“Ugh, this one’s really stuck on there. I’m gonna have to get the rest of my tools,” he says, climbing back down the ladder slowly. I squint and look up at him, feeling a bead of sweat forming right on my brow.
Without thinking, I reach down for the hem of my shirt, lifting it up to expose my bare stomach as I use it to wipe my forehead. When I drop it, I’m surprised to see him staring at me. But not for long. Because the shutter that was “stuck,” suddenly comes crashing down from 20 feet above us, landing right on his head.
“Whoa!” he calls out.
“Oh, shit,” I say, fighting the urge to laugh. He stumbles a bit, catching himself by placing a hand on the side of the house. When he finally straightens up, I take a step closer, pulling his hand from his head to survey the damage.
“You should let me clean that up,” I tell him. He reaches up again, feels the blood, and nods slowly.
“I don’t have anything here,” he says. I smile.
“We’re traveling with a four-year-old boy. We have the necessities, don’t worry.”
I lead him inside and pull out one of the kitchen chairs, motioning for him to sit down. I run up to our room and grab the first aid kit—which is actually a freezer bag filled with bandages, rubbing alcohol, and peroxide, and head back down to the kitchen.
“Well, at least the shutter came down,” I say with a chuckle. He rolls his eyes and leans his head back slightly.
I wash my hands in the sink and make my way over toward him. There’s a cut right above his eyebrow. He’ll live, but I’d hate the thought of anything scarring this pretty face of his. So it feels like my duty to see that it’s at least disinfected.
“Close your eyes,” I tell him, taking a few steps closer. I’m standing to his side, and I force myself to get closer. As I move within reach, I’m hit by a wave of his scent again—it’s sweet and musty, almost like mahogany. It’s intoxicating, and I have to clear my throat to remind myself that this is not a dream.
I take one step closer, and now, we’re just inches apart.
“This shouldn’t sting, but it will be cold,” I tell him, before pouring a capful of peroxide over the cut, and blotting at it with a towel. He squints a bit, then opens up his seaglass eyes, his long lashes batting a few times.
“Close them,” I direct him again. But he doesn’t listen right away. Instead, he leans back, squinting a bit, but not because of the pain, or the peroxide. It’s like he’s trying to read me, trying to figure something out. I raise my own eyebrows, taken aback by his, well, beauty. I’m not sure if it’s his scent, or the way his eyes are closing in on me, or the fact that he just got my sister a job. But my wires are crossing and all the angst and annoyance I’ve been feeling toward him has suddenly been replaced by something else. Something that makes me want to step just a little bit closer, stare just a little bit longer. The corners of my lips turn up.
“Close. Them.” A flicker of a smile flashes across his face, and he finally obeys.
I take my time with the rag, dabbing and blotting more than I probably need to. But there’s something really sweet in caring for him, touching him like this. As I lean in a little closer, I see his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, nervously, his hands flat on his knees. Finally, I carefully dry his forehead and place a bandage on. It feels wrong to cover up any portion of his chiseled face, but I know it’s necessary. Just as I’m admiring him for one last moment before his eyes open, there’s some commotion at the front door.
“Hey, ya’ll—” Berta calls, stomping through the house, and coming to an abrupt halt when she sees us. And that’s when I realize that I’m standing mere inches from his face, right in between his legs, my hand still on his face. We turn to her, both of us putting a little bit of space between us.
“What’s going on here?” Berta asks, putting a few brown bags down on the counter. Berta is a tall woman, and she’s not heavy, but she’s not skinny, either. She’s got a big chest, and a long, blondish grayish braid that’s always flipped over one shoulder. She’s got some prominent wrinkle lines around her mouth and eyes, but her eyes are kind.
“Shutter fell, clocked me right on the eye,” he says, pointing to his battle wound. She nods, her eyes scanning both of us like she’s looking for some sort of evidence.
“Uh-huh,” she says, before a brief pause. Finally, she speaks again, letting the moment pass. “We had a bunch of leftovers this morning, so I figured I’d bring some by.” I smile and nod, walking over toward her to put the food away.
