“Nothing. No one.” I refused to give his already-overinflated ego another boost.
“No one, huh?” he repeated with a smirk on his face that had my fingers curling into fists at my sides. Then with the wide-eyed innocence of a new born baby he continued, “You said you had a bad night’s sleep—what happened?”
I had to actively stop my eyes from narrowing and my nostrils from flaring with irritation. Instead, I consciously relaxed my hands and face. He wanted to play? Normally, I wasn’t big on game playing, JJ just had a way of bringing out the competitor in me.
Mirroring his pure-as-the-driven-snow tone I explained innocently, “After you called and woke me up at one a.m., I couldn’t get back to sleep.”
JJ’s expression was priceless. Both of his eyebrows lifted and his perfect lips parted in surprise. He had not expected me to call him out in front of Gram. Truth be told, I’d actually surprised myself.
Gram’s eyes were bouncing between us like she was watching a tennis match.
In true form, he recovered quickly, “Yeah, I’m sorry about that.” The half grin that spread on his face didn’t back his apology up.
“What was so important it couldn’t wait until the morning, JJ?” Gram’s voice was filled with delight.
Yeah, she was definitely enjoying this show.
A full smile lifted on his too-handsome face, and even before he spoke, I knew I was not going to like what he had to say.
“I just wanted to tell Destiny how much I enjoyed her cinnamon buns.”
That was his way of saying, your move.
The now-familiar heat I’d been afflicted with all day rose up my cheeks, and I knew I was so red that I probably could’a been mistaken for a tomato.
“Well, I can’t argue with that. They are delicious. But then everything that Destiny makes is delicious.” Pride shone in Gram’s face as she endorsed my baking.
In contrast to the warmth that Gram was exuding, JJ was putting off so much heat in his gaze that I wouldn’t have batted an eye if I’d combusted on the spot. When he rumbled his agreement, “Yes, delicious,” I was sure I was about to go up in flames.
“Why are you here, JJ?” I blurted out. It hadn’t been my intention to sound so harsh, but it had been all I could do to not start panting like a dog in heat.
“I asked him to come over,” Gram answered with a clipped tone.
“Why?” Again, it wasn’t that I was trying to be ungracious. It was just the only alternative to turning into a puddle of mushy lust. I probably should have apologized, but I couldn’t bring myself to.
Gram gave me her trademarked you-better-watch-it-missy glare, which I deserved. I was being rude to a guest in Gram’s house, and in the scope of sins one could commit in Dixie Rose Porter’s home, that was right up there with murder. In fact, it might have ranked above taking another life. Southern women did not take their hospitality lightly.
Nevertheless, I remained silent.
If I had spoken, I was in danger of morphing into a teenage groupie and throwing myself at JJ like he was Elvis. Not 1970s Elvis—I’m talking about 1950s “Blue Suede Shoes” hips-swaying, oozing-sex-appeal Elvis.
“Grandma Dixie needed some help around the house. I was happy to stop by,” JJ interjected lightly in what I could only assume was an attempt to smooth things over.
I knew he could sense the tension in the room. Not only between the two of us, but now, between me and Gram.
“The truth is”—Gram tilted her head to the side as she spoke, her voice infused with a reprimanding tone—“I had some things that I needed to discuss with JJ and asked him to stop by. Then, after our lovely, enlightening conversation, being the good boy he is, he asked if I needed anything before he left.”
Good boy… Ha! That was a good one. Who knew Gram was a comedian.
“All right, then, Grandma Dixie. If there’s nothing else you need, I’ll let you and your beautiful granddaughter get on with your evening,” JJ drawled.
If I wasn’t mistaken, he’d notched his drawl up to add to his charm. For the second time in the last five minutes, I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes.
Gram placed her hand on JJ’s forearm. “Well now, no need to rush off. Why don’t you join us for dinner, JJ?”
Perfect. Just perfect. As irritated as I wanted to be at the possibility of our unwanted dinner companion, I had no one to blame but myself.
