Junk Love, page 18
“Can I have a 16-ounce latte, please?”
“Anything in it?”
“No thanks.”
A few minutes later, she parked at her clinic. Half an hour. That’s it. After that, she was going to enjoy the rest of her Saturday. Her latte was almost too hot to hold, but she slung her pale turquoise purse over her gray zip-up and beeped the Mini locked, walking with purpose across the asphalt.
She didn’t usually let herself get this behind in her notes and filing. But at least it was from daydreamy distractibility and not disheartened doldrums anymore.
Back in her car in record time, Holly made the short drive to the mall. Pulling her phone out of its dash mount, she double-checked her conversation with Jacob to make sure she didn’t owe him a text. And just because.
His last text was a GIF video clip: the bobbing back of an upright small brown dog with floppy ears. Its front paws clutched a baby gate, its back legs trotted up and down at ridiculous angles and then hopped twice on a loop above:
Can’t wait to see you!
Inside the mall, the Victoria’s Secret window was plastered with larger-than-life photos of almost bare-naked ladies with their duck lips parted as they stared blindly at people. Some goth teens stared back. As Holly crossed the threshold, a preteen girl with her mother approached, and she wished she were invisible. By walking in, she became complicit in all the lies society was telling this girl about the importance of being sexy.
“Welcome in.” The loud woman in her twenties wore all black and a fuchsia tape measurer draped like an untied scarf. “Can I help you find something?”
“I’m just looking.” Holly browsed the bits of satin and lace and checked a price tag, then moved to the clearance section. A pink corset with sheer sides and glittery bra cups was exactly like the one she had thrown away after breaking up with Keith.
The pile of pretties at the bottom of her trash can had asked, “Aren’t you going to regret this?” Her wallet did.
In the black and silver fitting room, she hung teddies and babydolls on the wall hook and deposited a heap of silky colorful things on the padded bench. Unfastening the button on her jeans met with more resistance than when she put them on. She scrutinized her stomach directly, then reflected.
The full-length mirror showed her protruding belly, low and hard and round. Holly prodded her bloated abdomen. She hadn’t had a huge dinner last night or a shit ton of sodium—the latte. She had forgotten to take a Lactaid. Trick or treat.
The sight of her pregnant-looking self sent a warm thrill up her spine and she imagined Jacob standing behind her, wrapping an arm around his wife. No future tripping. The present was already amazing.
As she grabbed a cluster of red ribbons from the bench, the crotchless bodysuit tangled like a messed-up game of cat’s cradle. How does this thing even—?
Marimba chords chimed, muffled from her purse, so she dug out her phone. It was her dad. Holly held her jeans to her chest and turned away from the mirror before answering.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Hi. I only have a minute. Seraphina’s sick.”
“What’s wrong?” She paced in the glitzy changing room.
“She’s been off for a few days. I didn’t want to worry you. I’ll keep you posted.”
“Thanks.”
In the background, a hinge creak preceded faint barking. “Vet’s here. I love you.”
“Love you, too.” The call ended before she hit the red button.
When Holly faced herself again, her slumped and bloated reflection resembled a Debbie Downer with no business in a lingerie store. What was she doing here anyway? Time for another relationship roller coaster? Really?
Jacob might not even be thinking about sex—he hadn’t even kissed her yet. But they’d been seeing each other a month now, and kissing could lead to other things. Her cheeks flushed, remembering the long look he gave her after the last time he hugged her goodbye on her porch, refusing to come in. She knew he was into her. Once he came in, the clothes might come off, and she wanted to be prepared.
A bruised-up part of her was waving yellow caution flags. Think. She considered what Danielle had said about overused tape. She trusted Jacob—she’d cling hard if she could. Meena’s “sex goggles” came to mind, but her eyes were wide open. Objectively he was a fantastic guy. All the promise she’d seen in his eyes the day they met had come true in spades: he was steadier, more self-assured, and more selfless than she could have imagined. He was funny and he thought she was, too.
Picturing bringing him around her friends and family made her proud as hell. She wanted to introduce him to her people. Not mom.
The mirror reciprocated her rudeness by reflecting her mother back to her: in her turquoise bra and thong, she resembled a grainy photo of Nanette on a beach. Holly paced to the wall hook and fondled the deep purple corset. Her mother would tell her to go for it. She’d wonder why Holly hadn’t locked him in already.
