Perfectly Charming (A Morning Glory Novel Book 2)

by Liz Talley

  He pulled her into his arms, recognizing as he did every time how nicely she fit him. “I like you the way you are.”

  She shook her head. “I still feel so … weak. Before that asshole pulled the rug from beneath me and sent me sprawling, I was secure in exactly who I was. I rolled my eyes at sad women who couldn’t suck it up and move on. But now I’m one of them. Or at least I was. Coming to Florida and helping a drunk up the stairs opened a window in my life. But still—”

  “I’ll go.”

  “You haven’t had a brownie yet. Or dessert,” she said, looking up at him and fluttering her eyelids. “Don’t leave yet.”

  “No. I mean I’ll go to the wedding with you.”

  Her eyes filled with gratitude before she held up a hand. “No. I made you feel sorry for me. The thing is, I should have enough gumption to go home and not worry about what people think. No crutches allowed.” She pressed a kiss on his chin. “No matter how gorgeous the crutch is.”

  “That’s true. You could go back, and you’d be fine. But I want to be your crutch even if I have to sit through a wedding and drink kava tea with my mother.” He stifled his inner cringe at the thought of both things, clinging to the way her eyes had looked when he’d surrendered. He could do it for her.

  “Are you sure? Because kava tea sounds gross.”

  “It’s horrible, but I’m going with you.” He gave her a squeeze, finding satisfaction in being a good boyfriend. Wait … was he her boyfriend? No titles yet. “But I draw the line at wearing seersucker. Or a bow tie.”

  “Of course,” she said, pulling back and giving him a tremulous smile. “But only if you’re sure?”

  “Yes. I’ve read that when women feel supported by the men in their lives, it makes for a stronger relationship. Makes sense to me. I think.”

  Jess issued a soft laugh then laid her head against his shoulder. “This thing between us is new for me, too, but thank you for sacrificing your abhorrence of Morning Glory and weddings for me.”

  He rested his head against the softness of her hair. “You’re welcome. I guess it won’t be too bad, right? I can do anything for two days.”

  “Three.”

  Sighing, he repeated, “Three.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Morning Glory, Mississippi, was a quintessential southern town. Fast food restaurants nestled beside places that had once hosted women in pillbox hats. The Ford car dealership sported a group of old men around the coffeepot every day while the Chevrolet dealership offered free doughnuts to the older ladies who came every Wednesday to do Bible study in the back room. One out of every two people on the street might be related to you … or have taught you in elementary school, Sunday school, or art class at the rec center. Parades left the Greater Galilee Baptist Church and wound around the square to celebrate the county fair, homecoming, Christmas, or the rodeo before ending in front of the First United Methodist Church. The favored pastimes were gossiping, talking high school football, and bass fishing.

  When she and Ryan passed the Welcome to Morning Glory sign, Jess got a warm glow. Ryan looked more like he had indigestion.

  “Congrats, you did it,” she teased, glancing toward where he sat in the passenger’s seat. He’d been quiet most of the way, content to listen to the Doobie Brothers and Slim Pickens, which was a weird combination, in her opinion. But whatever made him happy. She wanted him to be as comfortable as possible.

  The past few weeks had been very good. She’d moved into a condo that was newer than the Dirty Heron but smaller and not so close to the beach. She didn’t spend much time there, because she liked sleeping next to Ryan and he needed his orthopedic mattress for his back. They settled into a nice pattern of working, making love, and getting to know each other better. Like she learned he hated oatmeal, reggae, and spiders. She taught him how to make her mother’s famous spaghetti and meatballs, one of the few dishes she’d mastered, and he taught her how to skim board. Well, sorta. She wasn’t good at it. He took her fishing, which she didn’t like so much because the smell of the bait paired with the bobbing boat equaled extreme nausea. She loaned him her Lee Child book collection. They talked about pop culture, how nicely the begonia thrived, and the upcoming football season. They did not talk about definitions of their relationship or the future.

  Or going back to Morning Glory.

  “My mom said she’d leave a key beneath the turtle planter in case my dad isn’t home yet,” he said as she wound around the town square, soaking in her hometown, enjoying a Thursday afternoon.

