by Emily Childs
“I’m on break. Besides, no one is in the office except Jo. I’ve been watching.”
“What?” I cough through the sucker-punch to my gut. “Jo’s inside? Why didn’t you say anything, man?”
Blood rushing to my head hasn’t happened from mention of a woman before. Not to me. But there she is, hands clasped in front of her body, rocking on her heels. I can’t stop the smile from spreading. From the looks of it, she’s waiting for me.
“So, it’s true,” August says, his dark eyes shading like newly watered soil.
“What’s true?” I turn to the sink to wash a bit of the grit off my hands, then slip out of my jumpsuit.
“Lily and Ollie have been talking.”
That brings me to stop. “Talking? What about? What did they say?”
August closes the supply catalogue. “Wow. They were only speculating, but your face is telling me they aren’t far off. What did you do, Zac?”
“Nothing,” I grumble as I stride by. “Now do something productive, or I’ll fire you.”
“No, you won’t.”
True, but I won’t give August the satisfaction. Holding my breath until it burns, I step into the lobby. Jo turns over her shoulder, her glimmering eyes sparkle like gemstones as a shy grin fills those lips. I’ve thought of little else than the way they tasted.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” I say, with an extra swipe to my forehead.
The ridges of Jo’s cheeks pink like cherry blossoms, and my head rushes again. “I, uh . . . I broke into your house again to do laundry and I thought I’d come . . . say hello . . . I guess.”
I smile and step closer. Dirt and grime seem trivial right now. “I’m glad you did.”
Jo swallows with effort, her eyes scan my face, they travel to my mouth, I think. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” she whispers.
I gingerly brush my fingertips over the tops of her hand. She shudders. I go out on a limb and guess the guys are watching, so I carefully adjust to hide the way I curl my fingers with hers. “You’re doing everything right to me. I wanted to ask if you were busy tomorrow night . . . or tonight. Or whenever.”
“You seem nervous, Zachariah.”
“Maybe for the first time in a long time, I am.”
“I like it. But I actually have plans tomorrow night.”
Unexpected, but okay. Perhaps Jo has more of a social life in Honeyville than I realized. I forget to think when her fingers trail down my arm, unashamed and intentional.
“I have a party I’m going to. Someone forgot to mention he had a birthday this weekend. To be honest, I’m a little offended I wasn’t invited by him and took an invitation from his friends instead.”
I laugh. “I forgot. It was supposed to be a surprise, but Ollie can’t keep a secret about a party if her life depended on it. To be fair, I just found out yesterday. I’m sure it’s not something that interests you, a hotshot from New York. You wouldn’t want to hang out with a bunch of hicks anyway.”
She smacks my shoulder and tilts her head. I don’t care who’s watching, I want to kiss her, but I bask in the tension instead. She lowers her voice. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”
“Probably not.”
“Fine, I was going to get you a gift, but not now.”
“Show up,” I say. “Gift satisfied, Jo.”
Her phone dings, she nearly drops it from startling. “Timer’s done,” she whispers. “I should go. There’s one more appointment at the clinic tonight. Um, but I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Jo,” I say as she backs toward the door. “I don’t think I’m the only one who’s nervous.”
When she smiles, Jo’s face lights in a soft glow, and I wish we hadn’t been at such odds, so I could’ve enjoyed it more. “It feels good to be nervous again.”
My chest squeezes, like a lovesick teenager, I’m clenched and clammy. I’ve gone out with a lot of women, but I’ve never had this feeling. Fresh, addicting, all of it new. Uncharted territory in a lot of ways, but I don’t care if I ever find my way back.
“See you tomorrow.”
“You will, Zac.”
I watch her leave, frozen in the lobby, and don’t move until someone pounds on the window dividing the shop from me. I groan and roll my eyes. Rafe and August are red in the face from laughing, and of course, Andy is making lewd movements. I stomp into the shop. “Did I hire men or teenagers? Come on, let’s get this done and get out of here.”
I slip back under the SUV, ignoring taunts and questions. I refuse to let any of the guys see the way my mouth is locked in a stupid, hopeful smile.