Cause and effect. Every action had a reaction. That was a law of physics and it was being demonstrated right now. Certain as the sky was blue and my middle name was Rose, Gram had extended this particular invitation because of my less-than-welcoming behavior.
“Well now, I don’t want to intrude.” JJ’s grin widened.
Gram waved him off. “Oh, don’t be silly. I made enough lasagna to feed a small army. And then we’ll have those delicious cinnamon buns Destiny dropped off last night while we watch our program.”
“JJ does not want to watch Fixer Upper, Gram.” It was bad enough that JJ was staying for dinner. If he was here any longer I didn’t think I would survive—or, at the very least, hold on to the anger I’d worked up over the almost month since he’d disappeared.
“Are you kidding me? I love that show.” JJ shot me a look like I was crazier than Jim Carrey on LSD, and on top of that, he had the nerve to sound slightly offended.
“You’ve seen Fixer Upper?” That was about as likely as him subscribing to Playboy for the articles.
JJ loved two things: sports and women. A married couple that renovated houses was not exactly in his wheelhouse.
“Yes, I have. It happens to be one of my favorite shows,” he insisted.
“Really? Favorite, huh?” I challenged. “What’s it about?”
JJ Briggs could win a gold medal in BSing, so I waited to see if he was going to go with the obvious—it’s about fixing things up—to which I was already coming up with an appropriate retort. If he was going to be more creative, I was going to have to stay on my toes.
Imagine my surprise when, without, blinking he replied, “It’s a home renovation show hosted by Chip and Joanna Gaines, who are married and have four of the cutest kids you’ve ever seen. They show couples three fixer-uppers to choose from, and once the couple picks, they go to work. Chip’s favorite day is Demo Day. JoJo’s favorite thing to do is tear down walls, rivaled only by her love of shiplap.”
In that moment, you could’a knocked me over with a feather. I was stunned. Floored. Speechless. JJ really did watch the show. There was no way he could have known all of that without actually being a viewer.
He placed his hand on his chest. “My favorite part of the show is watching Chip tease JoJo. When she’s anywhere near him, it’s like she’s the prettiest girl in school and he does everything he can to get her attention and impress her.”
“Hmmm. Who does that remind me of?” Gram snorted at her own joke as her gaze bounced between us.
I opened my mouth to say something—anything. But I couldn’t. I stared at JJ as my mind tried to catch up with his words. Between his behavior over the Fourth, sending me flowers, and, now, this, I was beginning to think there had been some kind of alien-invasion, body-snatchers thing going on.
“Well, I just watch it for Clint the Cutie Carpenter.” Gram stated, snapping me out of my momentary shock. “He reminds me of my Walter.”
It was true. Every time we watched the show, Gram commented on Clint’s dimples and how much he looked like Grandpa Walter “in his heyday.” Then she would make some comment about how it was always a good idea to be with a man who knew how to use his hands.
“Well, sweet pea. You’re up.” Gram nodded her head towards me expectantly.
“Huh?” I asked. I had no idea what she had prompted me to do.
“What is your favorite part of Fixer Upper?” she asked slowly, since I was apparently having a difficult time following along.
Thankfully, my answer took absolutely no brain power whatsoever. “I love watching
Chip and Joanna together. They are my hashtag relationship goals.”
“Hmmm. Interesting. Very interesting,” Gram commented just as the stove timer rang out. She turned and headed to the kitchen.
I wasn’t sure what was so interesting about the fact that Chip and JoJo were my relationship goals. Anyone who watched the show for two seconds could see how in love the two of them are.
“You two wash up before supper,” Gram instructed over her shoulder before disappearing into the kitchen.
It wouldn’t matter how old I was—Gram would always remind me to wash my hands before I ate. Not even having a career in food service made a difference.
Before I made it even two steps, JJ’s fingers encircled my wrist. The contact sent a shock of lightning straight to my core. I closed my eyes as it surged through me. When I opened my eyes, JJ was staring down at me.
“Is this okay?” he asked quietly.