  “Look, there’s Sal’s pizza place,” Jess said, pointing to Sal’s New York Pizza, with its red awning. Rosemary had done a good job of helping her fiancé select lettering that was both welcoming and somewhat upscale. Once it was complete, it would give the town something nicer than Dean’s Diner for a date night.

  “There are some new places since I was last here. Turn on Market Street then take a right on Cedar.” He pointed toward the small park that held a swing set and several metal slides. “I loved that little park. Sometimes my father took me for free play.”

  “Free play?”

  “He read the paper while I was free to play whatever I wanted. Would have been easier to join in with the other kids if I hadn’t been wearing the play clothes my mother made for me. She got the fabric from a discount store. I looked like a van of hippies had decorated me. My parents went through a phase requiring specific clothing to signify social situations. That was the year I had to wear a dinner jacket at the dining table.”

  Okay, she’d known Ryan’s parents were a bit odd, but good Lord. “Interesting.”

  “Isn’t it?” he drawled, softening the sarcasm with a smile.

  “Are you really upset at having to stay with your parents? I couldn’t ask Sal to vacate my place, especially since his parents are staying in the guest room. And my parents feel terrible about not being able to host us. They weren’t expecting me home, and the painters already started last week.”

  “I know all this.”

  “I know you do. Makes me feel better to repeat it, though. Like it’s more legit. I called the owner, but Sal’s brothers and Rosemary’s cousins still have all the rooms reserved at Polk House. She said she’d call if there’s a cancellation. If I had—”

  “Jess, I can deal. They’re my parents, not prisons guards. We’ll be fine.”

  She quieted and focused on remembering which house was Ryan’s parents’. Cedar Street was lined with beautiful Craftsman houses with lush lawns and sculpted flower beds … except for one. She headed for that driveway.

  Ryan’s parents, Emilio and Martha Reyes, owned a house that could only be described as neglected. The yard was a tangle of grasses and sad, spindly bushes, and the eaves on the Craftsman had been painted a strange olive green while the door was lavender. Jess pulled her car next to the covered parking area and killed the engine. Ryan looked over at her. “Why did you pull into the McGuires’ drive? My parents live across the street.”

  Jess started laughing. “Oh, thank God. This place is a mess.”

  “I’m joking. This is it.”

  “Oh.”

  Ryan smiled. “You wanted to bring me. You could have stayed with Rosemary.”

  Way to remind her. “I know. But maybe you can be a good son and mow your parents’ lawn while you’re here.”

  “Why? My father will let it go back to its natural state. He refuses to use pesticides or herbicides because they poison us slowly. That’s why it’s hard for him to accept that his genius son runs a fishing charter. What I’m supposed to be I should be. And according to him I’m supposed to be discovering new elements or curing cancer.” Ryan gave a snort and then opened the car door.

  Jess followed suit, wincing at the heat that greeted her. September held on to summer with both hands … and wore a cloak of humidity. Cool fronts always seemed to stall as they crossed the plains, leaving Mississippi nice and toasty for most of the month.

  Jess sighed and pu
lled the keys from the ignition. Okay, you’re sleeping here. That’s it. And these are Ryan’s parents, and you lo—

  No. She didn’t love Ryan. She liked him a lot, but this wasn’t love. Couldn’t be, because Ryan was her rebound guy. She knew the rules about jumping back in with both feet when a gal got her heart broken. Of course, playing by the rules and having a game plan hadn’t worked out too well for her with Benton.

  Don’t think. Uh, coast on the high windy current, like Lacy suggested.

  “Found the key,” Ryan said, dangling it from his fingers.

  Jess hoped his mother didn’t believe in not cleaning the house, because she could overlook a jungle outside her window as long as she could actually see out the window. She sighed in relief when she walked through the purple door to find the house clean, tidy, and smelling of lemons. The furniture looked functional and the parquet floors original. Decorating wasn’t a priority in the Reyes house. Jess’s mother would have hyperventilated over the ceramic chandelier with parrot heads on it and the … zero-gravity pool recliners in front of a really old TV?

  “Ryan,” someone said over her shoulder, making her jump with fright. She turned to find Ryan’s father standing in what looked to be the kitchen doorway.