But there’s no way to help that.
The house is filled with the people I care about, but a few others I don’t even know, thanks to Jace, Will, and Andy. At least Andy’s friends don’t creep around the single women like Andy does.
If I hear the fallen angel pick-up line from the guy one more time, I’ll lose my mind. But I do laugh when Rafe finally eases the red plastic cup out of Andy’s hands and leads him to the back door for some fresh air.
Crowds are fine, but I’d been hoping it would be more close friends, and Jo. Definitely Jo. I peer over my cup to where she stands with Olive and Jace and a few ladies I don’t know.
Silky, smooth fabric flutters around her curves. She’s worn T-shirts or jeans most days, but the dress she’s wearing exposes the soft skin on her back, and my pulse won’t stop thudding in my head. Jo catches me, smiles, then jerks her head, inviting me to join them.
“I think you’re hooked, man,” Rafe says.
I clap Rafe on the shoulder and hand him my cup. “I know, and I think I’m good with that.”
I push my way through the bodies, waving and thanking people for shouting ‘Happy Birthday’ right in my face as I pass. Once my hand finds the small of Jo’s back, I breathe easier. It’s strange touching in public, but I want this. I’m pretty sure she wants this. She shudders when I wrap my arm around her waist, my hand resting on her hip. Her hair smells like cinnamon and I could get used to the way her head fits perfectly under my chin.
“Took you long enough to come over,” she says. “I never knew how popular you were, Mr. Dawson.”
Maybe everyone else but her should leave. “I don’t know most of these people,” I say against her temple.
Olive and Dot smirk, but pretend they aren’t watching. Let them watch. I’d rather keep close to Jo than pretend nothing is going on.
“You know, I’m a little embarrassed I need to ask, but how old are you?”
We know tender details of each other’s lives, but we don’t know how old the other is. Sort of backward. “Uh, twenty-four.”
Jo takes a drink, a glimmer in her eye. “So young.”
“You can’t be that much older than me.”
“Maybe I’m in a different decade.”
“Maybe I like older women,” I tell her, enjoying the way she stills when I touch her chin.
“Well, that’s good news, because I turned twenty-six three months ago.”
“Wow, you’re practically a different generation.”
She shoves me and we laugh. As the night goes on, we laugh a lot. The ease in Jo’s expression creates a stark contrast from the first time we met. Wiping a tear from the corner of my eye, I watch as Jo and Jace try to toss darts. Jace sticks out her tongue in concentration, then gives me a new hole in the wall. Jo winces and Jace hurries to apologize, but soon she’s cursing when Jo throws her dart one ring from the center. I nearly topple when she pounces into my arms, squeezing tight around my waist. Everyone laughs then, and Will goes on to torment Jace for her epic failure. Jo lifts her head from my shoulder, the corners of her full smiled faded a bit.
“Who is that?” She gestures to the corner of the kitchen.
Great. My mouth tightens, not because it matters, but because I’m surprised she showed up. I don’t even have time to prepare before the skinny brunette and her posse are crossing the room, homed in
on us.
“Happy birthday, Zac.”
I clear my throat, my arm still around Jo’s shoulders. “Thanks, Callie.” It’s usually no big deal running into women I’ve dated before, but Callie is a different sort of woman. I’m to blame, probably, since I sort just stopped texting her after I met her parents. The parents weren’t the reason I ghosted her either.
“Who is this?” Callie lifts one of her penciled eyebrows. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”
Jo doesn’t miss a beat and juts out her hand. “Jo Richards. I’m the one who wrecked his shop.”
Jo snickers and I clamp my jaw tight to keep from laughing. Callie isn’t amused, clearly. She narrows her eyes. “This is the one who tried to screw you over?”
“We’ve gotten to know each other better. She’s not so bad,” I say, and hug Jo against my side. She tilts her head, and sort of hums through a smile. I’m not sure if she’s had too much to drink, or totally faking it for the show.
Callie crosses her arms. “Yeah, I can see that.” She pats Jo’s arm. “Be warned, sweetie. This one doesn’t stick around. Don’t expect a phone call.”