“Thank you so much, Berta,” I say, “this is so nice of you.”
I can feel the two of them giving each other some sort of look, but I’m not sure what conversation they’re having in silence.
“So I’m sure you both heard that I’ve hired a new waitress,” she says. I smile at her again.
“Yes, and we can’t thank you enough,” I say. She rolls her eyes and waves her hand at me.
“It’s nothin’, I could really use the help, and Jesse here gave a good recommendation,” she says, slapping him on the back. “So, since you’re gonna be cutting back on your shifts here comin’ up, why don’t you two come back to the Shell tonight for a little celebration of Jesse’s time behind the bar?”
She looks from me, to Jesse, back to me.
“It’s been way too long since this boy has had a real, fun night. What do you say?” she asks. I look at Jesse, who’s awkwardly looking down at the ground. I smile.
“I’d love to. Really, I can’t thank you enough, both of you, for giving her this job,” I say. “You don’t know what it means for us.”
With that, I feel Jesse’s eyes on me again.
“Great! We’ll see you two kids tonight,” Berta says, grabbing her keys out of her pocket and heading for the door.
“You don’t have to go back,” Jesse says, once Berta is out the front door. I turn to him.
“I want to,” I tell him. He swallows.
“Okay,” he says back. There’s a long, awkward silence before he clears his throat again. “Thanks for, uh, patching me up.”
I nod.
“Guess I’m not the only one who needs supervision on the ladder,” I say. He smiles as he walks by me. I let out a long breath once I think he’s out of the room, but then I hear the old wood floors creak beneath his feet as he turns back around.
“I’m glad you’re goin’ tonight,” he says, his voice quiet. I blink twice, not positive that I heard him say what I think he said.
That night, I’m doing my hair again, and this time I’m spending a little bit more time on my makeup. Millie gave me a top to borrow—a really cute little flowy tank top. It’s nicer than anything I brought with me, and makes me feel a little more fancy. She’s sitting on the bed in the empty guestroom next to ours that we’ve slowly but surely turned into our vanity station, watching me wind my hair around the only curling iron we have ever owned.
“So, you think some other guy is gonna bring you home again this time?” Millie teases, clutching a pillow to her chest. I give her a smirk through the mirror as I grab another piece of hair.
“I don’t think so. Actually, I think I might be the one driving Jesse home tonight,” I tell her. She gives me a perplexed look. “I think this whole night is supposed to kind of be celebrating him. I told Berta I’d be his DD if needed.”
Millie smiles and nods as she continues watching me. And for a second, I feel a wave of guilt washing over me. This is the second time that she’s stayed back alone while I’ve gone out. I know she’s a mom, but that doesn’t mean she should never have a break.
“Mill, do you want to go tonight?” I ask, really, really hoping she says no. Her eyebrows pinch together.
“What?”
“Well, I mean, I’ve already gone out once, and we’ve been here for a while. You haven’t gotten to go out at all yet. And after everything, you could probably use a night to decompress.” She smiles at me, and scoots forward on the bed. She takes my hand in he
rs, looking down at our intertwined fingers for a minute.
“Lee, you’ve stopped your life so many times for us. And this is the first time in my whole life that I can remember closing my eyes at night, and not worrying about what real-life nightmare might wake me. And it’s because of you. I get to sit here with my favorite little person in the whole world, in this little paradise you found for us, and just watch him sleep. Or read a book if I want to, or stretch myself out on a lounge outside and not worry. I’ll get my independent time when I start this job, which I also can’t wait for. In a matter of weeks, you’ve turned our lives around. Go have fun. I’ll be here cozying up with this,” she says, holding up one of her favorite old romance novels.
I smile back at her, my heart swelling in my chest. All I’ve ever wanted for the two of them was peace. And for right now, they have it.