  Emilio Reyes was a spare man of Hispanic descent who had dark skin and a high brow with bushy eyebrows. Neither handsome nor homely, he looked like the comedian from Saturday Night Live and Portlandia … uh, Fred Armisen. He wore tan trousers, a cream button-down short-sleeve shirt, and square tortoiseshell glasses. He wasn’t nerdy chic in the least. Just nerdy.

  “Hello, Father,” Ryan said, donning a neutral expression. Gone was his boyish charm. In its place emerged a dutiful son.

  “You’re here early. I didn’t expect you until after dinner sometime. Figured you get in some work this morning. I believe most fishing is done early. Oh, and is this your lover?” Emilio asked, turning his eyes on her.

  Ryan’s mouth twitched. She wanted to kick him for finding amusement in the situation.

  “Hello, Mr. Reyes. I’m Ryan’s girlfriend, Jess. You probably know my parents—the Culpeppers. My daddy’s a dentist?”

  “Oh, you’re from here? Ryan didn’t say that,” his father said, blinking myopically at Ryan. “We use Dr. Hiedel.”

  “Well, he’s a nice man, too.” Not nearly as smart, pleasant, or accommodating as her father, but she’d try not to hold the Reyeses’ choice in dentistry against them.

  Ryan’s father cleared his throat. “So you know, Ryan, your mother turned your room into a yoga studio last summer. Something about the position of the sun. Of course, she didn’t stop paying for yoga classes over at the Church of Christ. The home yoga studio was supposed to save us money. You’ll have to stay in the guest room. Or the use the old pullout in the den.”

  “Wait. A yoga studio? What did you do with all my stuff?” Ryan asked, his face growing panicked. “There were things in there I wanted to keep.”

  “In the attic, I guess. Or your mother donated them to the high school for their rummage sale. There seemed to be a lot of toys and things you’ve outgrown.”

  “Oh God. My comic books and Pokémon cards.” Ryan lurched toward the dim hallway to their right, disappearing into the darkness and leaving her with his father. Mr. Reyes smiled at her and lifted his eyebrows in an I don’t know what’s going on gesture. Jess gave him an awkward smile and prayed for rescue from the uncomfortable situation.

  “While Ryan’s checking out his mother’s studio, can I get you something to drink? Or if you want a sandwich, we have Vegemite. The lavatory’s right over there if you need to make use of the facilities.”

  Jess shook her head and prayed Ryan would come back to save her. Instead her cell phone rang. She riffled through her bag and pulled it out. Eden.

  Thank you, sweet merciful Jesus.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Reyes, I need to take this,” Jess said before stepping back toward the very brown foyer. “Hi, E.”

  “Oh my God, are you home yet?”

  “Indeed I am,” Jess said, pulling open the purple door and stepping out onto a porch that could have been stinkin’ cute but instead held a pile of leaves in the corner and a few tenacious weeds creeping through the solid planking. “Where are you?”

  “At work, but I’m about to get off. Want to meet me at the Lazy Frog?”

  “A million times yes.”

  “You think your boy toy will want to come, too?”

  Jess started at Eden’s name for him, wondering if that’s what everyone would think. She didn’t want Ryan to feel like that’s what he was. She glanced back at the front door. “Uh, I’ll ask him, but I think he’ll be too busy here.” Finding his collectibles. You can take the boy out of nerddom, but you can’t take the nerddom out of the boy. She’d found his Dr. Who collection, gamer magazines, and odd spreadsheets on sexual positions, pool shots, and volume of fish per square mile in the Gulf of Mexico hidden in his apartment. If she were a high-stakes gambler, she’d put a hundred on Ryan climbing into the attic within the hour.

  “I can’t wait to see you,” Eden said with such warmth in her voice. “I mean, I love Rose, but it’s been wedding this, Sal that. I’ve had enough pizza for a lifetime. She brings me a slice every time Sal tries a new specialty pie. I’ve gained five pounds.”

  “Pizza sounds good.”

  “No. We’re not eating pizza tonight. For the love of God. I just can’t.”

  Jess laughed. “I’ll meet you in thirty minutes. Will that work?”

  “Make it an hour. I have to close the register and run to the bank before it closes.”

  “See you soon.”

  Jess hung up and with a soft knock pushed back into the Reyes home. Emilio had settled onto the velvet couch with the Morning Glory Herald and the Clarion-Ledger. Ryan sat in an ancient green tweed chair, hands clasped between his knees. He didn’t look happy. “There you are.”

