When Fences Fall: Small-town, grumpy sunshine romance, page 8
I drag my feet into the shower. The house is freezing cold, so I crank up the water temperature to almost burning. Throwing my clothes on the floor, I walk into the tub and let the hot stream sluice over my skin.
It’s five a.m., and my mind is still frozen. Which cannot be said about my cock. Wrapping my hand around it, I give it a tug. Nothing. I feel fucking nothing. I try to recall the last hot video I watched. Still nothing. The movements of my hand are automatic, they bring a regular feeling, but no satisfaction.
I try recalling another video. One of my favorites. And still, big fat nothing.
Then my neighbor’s face pops in my head, and my cock bobs right in my fist. I swallow the uncomfortable feeling of doing something I’m not supposed to and let my mind go.
I remember how her hair fell over her naked body. And how I got a glimpse of her cold nipple between her red strands. My cock turns rock hard.
How her shirt rolled up her ass, and I got a glimpse of another place I’d like to visit.
My balls tighten while my fist slides up and down my length.
How she laughed when she chased the damn creature. I squeeze the base tighter. How fiery her eyes looked when we clashed at the store.
I throw my hand out to hold myself on the wall because the power of my release nearly buckles my knees. The flashes of Nora’s face still dance in front of my eyes, making me feel guilty, like I’ve been caught doing something inappropriate.
Which I was. Not caught, but doing something inappropriate. Very inappropriate.
And I’ll do it again.
12
Jericho
When the clock shows nine on the dot, I call city hall and ask to speak to someone about my permits. After being placed on hold for fifteen minutes, a female voice says, “Hello?”
It’s the voice of the same lady who deemed everyone in this town a hillbilly.
Sighing, I start speaking. “Hello, Ms. Randolph. I was hoping you could help me with getting a permit because your online system is still down.”
Her cackle makes my skin crawl.
“Ah, Jericho. Glad to hear from you. Well,” I can almost feel the glee in her voice, “I can swing by tonight so we can discuss it.”
Damn it. “I’ll be busy tonight. Maybe I can stop by city hall to apply sometime before noon?”
“I’ll be busy.” She hangs up without letting me ask for anything else. Great.
I can’t wait any longer for the permit, and since it’s just a formality in this case, I make a list of things that need my urgent attention and start going through it.
By eleven a.m., I’m done changing electric outlets in the bathrooms, kitchen, and laundry area. It’s a miracle the house hasn’t burned down so far—that’s how badly out of compliance it’s been. Whoever lived in the house before me didn’t care if the place was still standing.
Going around the house and checking the wiring took longer than I anticipated, and at this point, I know Nora has been at work for a few hours now, so I grab my tools and head to her porch to fix the loose railing I noticed the other day.
By the end of the inspection, I know the whole piece of wood needs changing, so I measure it and go to my basement to see if I can find anything that might fit. Turns out, I have a lot of really useful stuff in my new basement.
After cutting and polishing the wood, I head back and start taking the railing apart. This is something of a routine for me, I love working with my hands—helps to take my mind off things.
I’m ready to smash a hammer on a nail when someone coughs, making me nearly miss and smash my own nail in the process.
“Fuck me!” I jerk around, startled by a sound I didn’t expect.
“If you keep insisting.” A familiar, gravelly voice hits my ears from beyond the threshold of the half-open front door.
My face turns hot. I’m almost certain my cheeks are red.
“Sorry,” I mumble, fumbling an apology to Moon. This is not how I wanted to see the woman after not running into her for a few days.
“What are you doing here?” Her eyes are a careful mix of curiosity and mischief, shifting between the hammer in my hands and the woodwork I’m attempting to fix. She steps outside, wrapping a plush-looking jacket around herself. Her frame looks small but unshakable.
“I—” My voice cracks with the surprise of seeing her and I look around. Anything to find a quick escape. I clear my throat, trying again. “I—I mean I am—”
“Yes?” Her voice turns humorous.