A few minutes later, I’m downstairs on one of the porch rocking chairs, letting the cool evening breeze rustle through my manufactured waves that I so desperately want to look natural. Finally, I see the barn doors slide open, and I perk up.
Jesse is wearing a black button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, and a dark pair of jeans. He’s got boots on his feet again, but these ones aren’t dirty and scuffed. These must be his goin’ out boots, I think, chuckling slightly to myself at the simplicity of men’s fashion in a small bayside town. I smile when I see him, knowing he can’t make out the expression on my face from so far away in the dark.
“Hey,” he says, as he ambles toward the house. “You ready?”
I stand up, and I feel his eyes scouring me.
“Ready,” I say, hopping down the steps. He jiggles his keys as I walk toward him, his eyes dropping to the ground, to the keys, and back up to me.
“You...uh...nice shirt,” he says, before walking toward the truck. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. I think Jesse Rowan just tried to compliment me. Before I have time to get there myself, he’s on the passenger side. He reaches over and yanks my door open, standing by as he waits for me to climb in. I tilt my head, narrowing my eyes at him.
“Jesse Rowan...a gentleman?” I say, grabbing hold of the handle and climbing in. I might have...might have stuck my ass out just a tad more than necessary as I pulled myself up to the raised truck cab. I see him roll his eyes playfully as he fights his own smile, then shuts my door and comes around to the driver’s side.
Six minutes later, we’re illegally double-parking at the Shell, and I can hear music flowing out of the windows again. Not jukebox music, though, live music. When we get inside, I realize it’s Rob’s band. He’s actually not a bad singer, and I was definitely right in assuming he had a local posse of single women to choose from. They’re gathered at the front of the dance floor by the stage, swaying their hips and even singing some of the lyrics to his songs. I recognize some of them from Amber’s group, but to my pleasant surprise, blondie herself is nowhere to be seen.
Jesse holds his hand out, motioning for me to head to the bar, and I take the lead. But as we get closer, Berta lays her eyes on us. She scurries to the microphone just as Rob is finishing his song, and snatches it.
“Hey, guys and gals, the man of the hour has finally made it in!” she says, holding a hand out in Jesse’s direction. The bar erupts into a loud cheer, and Jesse does that nervous head scratch thing, briefly raising the other hand in the air for a quick wave. I sneak a look at Rob, who seems less-than-pleased that he’s no longer in the spotlight, and even less pleased that Jesse is the one who stole it.
“Most of you know that Jesse and his sister suffered a huge loss last year. This world, and this town, will never be the same without Jack and Scarlett, but in our time of need, Jesse stepped up. He’s helped me keep this place running for over a year now, putting his own projects to the side. Jess, we wouldn’t be here without ya. I know they are proud,” Berta says, her bottom lip quivering. “To Jesse!”
“To Jesse!” the bar echoes, and Rob quickly snatches the mic back to pick up where he left off, nodding to me before he starts.
Berta makes her way over to us, patting us both on the back.
“Neither of you is paying tonight. And I had them save some curly fries for you in the back,” she tells Jesse. “I’m glad you’re here.” The two of them exchange a glance, and I see him reach a hand up to squeeze hers.
Other than with Caleb and Coby, I’ve almost never seen him show any type of emotion, let alone affection. It appears Jesse Rowan might be turning a new leaf. Or, I realize, maybe this side of him has always been there, he just hasn’t shown it.
As the night goes on, Rob and the band finally finish their set with some long-winded, slow, somewhat-pitchy ballad. The crowd has dissipated a bit, and while some of the other locals are talking with Jesse and pouring alcohol down his throat, I can feel Rob’s eyes on me from across the room. Then I see him out of the corner of my eye, coming toward me.
The first time, I was a little bit flattered. But this time, I’m just...not interested. There’s nothing particularly wrong with Rob, aside from his apparent need to dominate all female attention around him, but I just really don’t give a rat’s ass about what he has to say tonight. I turn on my barstool, taking a sip of my soda and looking up at the wall, admiring the photos Berta has framed above.