The red pile of ribbons on the fitting room bench tempted her. She could always try it on and save it for later. Some of the lingerie was on sale. The phrase “Treat Yo Self” came to mind again. Didn’t she deserve to have a couple of things she felt sexy in?
The sight of her phone prompted her: she should move up her trip to the ranch. Seraphina wouldn’t live forever, and if she passed before she could say goodbye… “Life is short” offered another justification for spending money on sexy little things.
Pacing faced her toward the mirror again with her baby-bump-like belly. She wanted a family, love—not just sex. Sex isn’t love. How mad would she be at herself if she walked, eyes wide open, into the same stupid pain? She and Jacob were getting to know each other. There was no guarantee this would last. Didn’t her heart deserve to be protected?
Keith’s broccoli sits unwanted on his plate.
“I need to protect my own heart. I don’t know how to stay in a relationship with you and do that. Having sex with someone who might not love me anymore seems seriously unhealthy.”
Having sex with Jacob would be just as unhealthy as sex without love with Keith. Jacob might not love her yet—he didn’t love her—he couldn’t—he didn’t really know her yet.
Sex bonds people. Jacob might not be “the one,” and if he weren’t, then what? Tear herself away from him like tired old tape?
Holly snatched up her jeans and stepped in.
Holly
Sunday, August 7, 2016
Stupid tape. Perched on her white sofa in her baby blue robe, Holly shook her hand at the wrist, but the sticky folds stayed. She peeled the Scotch tape off her pinkie, wadded the transparent strip into a boogery ball, and wiped it on the corner of her coffee table. The passive-aggressive wrapping paper triangles eased apart, revealing the box of binoculars.
The room was dim, with only the kitchen light on behind her and the bit of evening sun welcomed in through the billowy curtains.
Her phone chimed. She rose, tossing the flimsy tape dispenser which bounced and clattered through a slat. Seriously. The ringing led her around the sofa to the kitchen.
Jacob
She tried to think of something witty but drew a blank. “You pretty much suck at the hard-to-get thing,” she said from the black metal stool.
“Holly?” It was Grace.
“I’m sorry, Grace. I expected your uncle. How are you?”
“Want to see Pete’s Dragon with us this Saturday?”
“I would love to, but I’ll be out of town.” The calendar on her white refrigerator was clear on August 20th. “Can we go the week after?”
“I’ll ask Mom. Here.”
“Break hearts much?” Jacob’s smoky voice made her want to eat his words.
“You’re the one who put her on the phone.”
“What’s your excuse? Washing your cat doesn’t fly.”
“How about visiting my sick horse?” She meandered toward the window above the sink.
“Shit. Sorry. The Jackass Award goes to…”
“You’re not a jackass.”
“She must be old.”
“Are you saying I’m old?”
“I’m not a stupid man, Samson.”
“True.” She fingered the feathery fennel plant in the white pot on her windowsill. “Both true.”
“I need to get something to you before you go.”
“What?”
“A thing for your dad. Thought I had more time before you left for his birthday.”
He got Dad a gift? “You have an amazing memory.”
“When do you leave?”
“Saturday morning.”
“Quick drink Friday night?”
Holly
Friday, August 12, 2016
Following the hostess through the darkish brewery, Holly dodged a darting busser.
“Sorry.” As the young man scuttled past, Jacob’s hand flattened on the small of her back, securing her close beside the island of him while two more black-shirted twenty-somethings flowed by.
Its warmth penetrated her silk blouse until they reached the rectangle of light where the hostess disappeared.
Holly only had a moment to miss his hand before she stopped inside the door frame, blinked against the light, and discovered herself in sweet, delicious radiance. Light glistened from the grid of square, lacquered tables enclosed by decorative fencing. Overhead, the vibrant early evening sky showcased flowering vines that twisted around thin beams, stretching as if they longed to meet in the center. Big round string lights had their own ideas for lines and ran diagonally from their wood counterparts. In the distant corner waited the hostess, not even trying to look patient.
“Where did you find this place?” Holly asked, stepping into the sunny sanctuary.
“Here.”
She chose ogling over banter and walked past a group of diners at a line of joined tables. The stained wood tabletops glowed with white candles. Some summery honeyed scent evoked childhood.
At the corner table, Holly started to sit before Jacob slipped behind her.
“Did you want this one?” she asked.
But he gripped the chair’s back, ready to push her in.
“Who says chivalry is dead?” she smiled, and accepted the favor, smoothing her black skirt.