“I was just fixing the railing.” The words tumble out in a rush as I gesture toward the evidence of my work.
Her white eyebrows arch, rising up her forehead. “I see that. I wonder why.” Her catlike gaze seems to pierce right through my intentions.
“Just, you know, a neighborly thing to do. You know,” I stammer, hoping she accepts this excuse. My heart pounds with the fear that she’ll press further.
Her eyes sparkle, and I’m desperate enough to hope she forgets this whole conversation. I’ve heard talk that she has memory issues, and I feel like the biggest jerk in the world wishing for that to be true. The idea of Moon spreading the word that I’m doing handiwork on Nora’s porch makes me break out in a cold sweat. People will ask questions I’m not ready to answer.
“Whoo-wee.” She rolls the sounds around like she’s savoring them on her tongue. “I never thought I’d live to see the day.” She glances from me to the tools and back again as if she’s putting together a puzzle.
My stomach turns at the thought of Nora finding out about this. She’d probably laugh in my face or call it something like a maniac thing to do. I know I should pack up my things and leave before I do more damage to my reputation, but I can’t make myself move.
It feels like my entire being is glued to this porch, unable to escape the scrutiny of this wily old woman. I don’t know how one seemingly fragile lady can make me feel so exposed, but here I am. Caught like a kid with his hand in the candy jar.
Her presence is unsettling but not in a bad way. My curiosity can’t help but wonder what she’s going to do next.
She buries herself deeper into a wide jacket and pads her feet in fluffy slippers toward me. “Mind if I sit here?”
“It’s your porch,” I reply nonchalantly with a shrug, hoping she won’t notice how uncomfortable this situation is making me. It’s not like I can run away and hide inside my house; I have to finish the job.
“Go on,” she urges me with a smile when she takes a seat on the top step farther away from me. “Keep going. It’s been a minute since I’ve seen a man doing something around here. After Nora’s father, I mean.”
I suddenly have so many questions. Who was the last man around here?
“Oh, it was Jake,” she says as if reading my mind. But then realization that I must have asked it out loud, dawns on me. “A very nice fella, but very misunderstood. Very.”
“Who was he?” I can’t help but ask.
“Oh, he used to rent the house you bought. He came to help out sometimes around the house. A very nice fella indeed.”
“Good.” Even though I’m feeling anything but. “Was he Nora’s friend?” I ask, trying not to put too much interest into my tone.
“Yes! A very nice fella.”
If she calls him a nice fella one more time, I’ll put this hammer through the fucking wall.
“And why did that nice fella leave if everything was so great?”
“He got arrested I think.” She waves me off, making me choke on my words. Nice neighbors you have, Moon. Including me.
“What for?”
Her tone turns conspiratorial. “He’s an undercover cop, you see. I always knew, but before he left, he told me. Aha.” She nods to herself, rubbing her chin. “To think of it, he still calls Nora from time to time.”
This is where the damn hammer misses the nail for real, hitting my finger in the process. Like a fucking noob.
“Oops, are you okay there, Steve?”
Steve. If she remembers that Jake fella’s name just fine, he must have left quite an impression.
“Yes,” I grind through gritted teeth.
“Didn’t mean to upset you or anything.” Her amusement is plain as day; this little old lady is more cunning than she looks. I’m beginning to understand why Nora was so jittery when she came to collect her grandma from my porch. I might have to start addressing her as Ms. Moon.
“I’m fine.”
“You sure, Steve? ’Cause you don’t look fine, honey.” Her words are pure comedy, with not an ounce of worry behind them. “Want some ice?” Her voice is rich with humor, and I’m pretty sure she’s having a good time testing my patience.
“I’m fine,” I say again, forcing more certainty into my voice even though my finger is swelling like a balloon.
“Good. Good.” She nods a few times. “Because you remind me a bit of Dick, and I might have overreacted a bit.” There’s a suggestive edge to her words as she giggles.