I’d heard his words, but I had no idea what he was talking about. Was what okay? Was it okay that just one innocent touch could cause such a knee-buckling, soul-rocking reaction? No. It was absolutely not okay.
A smile, which had surely gotten him out of trouble more times than he could count, appeared on his face as he dipped his head and spoke right against my ear, “I really didn’t mean to invite myself to dinner, but how could I say no to your delicious buns?”
The heat of his breath against my neck combined with the vibration of his baritone voice caused a full-body tremor to quake through me. As I was busy composing myself from the onslaught of desire rioting within, Gram called down the hallway.
“You two get lost on the way to the kitchen?”
JJ’s lips brushed against my outer ear as he moved past me. “No, ma’am. We’re coming,” he answered as he walked down the hall, which gave me an excellent view of his behind.
Oh boy. This was going to be a long night…
Chapter 21
Destiny
“Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me three times, I’ma get the fryin’ pan.”
~ Grandma Dixie
Nothing is going to happen.
That was what I kept reminding my heart and my hormones as they attempted to outvote my head. My emotions and libido were contending that all of JJ Briggs’ sins, which included not one, but two Houdini-like disappearing acts, could be redeemed by his smile, his voice, and his mere presence.
“Can I get you anything else?” I asked the fellas from the lumberyard.
“We’re good, thanks,” Harry winked as he dug into his pulled pork sandwich.
Nothing is going to happen, I repeated as I crossed the diner and tried to rein my battling emotions in. I’d been meditating on that mantra since I’d woken up this morning, sleep deprived from a long night of tossing and turning.
Nothing is going to happen.
There was no way I was going down this road with JJ for a third time.
Last night at Gram’s, my overactive libido and too-forgiving heart had been put to the test. Spending three-plus hours with JJ, just hanging out, totally PG, was something I hadn’t done since before prom four and half years ago. When JJ was in town over the Fourth, I’d felt like I hadn’t had a moment to breathe. From the minute he’d stepped into the Spoon, it was like we’d either been engaged in a battle of wills or naked.
Last night, the opportunity had been forced on me. Once the awkwardness of the surprise of him being there had worn off and we’d sat down for dinner, the evening could not have been more fun. Over lasagna and Fixer Upper, our conversation had mainly consisted of commenting on the show and talking about memorable episodes. After it had ended, we’d migrated out to the porch to drink sweet tea, catch up, and reminisce about old stories.
Gram had actually shared a few I had never heard before, which I would’ve thought was impossible. The show was based in Waco, Texas, not far from Wishing Well, and Gram talked about her first beau, who was from Waco and had been killed serving his country. Two years after his death, Grandpa Walter had swept her off her feet.
JJ talked about playing baseball against Waco when he was in little league. He had beaned a kid who was talking smack in the shoulder, on purpose, and he’d gotten caught kissing a Waco girl under the bleachers during a game—and somehow managed to talk his way out of both situations. He’d always been quite the charmer.
It wasn’t that I’d forgotten how funny and entertaining JJ was, but his talking for hours with Gram and me had brought a lot of feelings, ones I’d thought I had sunk as effectively as the Titanic, up to the surface of already-choppy emotional waters.
Needless to say, my heart hadn’t stood a chance. JJ was dangerous enough when he was being annoying and arrogant. Kind, funny, and charming JJ? Lethal.
“You look about a million miles away. Penny for your thoughts.” Tami Lynn booty-bumped me as she slid beside me at the front counter, snapping me out of my reverie.
Blowing out a breath, I sighed. “I’m just tired.”
I was exhausted, so it’s not like I was lying. And, since I was doing my best not to admit, even to myself, that JJ had taken up permanent residency in my thoughts day and night, I certainly wasn’t going to let her in on that little tidbit.
“Tired, huh?” She grinned, not buying what I was offering. “You mean tired of fighting your feelings for JJ.”
“I’m not—” Oh forget it. What’s the point of denying it? “Yes, so tired.”
Titling her head to the side and shaking it, Tami Lynn clucked her tongue on the top of her mouth. “Then why are you?”
