Because Jenna could sort of understand him abusing his position as mayor of the small city in New Jersey where she’d been born. Taking kickbacks, accepting bribes, steering contracts in favorable directions—she didn’t like any of that, but she could empathize. Paige and Kyrie had been born early. There were huge hospital bills. Desperation can do things to a person.
But to turn his back on his family? To lead them all to believe that he was dead? To leave them struggling to start over, one overwhelmed pregnant woman and her very young children, shoveling a shitload of snow every winter while he was flying under the radar in Banana Land? No. Forget what he’d done to the taxpayers. As far as Jenna was concerned, there wasn’t a jail sentence in the world that was long enough to compensate for what Rob had done to his family.
“Ladies,” Neenee said. “Before we go any further down this road, let me remind you of a couple of things. First, yes, your father did some truly despicable things. But I have worked very hard to let go of the hurt and the anger, and while I’m not trying to censor you, I would ask that you keep the discussion as civil as possible. He ruined too many years of my life already. The only way I can keep him from messing up the rest of it is by putting him in his own little corner that I never have to go to. Got it?”
One by one, they nodded. Except Margie, of course. She scowled. But Rob was her brother, which put her in a totally different category than any of the rest of them, so Jenna figured Neenee had to cut Margie some slack.
“The second thing is that he is going to do what he is going to do, and like it or not, there’s nothing we can do to stop him. None of his crimes were against us. We have no legal right to demand that he stay away.”
“Moral law trumps legalities,” Bree muttered, but she ducked her head when Neenee shot her a look. “Sorry, Mom.”
Neenee continued. “All we can do, my dears, is carry on with our lives. He might move on. He might stick around. Calypso Falls is small, but it’s still big enough that we won’t have to see him a lot. Unless, of course,” she looked at Annie, “you wish to . Because your relationships are your business, okay?
Paige rolled her eyes. Easy for her, Jenna thought. Paige would soon have an ocean between her and the Father of the Century.
“My feelings about your father are one thing.” Neenee’s hand tightened around her glass. “You each have your own, and every one of them is legitimate. And no thinking you need to hold back out of loyalty to me. If you want to meet him, Annie, or if any of you want to spend time with him, that’s your call. And the rest of us will respect everyone else’s feelings. Got it?”
Silent shrugs and nods were broken by Margie.
“Since I’m not your kid, Neenee, I’m guessing your rules don’t apply to me. So let me say something here”
Jenna leaned forward. This was going to get interesting.
“Girls, you might not know it, but your dad was always my favorite brother. That is, until he turned out to be a boneheaded idiot.” Margie shook her head, slow and sad. “I’m not sure what I’m going to do about him, but one thing I do know is that life is too short to waste a lot of time on hurt and hate. So I would say, either decide you’re going to be civil to him, or do like your mother and seal him up in his own little box.” She grinned. “And if you want to put a shitload of duct tape on that box, I’ll be there to help you, okay?”
***
On a sunny Saturday a couple of weeks after the meeting in the coffee shop, Cole stood in the middle of the storefront that was going to be his home away from home for the next few months, breathed deep, and coughed.
At his side, Ram winced. “Sorry. When the landlord said he wanted to put in the carpet before we moved in, I didn’t see a problem. I forgot how much new carpet stinks.”
“It’s better than a lot of other things,” Cole said. “But maybe we should open a few windows.”
“We can’t. I already checked. All we can do is prop the doors open.”
Which they had already done.
“Guess we have to suck it up and carry on.” Cole nodded toward the mishmash of desks, filing cabinets, and kitchen equipment that they had unloaded from the rental truck now parked in front of the store. “You think Tadeson has to furnish his campaign office with donations from his friends’ homes?”
“He’s the incumbent. Totally different position.” Ram gave a halfhearted tug to a chair that seemed to have been dipped in glitter. “You’re not going all House Beautiful and worrying about how this looks, are you?”
“God, no. I just feel bad about begging folks for their castoffs. I’m not really sure that Aubrey could spare that sofa, you know?”
“I’ve spent many afternoons sitting on that sucker while her kids and my kids took turns crawling over me. Trust me. She didn’t do you any huge favors.”
Cole nodded, even though in his heart he disagreed. Aubrey, and Allison, Ram, and Tim—they were all doing him a huge favor. He had entered this election because he wanted to make a difference. But now he wanted to win because that was the only way to properly repay his supporters for everything they were doing to help him.
“Here.” He dug in his wallet and pulled out a couple of bills. “I called an order into the sub shop. Why don’t you return the truck and pick up lunch? I’ll start getting things set up in here.”
“By yourself?” Ram waved at the tangle of upholstery and fake wood.
“Sure. None of those are really heavy. Except the sofa, and I’ll wait for you to tackle that.”
“Okay.” Ram pocketed the money and flashed him a grin. “But be careful. If you pull on the wrong thing, you’re gonna end up buried under Mount Furniture.”
“You have such faith in me.”
“Always, bro. Always.”