The reserved sign took off. “Your server will be with you shortly.”
“Thank you.” Holly savored the trellised patch of sky until Jacob handed her a happy hour menu, pulled back his thin, olive-green sweater sleeve, and checked his watch.
“Seven minutes. Let me know if you want something. I’ll hunt down a waiter.”
She already had a full plate of happy. “I can’t believe I didn’t know about this place.”
He smiled at his menu.
She ignored hers. “Speaking of pretty places, your house is adorable. I have a thing for red tiled roofs.”
“Glad you like it. Next time, I’m driving.” He was a little big for her Mini.
“When did you buy it?”
“December 2011. Still at Mountaindale P.D. Commute was great.”
She did the math. That would be around the time of the Christmas photo.
“Nature trail’s up the street,” he smiled. “No geocache, but we could plant one.”
Wanting to ask if he had lived in that house with his ex-fiancée, she pretended to read the menu instead.
“It’s big for two—Girlfriend and me. And she’s a big girl. I bought it with April, planning on kids. She didn’t want the house when we called it.”
“Did you two live there?” she asked the handsome, mind-reading open book before her.
He shrugged. “Couple months.”
“What happened? Unless you don’t want to talk about it.”
“Not right for each other. April’s great, married now. We both agree we dodged a bullet.”
His ex is great? Not crazy, not a bitch, not all the horrible things her exes had said about their exes before her. Talking with Jacob reminded her of running over rocks in the stream near her dad’s house: each solid step forward was exhilarating. But here, the stakes were higher than wet shoes.
“Is she in that Christmas picture in your parents’ room?”
“Yeah.” Jacob smiled, then nodded at the menu. “Anything look good?”
Besides him? “I haven’t looked.”
“No rush. Your options are limited. Most of the apps are cheesy.” He set down the menu. “Dinner?”
The waning sun made the lights pop: beads of it swept overhead and around the fence, flames flickered on the tables, and red coils glowed in the coppery heat lamps.
“That’s horrific.” Holly’s fork full of salad drooped.
“Stabby McStabberson’s not the best dinner conversation. Victim made it, though. Your turn.”
Letting the fork rest in peace, she clasped her hands. Was she really doing this? Dates should be casual, flirty. Enticing, not depressing. But she wanted to. Part of it was to wave him off, warn him that he might be in the presence of the new and not-much-improved version of her mother, Nanette 2.0, for his sake and hers. But he was like sunshine: he made her want to strip off things. Clothes, yes, but mostly—tonight—defenses.
“My worst day this year was finding out I’m a bastard.”
“Doesn’t work on multiple levels.” Jacob pointed an accusing sweet potato fry. “You’re a sweetheart for one thing. And your Adam’s apple is way too small.” He popped the whole fry in his mouth: case closed.
“My mom cheated on my dad. An earlier time I didn’t know about. Her cheating’s why they got divorced when I was eight. That’s one we could do: Words That Make Your Skin Crawl. ‘Affair.’ That’s mine. ‘Affair’ makes me think of a beautiful long-haired woman in a big-brimmed hat at a fancy horse race, and then she turns around and has a skeleton face.”
His eyes were wide and sympathetic as he swallowed.
That went dark. She picked at her salad. “I don’t know who my mom banged, but he has Spanish ancestry. I found out doing a DNA test to see if I had any genetic health issues besides my lactose intolerance.”
“When?”
“March 31st.”
Jacob’s chair’s feet scraped the polished concrete as he came and stood beside her. She studied his face, but he was looking toward her plate while his hot hand slid over the back of hers and grasped the fork she held. Smooth, rounded metal began to pull, slipping against her skin. Apparently, some wires got crossed in her somatosensory cortex because the sensation between her fingertips and her thumb transferred to other places.
Clink. Once she was deforked, his hand was back, enveloping hers and pulling her to standing. His eyes were so intense that she hardly registered his arms wrapping around her until she had to turn her head. Her arm glanced off something bulky above his belt. Jacob’s warm hand cupped her head and held her in.
His heartbeat was strong and steady and beautiful, picking up its pace a bit while he stroked her back. When he kissed her head, she thought she was going to melt in a puddle right there in the restaurant. At least they were outside—a busser could hose off her remains. But seriously, the painful burn gripping her heart threatened to make her cry or come or explode somehow.
“The worst part is, I can’t even roll my ‘R’s. Shouldn’t that be a perk of Spanish descent?” Holly thought he might pull away, but he didn’t. “If this whole detective thing doesn’t work out for you, you should consider a career in professional hugging.”