Jo plops her hand on Callie’s shoulder, mouth wide. “Oh, no. Is that what he did?” Jo wheels on me, glaring. “You, Zachariah, are a jerk.”
“Yeah, well don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Callie says. “Come on ladies, let’s get out of here.”
Jo waves sloppily as they leave, and I think it’s time to cut her off before her voice steadies and she snorts. “Well, she’s a peach.”
“You know how to fake being drunk.” I roll my eyes. “I thought you were going to gut me and join the Callie brigade.”
Jo brushes her hands along my shoulders, lifting her chin, so I’m tempted to kiss her again right in front of everyone. “Lucky for you, Dot and Olive already pointed out Lady Flawless tonight. According to Dot, Miss Callie attempted to change a perfectly good specimen to impress her parents.”
Zac clicks his tongue. “Dot called me a perfect specimen, did she?”
“Is she wrong?”
“I’ll let you decide, Jo.” I glance in the direction Callie went. “I didn’t handle it the best to be sure, but I promise I’m not a fling sort of guy.”
“I know, Zac,” Jo whispers. “Trust me, you’re a whole lot more than that.”
The party goes past midnight, and by the time I wave goodbye to Rafe and Olive and the others, the house is a total mess. Jo hovers around, scooping up trash, she glances at me a few times, and my throat goes tight.
My palms are clammy as I close the front door, trapping us inside. The slightest hum of pink crests Jo’s cheeks when she claps her hands in front of her body and clicks her tongue. “Well, I should probably get going. Have a nice birthday with your mom tomor—”
Her voice hitches as I curl my arms around her, drawing her body against mine. If I wait another second to touch her, I’ll combust. I lean my lips next to her ear. “Maybe you could stay a little longer.”
I press my lips to her jaw, to the corner of her mouth. Her hands fiddle with the collar of my shirt. “Zac . . .”
“Tell me to stop, Jo, and I’ll stop.”
She grins against my skin. “Don’t you dare.”
I kiss her. Fingers in her hair, her palms on my face. I kiss her like it’s the first time, the last, and everything in between. The kiss has levels. Gentle, at first, like the calm shore until a storm strikes and I’m lost to her. I cradle her in my arms, deepen the kiss. We stumble and laugh when my back hits the wall.
My pulse races between my ears. I kiss her deeper, slower, with meaning I hope she understands. I decide right then, with Jo in my arms, there isn’t anything else I could ever want.
19
Jo
I use masculine scented hair gel to call out my natural curls. After last night, my body wash is woodsy and delicious too. They smell like Zac. He insisted on sending me with toiletries I admitted I’d run out of, and this morning I can’t say I mind. It’s like he is here. I breathe deeply just to take it all in.
I’d returned to the motel close to two in the morning but woke with the sun. Like a race to communicate first, I’d sent a Happy Birthday text to Zac the same moment I received one from him saying, Would it be the worst thing if I canceled on my mom and spent the day with you?
I’d laughed, but obviously told him there would be no canceling on his mother. Not that I’m afraid of Agatha, but maybe a little. In a good way. She’s a woman who doesn’t take nonsense. Like her son ditching her to make out with his . . . well, what am I?
My shoulders slump.
I’m a girl who is here temporarily, but at least on my side, I think I’m falling. The big one. The fall where your heart ends up in your throat and you can’t think straight. But what happens when I go home? Has Zac even thought about any of this?
I begin brushing my teeth to mull it all over, but my thoughts are interrupted by a knock at the door. Maybe Maggie. She’s been mutely delivering beignets after my last order and I think she secretly likes me.
But I choke on my toothpaste, maybe a little dribbles out of my mouth. Zac stands in all his glory at the door. A black T-shirt, nice jeans, beard deliciously trimmed. It takes all my grit not to pull him inside and give him the pastiest, spearmintiest, probably grossest kiss he’s ever had.
“What are you doing here?” I mumble and hurry back to the bathroom to spit. “I’m not even dressed.” True, I’m wearing an old Ozzie T-shirt and flannel pajama pants. Still, Zac looks at me like I’m ready to stroll a catwalk or something.