He did, too. Which made Cole wish that he could do more than just spring for lunch. But Ram would only snarl if Cole said anything about being grateful or indebted, so Cole settled for rolling his eyes and pointing to the door. “I’m hungry. Haul ass. But don’t get a ticket, because if I have to fix any of those for you, it’ll play hell with my platform of honesty and transparency.”
“Politicians.” Ram sighed as he headed for the door. “Always worried about their image.”
In a moment Ram was on his way, the truck leaving a trail of diesel fumes that mingled with the carpet smell and left Cole coughing once again. He was going to have to do some serious damage control if he wanted to let anyone work in here without endangering either their lungs or his conscience.
He pulled out his phone to check on the best way to deal with carpet fumes, only to remember that—oh yeah—the Wi-Fi wouldn’t be working until next week.
But the coffee shop had it . . .
He locked up, sent up a fast prayer that the fumes wouldn’t cook into a toxic soup in the heat, and booked it to the coffee shop.
He’d popped in just once in the last couple of weeks, right after touring the future headquarters with Allison and Ram. He’d only stayed a minute. Long enough to use the restroom and buy a “much obliged” muffin. There’d been no reason to linger.
His haste had had nothing to do with the fact that the cute barista hadn’t been in evidence.
And curiosity as to whether or not she would be there today was absolutely not behind the quickness of his footsteps as he walked inside and scanned the room. He had things to do. Desks to arrange. Rooms to fumigate.
It was a lot harder to explain the kick of gratification when he saw her behind the counter.
Cole wasn’t looking for a relationship. Been there, screwed up that, not about to repeat the same mistake. He’d lost a fiancée to the double whammy of too much work and no time for fun.
And, okay, the fact that she quickly found someone else who wasn’t as wedded to the job as Cole had been.
But he’d learned his lesson. He wasn’t getting into a relation
ship until he had the time to do it right. And this point in his life—with a law practice to run and an election to win—was not that moment. Even if he met the perfect woman, the fact was, all he could do right now would be to wave at her as she slipped out of his orbit.
But even if he wasn’t moving into a neighborhood, he could still enjoy the scenery.
She didn’t see him enter the shop. She seemed intent on something behind the counter—on the register, maybe? Then she ducked down and was hidden from his view by the pastry case, which meant that he was able to walk up to the counter unseen and peer down at her from above. It was a good angle. Especially when she turned around to inspect something behind her, meaning her back was to him, meaning that when he stretched and peeked, he had a great view of the stretch of skin between the top of her pants and the bottom of her Brews and Blues T-shirt.
And . . . yep. There it was. The tattoo he’d been expecting. Though he would have expected a butterfly or a rose, not the stylized staring eyes he spotted before she looked up.
“Hi there.” Had she caught him scoping out the tat? He grinned. Innocently, he hoped.
The fleeting scowl she offered made him think he hadn’t pulled off the innocent look after all. But good for her, she replaced the annoyed expression with a fast smile of her own. Totally fake, of course, but still. Her boss would be pleased.
She reached up and braced her hands on the counter, seeming to pull herself upright more than simply stand. It was slower than he would have expected. Like she had to put effort into it. When he thought of her—not that he’d thought about her more than a couple of times since their first encounter, of course—she always seemed light and lithe and graceful.
Huh. He was usually pretty observant. And thanks to law school, he had an excellent memory. It seemed he would simply have to watch her more carefully this time. Purely to see where he’d gone wrong.
“Hello.”
She didn’t sound especially pleased to see him. Though when she glanced down toward the ground, he got the impression that her displeasure was with whatever had pulled her behind the counter. At least, he hoped that was the case.
“Problem?” he asked, only to be met by a puzzled stare. “You looked a little frustrated.” He gestured toward the area where she’d been squatting.
“Ah.” Some of the clouds fled from her expression. “The door-slider thing was off its track.”
“Need a hand?”
Was she smirking? Hard to tell. One corner of her mouth seemed to twitch, but the movement was fleeting and isolated.
“I fixed it. Thanks anyway. Now, what can I get for you?”
“Uh . . .” Oh, this was rich. He’d been so busy checking her out, he’d forgotten that he needed to place an order. He scanned the menu, fast, and latched onto the first item to jump out at him. “I’ll have a Black and White, please.”
One eyebrow rose ever so slightly, but all she said was, “Hot or iced?”
He usually turned his nose up at cold coffee, but what the hell. It was hot enough to melt armor out there.
“Iced, please.”
“Small, medium, or—”
“The largest you’ve got.” And not just because he needed the caffeine. He had the strangest feeling he’d made a misstep. If a supersized coffee would help correct whatever bad impression he might have made, he’d be happy to shell out the extra buck.
“And a couple of those blueberry bars, too, please.” Because if Ram was going to go to all this work on his behalf, Cole really should provide dessert as well as sandwiches.
“Coming right up.”
She turned away from him, seemingly focused on the prep area behind her.
“Busy today?” he asked.
One slim shoulder rose and fell. “It’s a regular Saturday afternoon. Nice and steady.”
“That’s good. Pays the bills, right?” Oh, he was at his wittiest today. Maybe the coffee would help. It sure as hell couldn’t hurt.