“Clientele couldn’t afford me.”
“It’s a very nice hug, don’t get me wrong, but…” She was about to joke about giving him a big head but caught the potential pun in time to be quiet, though not in time to avoid heat rushing to her face.
“I’m only willing to hug a handful of people. Have to charge a fortune if I want to pay my mortgage.”
“Makes sense.” She nodded up at him, straight-faced, her arms around the small of his back. When she realized the bulk was a gun holster, she found she didn’t mind.
“Simple economics.”
The waiter squeezed by them with drinks for another table.
“This is $75/minute. That’s with the friends and family discount.” His green eyes were like candy.
Crack candy. “Can I start a tab?”
“How’s your credit?”
Holly tipped her head side to side. “On second thought, my neck already has a crick in it from the inferior quality of your service, so…”
His low laugh rumbled onto her.
“Excuse me.” The waiter skirted by again.
Jacob tapped out. “You win that round. Let me know if you want a neck rub later,” he said, pulling out her chair.
“Are all cops this forward?”
“Just trying to avoid small claims court.” He smiled across the table.
Not the least bit hungry for food, she stabbed leafy greens and a chunk of chicken. “Most Bizarre Vacation.” She scooped the smaller bits.
“Last July. Hands down,” he said, and sipped his beer.
“Spill.” Her bite of apricot and chicken and walnuts was surprisingly delicious. “Mm.” The walnut crunched between her teeth with the chewy fruit sliver and the sweet, tangy…what was that juiciness, orange? Holly opened her eyes.
He was grinning.
She pointed her fork at her plate, chewing, and covered her mouth. “Real quick. Can you go back to the kitchen and flash your badge? Say you need this dressing recipe for a case you’re working on?”
With a stern nod, he pushed back, but she reached and grabbed his hand, shaking her head.
“Last July,” she smiled. “I promise I won’t be too distracted by this paradise in my mouth.”
When he pulled his chair back in, his face got closer, and his powerful green eyes locked onto hers right as she was wondering what he tasted like. He studied his beer, picked it up, and sipped it slowly, looking not at Holly. She drank some water. Chairs squeaked as a couple nearby got up from their table.
“Anything in it?”
“No thanks.”
A few minutes later, she parked at her clinic. Half an hour. That’s it. After that, she was going to enjoy the rest of her Saturday. Her latte was almost too hot to hold, but she slung her pale turquoise purse over her gray zip-up and beeped the Mini locked, walking with purpose across the asphalt.
She didn’t usually let herself get this behind in her notes and filing. But at least it was from daydreamy distractibility and not disheartened doldrums anymore.
Back in her car in record time, Holly made the short drive to the mall. Pulling her phone out of its dash mount, she double-checked her conversation with Jacob to make sure she didn’t owe him a text. And just because.
His last text was a GIF video clip: the bobbing back of an upright small brown dog with floppy ears. Its front paws clutched a baby gate, its back legs trotted up and down at ridiculous angles and then hopped twice on a loop above:
Can’t wait to see you!
Inside the mall, the Victoria’s Secret window was plastered with larger-than-life photos of almost bare-naked ladies with their duck lips parted as they stared blindly at people. Some goth teens stared back. As Holly crossed the threshold, a preteen girl with her mother approached, and she wished she were invisible. By walking in, she became complicit in all the lies society was telling this girl about the importance of being sexy.
“Welcome in.” The loud woman in her twenties wore all black and a fuchsia tape measurer draped like an untied scarf. “Can I help you find something?”
“I’m just looking.” Holly browsed the bits of satin and lace and checked a price tag, then moved to the clearance section. A pink corset with sheer sides and glittery bra cups was exactly like the one she had thrown away after breaking up with Keith.
The pile of pretties at the bottom of her trash can had asked, “Aren’t you going to regret this?” Her wallet did.
In the black and silver fitting room, she hung teddies and babydolls on the wall hook and deposited a heap of silky colorful things on the padded bench. Unfastening the button on her jeans met with more resistance than when she put them on. She scrutinized her stomach directly, then reflected.
The full-length mirror showed her protruding belly, low and hard and round. Holly prodded her bloated abdomen. She hadn’t had a huge dinner last night or a shit ton of sodium—the latte. She had forgotten to take a Lactaid. Trick or treat.