I did a cursory sweep of the diner to make sure none of the gossip-thirsty customers were going to drink in this conversation. From what I could see, not a single one was paying us any attention.
Still, I took the precaution of lowering my voice and leaning closer to my friend. “Because he can’t just breeze in and out of my life. Every time I’m around him, it’s like I lose the sense the good Lord gave me. I instantly become his little puppy, lapping up any attention he’ll give me. It’s ridiculous. I’m not his toy to play with when he wants to, and then put back on the shelf when he’s bored.”
The corners of Tami Lynn’s bright-pink lips curled. “You sure ’bout that? I bet his ‘playtime’ is pretty fun.”
Well, I couldn’t argue with that.
“Yes, it is,” I conceded, even as my cheeks blushed the same shade as Tami Lynn’s lips. “Which is one of the many reasons why fighting it—fighting him—is so utterly exhausting.”
“Listen, I know you two have been doing this little dance for so long it’s probably hard to change the tune. But, for what it’s worth, I do think this time is different. JJ is different. And, sweetie, when JJ is around, you are no puppy lapping up his attention. You go toe-to-toe with that boy. If anyone’s the dog in this situation it’s JJ. He follows you around lapping up your attention, not the other way around.”
No. He disappears for sometimes years—or, in the most recent case, weeks—at a time. Then shows up like he never left.
I shook my head. “No. He doesn’t.”
“Yes. He does.” Tami Lynn could be stubborn sometimes—all the time.
I knew better than most that there was no point in arguing with her when she set her mind to something. It was a long and losing battle I had neither the time nor the energy for. Especially since, as of five minutes ago, my shift was over. All I wanted to do was go home, take a long hot bath, snuggle up with Captain Pickles, watch TV, and not think about JJ Briggs.
“Don’t believe me, huh?” Tami asked before pointing towards the large window that looked over the parking lot. “Well, check out exhibit A.”
My eyes tracked to where her finger was pointed and landed on JJ leaning against his truck. He was wearing a Waves baseball cap, a gray T-shirt that advertised every hard-earned line of muscle across his chest and his arms, and jeans that were worn in all the right places. And he was holding a small bouquet of handpicked flowers.
> The sight sent my heart fluttering and my stomach doing more flip-flops than gymnasts practicing for the Olympics. I took in a deliberately calming breath as a tingle of bliss spread through me with so much potency that my palms dampened. The man was not even in the building and my body was responding like he had me pressed up against a wall.
“Aww, this is your very own Hope Floats moment.” Tami Lynn clasped the dish cloth to her chest.
“What?” I asked, having no idea what she was talking about.
“You know, at the end, when Harry Connick Junior is outside the photo studio Sandra Bullock works at, leaning against his truck, flowers in hand,” she explained like it was unfathomable that I hadn’t immediately picked up on that reference.
“Oh, right.”
“Well, what are you waitin’ for, Birdee? Go get you your Justin Matisse.” Then she swatted my rear with her dish cloth.
“See ya tomorrow.” I grabbed my purse doubled-timed it out of the diner, figuring I better get out there and at least find out what exactly JJ thought he was doing.
It was one thing to show up for lunch at the Spoon or even dinner at Gram’s, but this display was ridiculous. As if the entire town didn’t have enough fuel for their gossip bonfire, this little stunt was going to add a heap of kindling, lighter fluid, and a lit cigarette to it. I needed to take a fire extinguisher to this situation.
The second I stepped outside, the afternoon heat and humidity swallowed me up whole. Beads of sweat broke out on the back of my neck before the door had shut behind me. That was the only drawback of Bud finally puttin’ in the AC—the heat was so much more punishing and jarring when you walked out into it after havin’ been spoiled with air conditioning.
“What are you doin’, JJ?” I asked, raising my hand to my forehead so that I could see him against the harsh rays of bright sunlight.
When he cocked his head slightly, the left side of his mouth turned up in a grin. “Don’t tell me you forgot about our date, Pip.”
Teasing Destiny (Wishing Well, Texas #1) Page 13