trista’s head snaps my way. “What?”
“Money,” I repeat. “A loan.”
Trista snorts at me. “No thank you. My indentured servitude to you is almost up. I need to get out and find a job with real benefits.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “I mean a real loan. With a long-term repayment and low interest. I’d help you out if you needed it.”
Her head tilts to the side. “Why? Your favor to Jayce has essentially been repaid.”
If I tell her the truth, it would be something along the lines of, “Well, Trista… see, I care for you. I think. I’m not sure. I’ve got all these crazy feelings that I’ve never had before. Not with Michelle. Not with anyone.”
But of course, I don’t tell her that because this thing will be over in ten days and we’ll go our separate ways. Whether I use my relationship with Trista to hurt her brother remains to be seen, but I’m not about to give in to admitting any of these feelings that might be nothing more than a passing fancy.
So instead, I just say, “If you need help, call me. If not, that’s fine too.”
“Okay,” she says hesitantly and before it can get anymore awkward, I change directions.
Leaning across her, I open the glove compartment and pull out a black velvet box. I open it and show her the contents.
Trista gasps as she ogles the diamond necklace in horror. “You said this wasn’t a date.”
I grimace, because I did tell her that in a fit of anxiety after I asked her to go to this, then hid behind my excuse that it was part of her job duties to me. “Relax, Trista. It’s on loan from a friend. It turns into a pumpkin at midnight.”
Trista’s chest decompresses with the amount of air she expels in relief, but then I reach into my coat pocket and pull out a much smaller box. Handing it to her, I say, “But… I did buy these for you to wear with the necklace. They’re yours to keep.”
I busy myself with taking the necklace out of the box to undo the clasp. It’s a beautiful graduated diamond tennis necklace that I think Helena told me was a total of ten carats. The diamond earrings I bought are each a carat, although I could have afforded much more and had contemplated something much bigger. But that spoke too much of things I wasn’t ready to talk about, so I went smaller so there was no pressure on either side.
“They’re beautiful,” Trista murmurs as she looks at the earrings.