The sight of her pregnant-looking self sent a warm thrill up her spine and she imagined Jacob standing behind her, wrapping an arm around his wife. No future tripping. The present was already amazing.
As she grabbed a cluster of red ribbons from the bench, the crotchless bodysuit tangled like a messed-up game of cat’s cradle. How does this thing even—?
Marimba chords chimed, muffled from her purse, so she dug out her phone. It was her dad. Holly held her jeans to her chest and turned away from the mirror before answering.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Hi. I only have a minute. Seraphina’s sick.”
“What’s wrong?” She paced in the glitzy changing room.
“She’s been off for a few days. I didn’t want to worry you. I’ll keep you posted.”
“Thanks.”
In the background, a hinge creak preceded faint barking. “Vet’s here. I love you.”
“Love you, too.” The call ended before she hit the red button.
When Holly faced herself again, her slumped and bloated reflection resembled a Debbie Downer with no business in a lingerie store. What was she doing here anyway? Time for another relationship roller coaster? Really?
Jacob might not even be thinking about sex—he hadn’t even kissed her yet. But they’d been seeing each other a month now, and kissing could lead to other things. Her cheeks flushed, remembering the long look he gave her after the last time he hugged her goodbye on her porch, refusing to come in. She knew he was into her. Once he came in, the clothes might come off, and she wanted to be prepared.
A bruised-up part of her was waving yellow caution flags. Think. She considered what Danielle had said about overused tape. She trusted Jacob—she’d cling hard if she could. Meena’s “sex goggles” came to mind, but her eyes were wide open. Objectively he was a fantastic guy. All the promise she’d seen in his eyes the day they met had come true in spades: he was steadier, more self-assured, and more selfless than she could have imagined. He was funny and he thought she was, too.
Picturing bringing him around her friends and family made her proud as hell. She wanted to introduce him to her people. Not mom.
The mirror reciprocated her rudeness by reflecting her mother back to her: in her turquoise bra and thong, she resembled a grainy photo of Nanette on a beach. Holly paced to the wall hook and fondled the deep purple corset. Her mother would tell her to go for it. She’d wonder why Holly hadn’t locked him in already.
The red pile of ribbons on the fitting room bench tempted her. She could always try it on and save it for later. Some of the lingerie was on sale. The phrase “Treat Yo Self” came to mind again. Didn’t she deserve to have a couple of things she felt sexy in?
The sight of her phone prompted her: she should move up her trip to the ranch. Seraphina wouldn’t live forever, and if she passed before she could say goodbye… “Life is short” offered another justification for spending money on sexy little things.
Pacing faced her toward the mirror again with her baby-bump-like belly. She wanted a family, love—not just sex. Sex isn’t love. How mad would she be at herself if she walked, eyes wide open, into the same stupid pain? She and Jacob were getting to know each other. There was no guarantee this would last. Didn’t her heart deserve to be protected?
Keith’s broccoli sits unwanted on his plate.
“I need to protect my own heart. I don’t know how to stay in a relationship with you and do that. Having sex with someone who might not love me anymore seems seriously unhealthy.”
Having sex with Jacob would be just as unhealthy as sex without love with Keith. Jacob might not love her yet—he didn’t love her—he couldn’t—he didn’t really know her yet.
Sex bonds people. Jacob might not be “the one,” and if he weren’t, then what? Tear herself away from him like tired old tape?
Holly snatched up her jeans and stepped in.
Holly
Sunday, August 7, 2016
Stupid tape. Perched on her white sofa in her baby blue robe, Holly shook her hand at the wrist, but the sticky folds stayed. She peeled the Scotch tape off her pinkie, wadded the transparent strip into a boogery ball, and wiped it on the corner of her coffee table. The passive-aggressive wrapping paper triangles eased apart, revealing the box of binoculars.
The room was dim, with only the kitchen light on behind her and the bit of evening sun welcomed in through the billowy curtains.
Her phone chimed. She rose, tossing the flimsy tape dispenser which bounced and clattered through a slat. Seriously. The ringing led her around the sofa to the kitchen.
Jacob
She tried to think of something witty but drew a blank. “You pretty much suck at the hard-to-get thing,” she said from the black metal stool.
“Holly?” It was Grace.
“I’m sorry, Grace. I expected your uncle. How are you?”
“Want to see Pete’s Dragon with us this Saturday?”
“I would love to, but I’ll be out of town.” The calendar on her white refrigerator was clear on August 20th. “Can we go the week after?”