Remind her of Dick? Who the hell is Dick?
“Dick?” I can’t stop my mouth from speaking before my mind catches up to it.
“Oh, yes. Nora’s boyfriend.”
The hammer lands on the same fucking finger for the second time. A mistake I haven’t made in many years. “Shit,” I hiss under my breath, scared to use the word ‘fuck’ around her again. The old lady’s got me right where she wants me.
“Well,” she laughs again. “Ex-boyfriend.”
Thank fuck because my poor digit can’t survive a third hit.
“They broke up a long time ago.”
Noticing the shift in her voice, I turn to her. Her brows are drawn together, and her features turn angry.
“I suppose you’ll find out since you’ll be living here, and everyone knows about it. Might as well learn it from me.” She takes a deep breath before continuing. “That little weasel dumped my Nora right when they were talking about the wedding.”
Thank fuck I’m not wielding my hammer when she says that.
“Nora was going to get married?” I don’t know why the idea bothers me so much. She’s not my lover or a girlfriend. Not even my friend. Why the hell is my heart beating in my ears then? And why do I suddenly hate this Dick so much? I don’t even know what for—dumping Nora or just existing in the first place.
“Oh, yes.” Moon interlocks her fingers on her knees. “They were high school sweethearts, with dreams to go to the big city together. All nine yards.” She waves her hand at something in the air. “Then he dumped her right before the prom—the first time,” she shows one with her finger, “so she had to take Roman.”
“Who the fuck is Roman?” How many men names does this woman remember when she can’t remember mine?
“He’s the cook from the diner. He’s like a father to her.” Her voice turns sad. “Well, since her actual father passed away. And so tragic. So early.” With that, her eyes turn glassy, and her fragile hand moves to wipe a tear from her eye.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble, feeling her and Nora’s pain like mine. My own father died when I was ten, and I saw my mother spiral into the chaos of her mind for some time before she emerged a new person. But something in Moon’s voice tells me it was more than just him passing away. There’s something bad behind it, but I’m not going to ask.
Moon’s eyes don’t come back from the memory she’s revisiting, so I place my hand on her shoulder for support, showing her I’m here. Because I don’t know what else to do.
Her cold hand covers mine with a gentle pat, like she’s the one soothing me. “It’s been a while,” she says with a sad smile. “We are okay. We moved on.” Her gaze drops to her small, interlocked hands on her lap. “I don’t think Nora has though. That poor girl saw too much.”
Scary scenarios about what might have happened run through my mind, but I don’t voice any of them.
“So, what about that Dick guy?” I remind her, trying to get her back from the place of mourning. I’d much rather prefer her angry and determined to talk shit about this guy than being sad over lost loved ones. Plus, I’m very interested in this story if I’m honest.
“Oh, he’s a dick.” Squinting her eyes at me, she adds, “Don’t tell Nora I said that.”
“Don’t worry,” I chuckle. “We’re not exactly on speaking terms.”
“Are you not?” Her eyes narrow into tiny slits. “Why is that?”
“We are just—” I shrug, not knowing how to explain it. “Well, just different I guess.”
“Are you?” she asks curiously and then, without waiting for my answer, continues. “What did you do?”
“Me? Why do you think I did something?” My voice comes out sharper than intended, and her steady gaze remains unflinching, homing in on my discomfort with the precision of a hawk. I shift beneath her scrutiny, feeling like she already knows more than I’ve told her.
“Just a hint. Humor me.” Her eyes glisten with unexpected cunning, and her grin makes me question my original assessment of her memory. I’ve underestimated her, that much is clear, and I wonder how much of her forgetfulness is simply an act designed to lull others into her trap.
Sighing, I decide to satisfy her curiosity. “I called her crazy, and she flipped.” The words are meant to sound casual, but they carry more weight than I expect, clanging in the silence. I pause, unsure if I’m digging a deeper hole for myself with every admission.
“Did she yell at you?”