  Jess held up her phone. “Eden. She wants to meet me at the Lazy Frog in about an hour. I haven’t seen her in a month, so I told her I would. You’re welcome to come with me.”

  His brow furrowed. “What’s the Lazy Frog?”

  “You don’t know where the Lazy Frog is? It’s been here since we were in elementary school. You didn’t ever go for ice cream when you were a kid?”

  “Too much sugar,” Emilio Reyes said, licking his finger and turning the page. He didn’t look up.

  Jess mouthed, “Seriously?” to Ryan. He nodded. She shrugged and said, “You should come.”

  At that he wiggled his eyebrows and gave her a half-lidded stare. To which she mouthed, “Pervert.” That made him smile and look like the sexy Ryan she knew, not the one who’d shit a brick when he found out his mother might have sold his collectibles in a rummage sale. His crocodile smile soothed her. It would be okay. He was the same guy who alphabetized his canned goods and made love to her under the walkway to the beach. Nothing was different. “I’ll go, but my mother will be home soon. She always comes in the door at—”

  “Four fifteen,” his father finished, lowering the paper to smile at Ryan. “You can set the clock by that woman.”

  It was the first sense of easing Jess had. In the conspiratorial smile shared with his son, Jess saw all she needed to see regarding Emilio’s affection for his son and wife. No matter how kooky and dysfunctional the Reyeses were, they loved each other … and they loved their son. Ryan might have hang-ups about their parenting style and overall oddness, but Jess hadn’t missed the happiness in Emilio’s eyes when he first saw Ryan.

  So why didn’t Ryan know this? His parents were as sore a subject as the town, but other than being … uh, different, Emilio seemed happy to have his son home. Hmm … she’d wait and see how the dynamics played out before questioning him. At the moment, she wanted to ease him into the environment.

  “Eden can’t be there for an hour, and I want to meet your mother before I go,” Jess said, walking toward the front door. “Let’s get our bags an
d get settled in.”

  “Dad?” Ryan asked, turning toward his father. “Is it okay if Jess and I share a room?”

  Jess hadn’t even thought about their sleeping arrangements. She’d assumed that since both she and Ryan were consenting adults they would share a bed, but the thoughtfulness and respect in Ryan’s question made her heart warm.

  “I don’t see a problem. You’re no longer a boy, and I’m assuming by your question that you and your lady friend frequently engage in sexual—”

  “That’s good, Dad,” Ryan interrupted, his green eyes growing big. “No need to go into detail.”

  “Don’t be embarrassed. Sexual attraction is a perfectly healthy inclination for individuals in your particular age group. Your mother and I celebrate your choice to engage in this natural—”

  “Dad!” Ryan barked. “You’re embarrassing Jess.”

  Jess wasn’t embarrassed, merely uncomfortable at Ryan’s father discussing their propensity to jump each other’s bones regularly. Sure, it was natural and healthy … but she didn’t want to discuss it with her lover’s father. She’d probably need something stronger than coffee. Maybe she could talk Ryan into stopping by the Pak-n-Sak for a pint of whiskey. She glanced at her watch.

  Four fifteen.

  The kitchen door opened. “Yoo-hoo, I’m home!”

  Yep, like clockwork.

  Ryan shifted uncomfortably in the small wire chair in the middle of the ice cream-and-coffee shop. He should probably get used to it—lots of discomfort was headed his way if the last few hours were any indication.

  His mother had sold his stuff. All of it. When she’d broken that news over kava tea and gingersnaps, he’d nearly exploded with fury. For years, his stuff had been his one source of pride. While other boys built their egos on catching footballs or driving a jacked-up truck, he’d ruled his own geeky world with a vast collection of rare comic books, mostly scored from his father, and collectible figures he’d purchased with the money given to him by his grandmother each birthday and Christmas. Other boys with the same propensity to collect Star Wars action figures and Spider-Man comics regarded Ryan as the balls. And his mother had sold it all. In a goddamn rummage sale to benefit the baseball team. The baseball team! She’d relayed the fact that Trent Mason, Benton’s nephew, had bought most of them, as if that would be consolation for the loss. The little bastard probably sold them on eBay for a fortune.