He invites himself in and closes the door, then in another breath his arm is curled around my waist, his face buried in the crook of my neck. “Mmm, you smell good.”
I lean against him, closing my eyes, until I remember he’s not supposed to be here. I smack his chest. “Zachariah. Go away.”
“It’s my birthday Jo, and I wanted to see you for my birthday. Are you really kicking me out on my birthday?”
“Say it’s your birthday one more time, I’m confused what day it is.”
He laughs as he spins me around, his warm, perfect hands trap my face. He’s still smiling when he pulls me in for a kiss. Nice, sweet, melting. I could kiss him all day. He pulls back but hovers his mouth over mine. “I missed you.”
“The six hours we’ve been apart.”
He feigns offense. “Josephine, are you telling me you didn’t miss me? I’m hurt.”
I snort and guide him toward the door. “Go with your mother!”
“Fine, fine, fine,” he says, but wheels around and leans his back on the door. He pulls me against him. “One more for the road.”
I hug his waist. “I think it’s time for you to admit, Mr. Dawson, that you’re glad I crashed into your invisible pole.”
“If I would’ve known all this was going to happen, I would’ve been happy for you to have smashed the very lighted, very visible pole and then moved aside so you could take out the front lobby.”
I tighten my hold on his waist. “I’m sort of glad you took me prisoner too.”
On my toes, I arch in for another kiss, but it’s interrupted by a stern rap on the door.
“Zachariah, is she coming?”
Blood drains from my face. “Is that your mom?”
He chuckles. “I told you, I wanted to see you today. Come on, do you think I’d really dare cancel on that woman?”
“I am not crashing your mommy-son date.”
“Mommy what?” He laughs and slips his fingers through mine. “Come, please. It was practically her idea.”
Heat flushes in my face. It’s been a long time since I’ve gotten to know parents, probably the most intimidating thing about dating. Oh my—are we dating? He wants me to spend time with his small family. My stomach swoops and if my dad were alive, I’d definitely want him to meet Zac too. This is happening so fast.
When I meet his expectant face again, he mouths, My birthday, and I’m done for.
&n
bsp; “Ugh, fine, Zachariah. But don’t think I cave every time. I take birthdays seriously, so that’s all this is.”
“Sure, Jo. I’ll let you believe that for now.”
I cock a brow. “Did you just say you’ll let me?”
He kisses me then and I laugh. I think I hear Agatha snicker through the door, and I remember she’s waiting, so I hurry to get dressed.
Hair still damp, I don’t care. Zac’s hand is in mine and his mom laughs with me like she loves me. I miss my dad, but Agatha and her beautiful son are starting to fill a hole I thought was irreparable.
The minute high school wrapped up, I lost touch with most of my friends. Now I’m starting to wonder if I ever had close friends to begin with because the giggling and primping and twittering that’s going on in Dot’s beach house is something I can’t remember ever doing. And I love it.
Dot’s family is over-the-top wealthy, that much is obvious by the state of the beach house. I’ve traipsed through the two levels of white and blue décor, drank tea on the wide wrap-around porch with the girls, and dreamed of baking cookies and watching the sunset every day from this very spot. It’s not a handout either. Dot rents it from her parents, so she can be close to the clinic. She’s impressive, but then all of Zac’s girlfriends are amazing.
In Dot’s room, I watch the white-tipped waves roll in and out with low tide. Close to shore silvery curves of porpoises play in the surf.
“Here, try this on,” Dot interrupts and tosses a silky yellow blouse onto the bed.
I finger the light fabric that reminds me of butterfly wings. “What’s wrong with this?” I glance at my white T-shirt and jean shorts.
Dot snickers and pins her red bangs off her forehead. “Nothing. You’re a babe, but I’m keen to watch Zac lose his mind.”
“Don’t worry, Jo,” Olive says from where she rummages through Dot’s closet too. “Dottie loves to give backhanded compliments. She’s genuine, though.”
“Is that a backhanded compliment?” Dot asks.
“You’re basically saying Zac won’t drool over her with what she’s wearing,” Olive explains with a smile.