“That it does.”
He couldn’t see what she was doing but her hands moved at a rapid pace, lifting, pouring, measuring. Each movement was controlled and deliberate. She knew precisely what she was doing, where to reach next, exactly when to stop and start. No motion was wasted.
This, he realized, was what had left him with the impression of gracefulness. Watching her preparing the drink was like watching a ballet for arms and hands—one that was interrupted by the slight dip in her movements when she turned back to him.
Was she limping?
“Here you go.” She placed the glass in front of him. He blinked. He hadn’t expected that a Black and White would have been actual layers of dark coffee with something milky, all swirling together around the ice cubes.
Well, at least it would be refreshing.
“And you said two blueberry bars, right?”
“Right.”
She looked a little different today. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something was off about her smile. There was a flatness to it. Not just like she was forcing it in order to be a good server, but like she was tired. Or . . . hurting. Yeah. She looked like she had a headache or something.
In that case, probably the best thing he could do for her would be to get out of her way as fast as possible. Let her go take an aspirin in peace.
She turned back to the register, punching in items.
“I hear that you’ve rented the space two doors down.”
Her words took him by surprise. She knew who she was?
“Yeah. Yeah, I have.”
“Running for mayor?”
She didn’t sound overly impressed. Fair enough. A lot of folks thought he was a fool for doing this.
“Depending on how I do in the primary.”
One eyebrow arched again. “Spoken in a very politically aware manner.”
Interesting way to put it.
“Nothing’s guaranteed in politics.”
“Or in life. Are you going up against Paul Tadeson? In the primary, I mean.”
“No. I’m with the other guys.”
Something shifted in her face. A spark of humor? “Ah. The underdog.”
She was good.
He grabbed two packets of sugar from the bowl on the counter. “Some might say I’m the fresh start.”
This time, the humor seemed laced with approval. “Good answer, Mr. Dekker.”
So she did know his name.
“Thanks. I try. But you have me at a disadvantage.” He extended his hand. “Cole Dekker, pleased to officially meet you. And you are?”
She eyed his hand before taking it. “Jenna.”
“Jenna. Hi.”
He meant to give her hand the usual firm but reserved shake, the one he’d perfected in candidate school. But she beat him to it. A surprisingly solid grasp, a fast pump, and she withdrew her hand from his grip before he had time to process the sensation of her skin against his.
Not that he’d been planning to do that, of course.
Belatedly, he realized she’d given him only her first name.
“Is it just Jenna?” He ripped open the sugar packets.
This time, there was a twist to her smile. Like she was holding something back.
“That’s right.”
“Interesting. You don’t find many people with only one name these days. Cher, Bono, Madonna.”
“I keep excellent company.”
He pulled his drink close, added the sugar, and gave it a stir with the straw, blending the swirls into a muted mocha color. “Is this a stage name, or are you simply a woman of mystery?”
She glanced from the glass to him. “Oh, woman of mystery, most definitely.”
And is there a man of mystery? The question hovered on his tongue, unspoken but definitely making its presence known. Lucky for him, the words wer
e stayed by the soft tinkle of the bells over the door.
She looked beyond him. Her expression changed again. She’d switched to the All Business channel, he could see.
“Well, Just Jenna, it was good to meet you. I’ll get out of your way.”
She nodded and turned slightly to face the next customers. He’d been dismissed.
As it should be. Right?
He settled himself at a table, pulled out his phone, and started searching. A few taps and he found a site that looked promising. He scrolled through the results, took a slug of his Black and White, and almost gagged at the unexpected rush of sweetness.
Good God. It was a good thing he wasn’t diabetic. He had a feeling that hadn’t been regular milk making those white layers. Not even cream. No wonder she gave him that strange look when he stirred in the sugar.
Head in the game, Dekker.
He pushed the glass aside and focused on the screen, jotting notes on a napkin because he didn’t have anything else. There were a few good suggestions. It shouldn’t take long before he would feel comfortable letting people breathe the air in the office for longer than five minutes or so.
With his task accomplished, he really should get going. But the coffee shop was air-conditioned. And he needed to check his e-mail. Scan the headlines. Peek at Just Jenna and wonder what her story might be.
Besides, Ram would be back at any moment. It couldn’t hurt to hang out for another minute or two. Right?
Right. But watching the mysterious Jenna was definitely off the table. She’d made it clear that she wasn’t interested. Fine by him.
She’d had some interesting comments, though. About the election. That had been as unexpected as the sweetness of his coffee, or the all-seeing tattoo.
She didn’t need to withhold her name to be a woman of mystery.
Move along, Dekker. Nothing to see here.
He shifted his chair slightly to make it harder to watch her, even out of the corner of his eye. E-mail. Headlines. Focus.
And he did, for about five minutes. Until he became aware of a shift in the background noise of the shop. Like everyone had stopped speaking for a second, then jumped back into their conversations with a new and unified force. He looked up. Scanned the room. Saw that many of the faces were turned toward the counter, where a slightly heavyset man was leaning across the glass, speaking to Jenna.
Life of the Party Page 3