“I’ll ask Mom. Here.”
“Break hearts much?” Jacob’s smoky voice made her want to eat his words.
“You’re the one who put her on the phone.”
“What’s your excuse? Washing your cat doesn’t fly.”
“How about visiting my sick horse?” She meandered toward the window above the sink.
“Shit. Sorry. The Jackass Award goes to…”
“You’re not a jackass.”
“She must be old.”
“Are you saying I’m old?”
“I’m not a stupid man, Samson.”
“True.” She fingered the feathery fennel plant in the white pot on her windowsill. “Both true.”
“I need to get something to you before you go.”
“What?”
“A thing for your dad. Thought I had more time before you left for his birthday.”
He got Dad a gift? “You have an amazing memory.”
“When do you leave?”
“Saturday morning.”
“Quick drink Friday night?”
Holly
Friday, August 12, 2016
Following the hostess through the darkish brewery, Holly dodged a darting busser.
“Sorry.” As the young man scuttled past, Jacob’s hand flattened on the small of her back, securing her close beside the island of him while two more black-shirted twenty-somethings flowed by.
Its warmth penetrated her silk blouse until they reached the rectangle of light where the hostess disappeared.
Holly only had a moment to miss his hand before she stopped inside the door frame, blinked against the light, and discovered herself in sweet, delicious radiance. Light glistened from the grid of square, lacquered tables enclosed by decorative fencing. Overhead, the vibrant early evening sky showcased flowering vines that twisted around thin beams, stretching as if they longed to meet in the center. Big round string lights had their own ideas for lines and ran diagonally from their wood counterparts. In the distant corner waited the hostess, not even trying to look patient.
“Where did you find this place?” Holly asked, stepping into the sunny sanctuary.
“Here.”
She chose ogling over banter and walked past a group of diners at a line of joined tables. The stained wood tabletops glowed with white candles. Some summery honeyed scent evoked childhood.
At the corner table, Holly started to sit before Jacob slipped behind her.
“Did you want this one?” she asked.
But he gripped the chair’s back, ready to push her in.
“Who says chivalry is dead?” she smiled, and accepted the favor, smoothing her black skirt.
The reserved sign took off. “Your server will be with you shortly.”
“Thank you.” Holly savored the trellised patch of sky until Jacob handed her a happy hour menu, pulled back his thin, olive-green sweater sleeve, and checked his watch.
“Seven minutes. Let me know if you want something. I’ll hunt down a waiter.”
She already had a full plate of happy. “I can’t believe I didn’t know about this place.”
He smiled at his menu.
She ignored hers. “Speaking of pretty places, your house is adorable. I have a thing for red tiled roofs.”
“Glad you like it. Next time, I’m driving.” He was a little big for her Mini.
“When did you buy it?”
“December 2011. Still at Mountaindale P.D. Commute was great.”
She did the math. That would be around the time of the Christmas photo.
“Nature trail’s up the street,” he smiled. “No geocache, but we could plant one.”
Wanting to ask if he had lived in that house with his ex-fiancée, she pretended to read the menu instead.
“It’s big for two—Girlfriend and me. And she’s a big girl. I bought it with April, planning on kids. She didn’t want the house when we called it.”
“Did you two live there?” she asked the handsome, mind-reading open book before her.
He shrugged. “Couple months.”
“What happened? Unless you don’t want to talk about it.”
“Not right for each other. April’s great, married now. We both agree we dodged a bullet.”
His ex is great? Not crazy, not a bitch, not all the horrible things her exes had said about their exes before her. Talking with Jacob reminded her of running over rocks in the stream near her dad’s house: each solid step forward was exhilarating. But here, the stakes were higher than wet shoes.
“Is she in that Christmas picture in your parents’ room?”
“Yeah.” Jacob smiled, then nodded at the menu. “Anything look good?”
Besides him? “I haven’t looked.”
“No rush. Your options are limited. Most of the apps are cheesy.” He set down the menu. “Dinner?”
The waning sun made the lights pop: beads of it swept overhead and around the fence, flames flickered on the tables, and red coils glowed in the coppery heat lamps.
“That’s horrific.” Holly’s fork full of salad drooped.
“Stabby McStabberson’s not the best dinner conversation. Victim made it, though. Your turn.”