“So, we didn’t scare ya off last time, huh?” Rob asks, swiveling around on the stool next to me before throwing his foot up onto the bottom rung of mine.
“Not yet,” I say with a polite smile as I take another sip.
“What, just soda tonight? Jess not letting you have any fun?” he asks with a sly smile as he takes a swig of his beer. I shoot him a look.
“Let me?” I ask. He’s still got that dumb smile on his face.
“Nah, I get it. It’s cool of you to let him have his fun. If that’s even possible anymore.” I raise an eyebrow at him, and he goes on. “Look, it’s no secret the guy’s not exactly the life of the party. And since his parents died, it got even worse. It’s like he...the inn...everything about that place...was just stripped of anything happy.”
I look over at Jesse. He’s got a pained smile on his face, and I can see how uncomfortable he is being the center of attention. It’s true he hasn’t been the most accommodating host. It’s true that for the first month that we were in Baycrest, I found his personality repulsive and infuriating. But not one day has gone by that I haven’t felt happy since I’ve been here. I felt peace here in Baycrest for the first time in my entire life. At the inn. With Jesse. I take another sip of my soda and turn to Rob.
“I have to disagree with you, there, Rob,” I say. Now he raises an eyebrow at me. “It might not be the place everyone here remembers, but I can tell you from personal experience that there’s still some happiness left there.”
He throws another swig of his beer back before slamming the bottle down on the bar. He nods slowly as he wipes his mouth on his sleeve.
“Yeah, well. If you ever want to get out of the old wood shack while you’re here in town, you know where to find me,” he says. He stands up slowly, clearly not taking the defeat, and begins to turn, totally unaware that Jesse is standing directly behind him.
“Hey,” Jesse says, and Rob freezes in his place. “At least the wood shack offers breakfast.” Then, Jesse looks up at me and winks. “Most days.”
I smile as Rob’s eyes catch mine. I shrug and nod, and he turns on his heel and heads to the other direction of the bar, where he has a better chance of succeeding with someone of the opposite sex.
“So, I’m not usually quick to judge, but that guy’s an asshole,” I say. Jesse laughs—like, a real, hearty, out-loud laugh, and it makes my body tingle.
“That didn’t take you long to figure out,” he says, leaning back against the bar. Someone clicks through the jukebox, and a slow, twangy country song starts playing through the speakers. Couples make their way to the dance floor and sway to the sappy melody, including Rob and one of Amber’s friend
s.
Jesse clears his throat, and I can feel my heartrate accelerating. He inches just the tiniest bit closer to me, and I can feel the heat coming off of his body.
“These people really like their music,” I say, surprised at the nervousness in my own voice. He smiles and nods.
“Yeah, they do,” he says. Suddenly, I feel my feet scooting me just a smidge closer to him. We’re mere centimeters apart now, but I can’t take my eyes of the dance floor. I can’t look at him, because I don’t know what to do next. But out of the corner of my eye, I feel his eyes drop to me.
“Lena,” he says, just above a whisper. I turn slowly, looking up into his big, bay-colored eyes. I really, really like when he says my name.
“Yeah?”
He pauses, looking down at his hand, dangling off the bar just a pinch from my arm. He sighs.
“I, uh...good work on the inn so far,” he says.
I feel my heart sink. I feel his hand retreat just a bit, and I feel myself do the same. But in the same instance, I smile. Because I’m pretty sure that Jesse Rowan wanted to dance with me tonight. We might not have gotten there, but I think we both wanted to.
“Thanks,” I answer. “What do you say we go home?”
A slow smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“Home,” he says with a nod.
He doesn’t seem all that intoxicated, but I still offered to drive, and he was more than willing to hand over the keys. I’ve never driven anything this big before—in fact, growing up in the city, I didn’t drive a whole lot in general. This felt new, and powerful, and exciting. When I turn the key, the engine roars to life, and I feel this fire in my soul kick into gear. My eyes widen as I grip the wheel, and I can hear him chuckle.
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