“No. She just shut down.” The memory of Nora’s silence, more punishing than any outburst, resurfaces, and I find myself wondering yet again why I care so damn much. Her already heavy shoulders sag even more beneath her jacket, and I don’t need her to say anything to know I’ve failed some kind of test.
“I see.” The disappointment in her voice is palpable, and it eats at me in a way I never thought possible.
“What? I didn’t mean it like that.” There’s an urgency in my tone, a need for her to understand that I’m not the villain in this story. Or at least not the one I’m afraid she thinks I am.
“Like what?”
Feeling uncomfortable, I roll my shoulders and try to brush off the tension. “Like an insult,” I clarify. “It was more like a figure of speech.” There’s apology woven into my words, even if I’m not sure who it’s meant for—her or myself or Nora.
“So you don’t think she’s crazy?” Her expression is one of genuine curiosity, and she leans forward, eager for my response. She clutches the sides of her oversized jacket, and I get the feeling that this is some kind of turning point, though I couldn’t say why.
“Oh, I’m sure of that.” This time, my voice is firmer, carrying a conviction that surprises me as much as it does her.
Her face brightens. “That she’s not crazy?”
“No, that she is.” I allow a small grin to escape, feeling the surprising warmth of relief. “But in the best way.” Then I add loud enough for only me to hear, “I don’t think I’d want her any other way.”
She rolls her lips, thinking, and a heavy silence settles upon us. I want to pick up my hammer and make myself busy, but I’m afraid I’ll end up losing a finger or two by the time we’re done talking.
After what feels like ten minutes, but in reality is probably two, her eyes take on a twinkle. “I suppose you might be right. It runs in the family.” With a wink, she rises to her feet, and I rush to help her. “Go check out the diner. It’s been some time, and you haven’t been in there.”
“How do you know I haven’t?”
She regards me with a look, making me laugh.
“Okay, I’ll check it out.”
She pats my arm with the words “Good boy,” forcing yet another smile from me. What the hell is happening? I’ve been smiling in this town more in the past few weeks than for the past ten years.
“Don’t forget to paint that,” she adds, pointing at the half-finished railing. “Make it red. I like red.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I help her to her door and go back to fixing the railing, thinking that I probably should reward myself with a good dinner tonight.
“Farewell, Steve.”
“See you, Moon.”
13
Nora
Running on a few hours of sleep for many weeks is not ideal, so naturally it’s made me grumpy.
But if I’m really honest with myself, this morning’s interaction with Jericho maybe has something to do with my sour mood. The whole town thinking I’m crazy does nothing to me—I’m immune at this point and perfectly comfortable with it. But Jericho? Somehow, it bothers me. Which is totally illogical considering we are just neighbors.
What else is illogical is my desire to throw my oddity into everyone’s eyes today, when on a normal day impressing people makes no difference for me. I dress in black leggings, an off-shoulder green tunic which totally doesn’t match the weather, and a bunch of jewelry. I decide to go with golden accents and all the protective stones I can find. A long necklace with selenite and tourmaline to shield me from all the shit that might come my way today, earrings with black obsidian, and a bracelet with hematite.
When I arrive at the diner, Roman, the cook, has already opened and is mixing bread in the kitchen. Moons’ opens at six-thirty, and I’m usually here bright and early. But if the damn rooster keeps depriving me of sleep, I’ll have to ask one of my servers to replace me in the morning so I can get a few extra hours of shut-eye. Otherwise, I’ll bite someone’s head off.
I wash my hands, put an apron on, and head to Roman. “Good morning.”
“Good morning, Nora.” When he notices my attire, he whistles. “Are we expecting any witch hunts coming our way?”
“You never know.”
Roman is of Russian heritage and has a slight accent. He’s been working for my grandmother for thirty years before I came to replace her here, and I’ve never known him to take a day off. Quite honestly, the place would probably crumble if he ever does. His cousin owns a breakfast place in Little Hope, and she’s famous for the same work ethic.