Letting the fork rest in peace, she clasped her hands. Was she really doing this? Dates should be casual, flirty. Enticing, not depressing. But she wanted to. Part of it was to wave him off, warn him that he might be in the presence of the new and not-much-improved version of her mother, Nanette 2.0, for his sake and hers. But he was like sunshine: he made her want to strip off things. Clothes, yes, but mostly—tonight—defenses.
“My worst day this year was finding out I’m a bastard.”
“Doesn’t work on multiple levels.” Jacob pointed an accusing sweet potato fry. “You’re a sweetheart for one thing. And your Adam’s apple is way too small.” He popped the whole fry in his mouth: case closed.
“My mom cheated on my dad. An earlier time I didn’t know about. Her cheating’s why they got divorced when I was eight. That’s one we could do: Words That Make Your Skin Crawl. ‘Affair.’ That’s mine. ‘Affair’ makes me think of a beautiful long-haired woman in a big-brimmed hat at a fancy horse race, and then she turns around and has a skeleton face.”
His eyes were wide and sympathetic as he swallowed.
That went dark. She picked at her salad. “I don’t know who my mom banged, but he has Spanish ancestry. I found out doing a DNA test to see if I had any genetic health issues besides my lactose intolerance.”
“When?”
“March 31st.”
Jacob’s chair’s feet scraped the polished concrete as he came and stood beside her. She studied his face, but he was looking toward her plate while his hot hand slid over the back of hers and grasped the fork she held. Smooth, rounded metal began to pull, slipping against her skin. Apparently, some wires got crossed in her somatosensory cortex because the sensation between her fingertips and her thumb transferred to other places.
Clink. Once she was deforked, his hand was back, enveloping hers and pulling her to standing. His eyes were so intense that she hardly registered his arms wrapping around her until she had to turn her head. Her arm glanced off something bulky above his belt. Jacob’s warm hand cupped her head and held her in.
His heartbeat was strong and steady and beautiful, picking up its pace a bit while he stroked her back. When he kissed her head, she thought she was going to melt in a puddle right there in the restaurant. At least they were outside—a busser could hose off her remains. But seriously, the painful burn gripping her heart threatened to make her cry or come or explode somehow.
“The worst part is, I can’t even roll my ‘R’s. Shouldn’t that be a perk of Spanish descent?” Holly thought he might pull away, but he didn’t. “If this whole detective thing doesn’t work out for you, you should consider a career in professional hugging.”
“Clientele couldn’t afford me.”
“It’s a very nice hug, don’t get me wrong, but…” She was about to joke about giving him a big head but caught the potential pun in time to be quiet, though not in time to avoid heat rushing to her face.
“I’m only willing to hug a handful of people. Have to charge a fortune if I want to pay my mortgage.”
“Makes sense.” She nodded up at him, straight-faced, her arms around the small of his back. When she realized the bulk was a gun holster, she found she didn’t mind.
“Simple economics.”
The waiter squeezed by them with drinks for another table.
“This is $75/minute. That’s with the friends and family discount.” His green eyes were like candy.
Crack candy. “Can I start a tab?”
“How’s your credit?”
Holly tipped her head side to side. “On second thought, my neck already has a crick in it from the inferior quality of your service, so…”
His low laugh rumbled onto her.
“Excuse me.” The waiter skirted by again.
Jacob tapped out. “You win that round. Let me know if you want a neck rub later,” he said, pulling out her chair.
“Are all cops this forward?”
“Just trying to avoid small claims court.” He smiled across the table.
Not the least bit hungry for food, she stabbed leafy greens and a chunk of chicken. “Most Bizarre Vacation.” She scooped the smaller bits.
“Last July. Hands down,” he said, and sipped his beer.
“Spill.” Her bite of apricot and chicken and walnuts was surprisingly delicious. “Mm.” The walnut crunched between her teeth with the chewy fruit sliver and the sweet, tangy…what was that juiciness, orange? Holly opened her eyes.
He was grinning.
She pointed her fork at her plate, chewing, and covered her mouth. “Real quick. Can you go back to the kitchen and flash your badge? Say you need this dressing recipe for a case you’re working on?”
With a stern nod, he pushed back, but she reached and grabbed his hand, shaking her head.
“Last July,” she smiled. “I promise I won’t be too distracted by this paradise in my mouth.”
When he pulled his chair back in, his face got closer, and his powerful green eyes locked onto hers right as she was wondering what he tasted like. He studied his beer, picked it up, and sipped it slowly, looking not at Holly. She drank some water. Chairs squeaked as a couple nearby got up from their table.
