Jo
Chase picks up a menu and hands it to me before the woman behind the cash register can ask, moving us aside so the people who came in after us can start their order. “I’ve had everything here,” he tells me, not having to bend down to do it because he might actually be shorter than I am. “Jamie’s predictable. He gets the same thing every time.”
Helen Whittaker took a look at the books I was checking out and commented on how they’re such an eclectic mix. I stopped myself before I said yeah, sure, I get bored of the same thing over and over, but only just. She’s the sort of woman who’d think I was talking about her son when seriously, it’s just books. I only got three this trip, two nonfiction and one fiction, but yeah, they don’t have much to do with each other.
I flip the menu over, then back to the front again. Between the cutesy names and the Scandinavian terms, I’m overwhelmed. I wasn’t planning on this much social time, thanks, even if Chase is far less of a mine field than Jamie’s mom. “If I’m only coming here once, then I absolutely have to try …?”
“The cinnamon roll,” he answers promptly.
Well, yes, but in my current mood I should really go for some protein before I hit the sugar.
Chase grins. “The cowgirl.”
Yeah, see? That doesn’t tell me a thing about it. “Sounds like a winner.”
“And their signature latte?” Even though it’s not his own place, Chase is ready with the upsell.
“Decaf.” The sugar will be bad enough.
“Not to insult the income of a professional researcher, but …” He pulls out his wallet, which is the same brown leather as his belt and his shoes. Does he swap it out if he wears black? “Grab that table.”
There’s a single open table for four, so yeah, that’s probably a good idea. I’ve been roped into the usual after-market late lunch, the way I was roped into yesterday’s game night, and mostly I’m just thankful to Chase for appearing at the library and inserting himself into the conversation Helen started. I get out my phone, because everyone always gets out their phone when they have a few minutes, except I don’t have Jamie’s number. I don’t know what I’d text him if I did, but I don’t have to figure it out.
Chase orders for everyone, so Jamie doesn’t even have a chance to say no thank you. He’s just assumed to be coming, the way Ricky assumed I was invited yesterday, and I don’t know any of them well enough to tell if Jamie feels comfortable saying no.
After Chase orders he moves down the counter slightly and waits for the next person to pour him four cups of water. I hear him tell her that distinctly: “Four today.” I guess the usual number’s three, unless they routinely rope Jamie into double dates.
This isn’t a date.
Chase carries all four cups easily, because apparently he used to be a waiter, and he deals them out before pulling straws out of his breast pocket. It’s the weekend, he’s just hanging around, and he’s still in khakis and a dress shirt. He takes the seat across from me and offers a commiserating smile. “Hope I wasn’t overstepping with Helen. You looked like you could handle it.”
“Handle it with PTSD flashbacks,” I mutter, unwrapping my straw. “My ex-mother-in-law.”
“Never good enough for her perfect little angel?” he guesses.
I wrinkle my nose. “I was good enough to cook and clean and put him through grad school.” Except Jamie clearly cooks, and if he needs someone to clean up after him, that his mother’s job.
Chase looks toward the door and leans in, resting his elbows on the table in defiance of Ms. Manners. “Jamie’s never dated anyone. His brothers have gotten married, and Helen didn’t even attend Allan’s third wedding, but Jamie’s never had anyone in his life.”
Meaning, what, I’m in his life now?
He starts to take a breath, but then just nods and shoots me a look at a grin because Jamie and Ricky show up, and even though I’m sure Ricky passed on that I’d be here, Jamie’s face breaks into a delighted grin when he sees me.
Okay, point to Chase.
I’m on the bench side of the table, and Jamie slides right in next to me. “Hey,” he says, which is probably good, because even if he had a witty line, I wouldn’t be able to come up with a proper response.
“Can’t stay away?” Ricky asks as he takes the chair next to Chase, but I’m saved, at least slightly, because the barista calls out our drink order. Ricky pops up, but the size of the mugs means Chase gets up again, too. It’s only a short reprieve, just the two of us at the table, but my eyes catch on Jamie’s and we both smile and look a little too long.
Right. Okay. “I ran into your mom at the library.” I blurt it and feel myself blush because that’s like the opposite of diffusing the situation.
He just nods to my backpack. “What’d you get?”
“One natural disaster, one man-made disaster, and one thriller.” Honestly I can’t remember the titles.
His eyebrows go up even as he nods his thanks to Ricky for his drink. “Three at a time, huh?”
“Oh yeah? I’m game.” Ricky bats his eyelashes at me, and it’s a pretty good imitation of innocence. Only the first couple rows of seats would see through it.
Jamie leans a little closer and lowers his voice. “Is he the natural or man-made disaster?”
I cover my mouth because seriously, again? I’m just primed to snort-laugh around him, because of course he’s not just cute, Mom. He’s also funny, and he’s got the best lopsided grin, and even though he’s clearly had a long day already and his hair is frizzing out of his usually perfectly-smooth ponytail, those broad shoulders are easy.
Damn. Okay. Never dated anyone, huh? Not for lack of options, but that’s also a long streak. Who am I to think I could break it?
To be fair, I’m not the only one thinking it, and maybe not even the first one thinking it. Ricky was all over me last night about staying, and the way Chase talked about lunch like it wasn’t even a suggestion, just a given …
“How close did you come today?” Chase wants to know, and apparently it makes sense to the other two.
“Six,” Ricky announces with pride, and then takes pity on me: “Six servings left over. Jamie’s got this down to a science.”
I nod, even though maybe I should be more impressed. “You did make the top ten list of food trucks in the state,” I point out, like maybe Jamie doesn’t actually know.
Chase’s eyebrows go up. “So you researched more than just Jamie the serial killer.”
Seriously, this again? “I couldn’t make him work as a serial killer,” I protest, but how did Chase find out? When did Jamie tell him?
“Yeah, he’s totally a cinnamon roll,” Ricky teases. “Speaking of …”
Apparently Chase ordered two giant cinnamon rolls for the table. They barely fit with all our sandwiches. Also apparently Ricky spends as much time on Tumblr as my mom does.
Chase tilts his head and frowns, studying Jamie. “There’s got to be something else on the continuum, doesn’t there?” he asks. “It’s not like you could kill someone, but you’re not really a cinnamon roll.”
Seriously, were they all spying on my FaceTime call? If someone says blorbo, I’m out.
“Jo, I like your shoelaces,” Ricky announces, and ugh, he’s caught me.
I sigh. “Thanks. I stole them from the president.”
Laughing, he raises his mug and won’t move until we’ve had a proper cheers.
Chapter Fourteen – coming October 14
