by L.J. Shen
“She did it on purpose!” Mrs. Holland ignored him, pointing in my direction. “She’d do anything to win Dr. Costello. She couldn’t handle the fact he took a liking to my precious Gabriella! I want her to pay! She tried to kill my daughter.”
That was the last thing she said before the ambulance pulled up at the curb in front of the diner.
And right behind it, the cops.
Despite my dubious reputation, I’d never been arrested before.
This was a first for me, and I sure hoped it would be a last, too. Unless, of course, Mrs. Holland and her daughter managed to put me in the can for attempted murder.
Which, I’d been told by Officer Corrigan (who’d interned under my dad when he was a sheriff) was highly unlikely, considering Coulter—who’d actually made the sundae—was crying rivers when he had spoken to the cops at the scene and swore that not only had he made sure that there were no peanuts in the sundae, but he happened to check out my rear as I sauntered to table three to give them the ice cream, so he’d witnessed with his own eyes there was no foul play after he’d made the sundae.
I did not tamper with the dessert.
Who knew squats could save lives?
If I was coming out of this thing in one piece, I was going to sign up at the local gym and work my butt off. All puns intended.
Currently, I was detained in a cell by myself. There were perks to living in a one-traffic-light town. One of them was an obscenely low crime rate. Officer Corrigan told me I was allowed one phone call, preferably to someone who’d bail me out.
“I happen to know your mom and pops.” He pulled his belt up over his spilling belly, caught in its attempted escape from his stretched blue uniform. I was standing behind the bars, gulping down each of his words. This was decidedly not the time to be spacey. “I can help you make the call if you’d like. Or maybe you wanna call your sister? I can arrange for that, too.”
The crazy thing was, I didn’t want to call Mom, Dad, or Trinity.
I wanted to call Cruz.
I didn’t trust any of my family members not to make me feel horrible. I also knew they would absolutely believe whatever Gabriella and her mother had fed them.
Anger washed over me when I thought about how I’d been set up, and how even though I was innocent, my family wouldn’t believe me.
What had I done to earn that treatment from them?
“No.” I curled my fingers over the cold metal bars, my eyes meeting Officer Corrigan’s. “I want to call Cruz Costello.”
“The doctor?” His eyes bulged.
No, the Renaissance painter.
“Yes.”
“Do you know his number?”
My cheeks heated. “I don’t remember it by heart. Could I have the Yellow Pages?”
“Sure, honey. Whatever you need.”
Thirty minutes later, I was calling Cruz. He answered on the first ring, which told me that he already knew what was happening. Actually, I was sure everybody on planet Earth was aware of my situation.
“Tennessee.”
“Hi,” I replied calmly, desperate not to be a wuss on top of being a pushover. “Sorry I’m calling. I know we haven’t spoken in three days—”
“Your bail was set for five-thousand dollars. Your dad pulled some strings, plus that’s your first offense, and frankly, everybody knows it’s bullshit.”
I heard him moving around. His car door slamming shut. He was already on his way here to bail me out. My heart surged with unexpected pleasure and warmth.
“Oh. Okay. So my dad knows.”
“He knows.”
“He’s not here.”
“He said you should sit there for the night and think about what you’ve done.” Cruz delivered the sentence wryly. There was a brief silence as I digested this.
“So not everyone knows I’m innocent.”
“Suppose not.”
“And you?” I asked finally.
“I know you didn’t do it,” he said simply.
Thank you.
I mouthed the words, but didn’t say them.
I couldn’t say them.
I still couldn’t show weakness to the man who was so outrageously out of my league, no matter how much I wanted to. I choked on them. Tried to get them out. Failed.
“Have you spoken to Bear?”
“Yes. He’s with his father,” Cruz answered shortly.
I heard him driving. The sounds of the summer crowd on the street, of cars honking, and teenagers laughing in the background.
“Is he freaked out?”
“He is upset with the situation, but he knows it’s not going to amount to anything. Your sister will pick him up from Rob’s in a couple hours, and he’ll sleep over at your parents’.”
“So everyone knows I’m in jail, and yet nobody has bothered to show up.” The taste of these words in my mouth made me want to throw up.
“They know it’s only a matter of time until you get released.”
“Still.”
“I’m on my way,” he said.
“But you waited for me to call.”
It dawned on me that he only got into his car after I made the call, even though he already knew what my bail bond was.
“Yes.”
“Why?” I gulped.
“I said I’m tired of chasing you. At least now I know what it takes for you to pick up the phone and call.”
I was going to text you, I wanted to cry.
The shame of failing this relationship somehow pained me more than any other failure in my life. I pressed the phone to the bruised side of my face, where my sister’d struck me, and tried to swallow the ball of tears in my throat.
But then Officer Corrigan took the phone and ushered me back to my cell.
It only took me one second to realize Cruz and I were not together anymore. All I needed was to watch him through my cell as he strode over to the booking officer of the police station.
The officer swung her eyes up from her computer screen and took him in. Tall, lean, and perfect. Clad in black slacks, a navy cashmere sweater, and a white dress shirt underneath.
He oozed confidence and elegance.
He was also currently bailing out his puck buddy for allegedly trying to murder his ex-girlfriend.
I stood up and walked over to the bars, watching him, mesmerized.
Feeling my gaze on him, he shot me a look, ignored my little pathetic wave, and turned his attention back to the booking officer.
Now that I had time to digest everything that was happening, I was also impressed with his willingness—not to mention ability—to front five-thousand dollars for bail money on someone he wasn’t seeing anymore.
Tragically, I tried smoothing my hair into place and slapping my cheeks for some color when two officers I didn’t know approached my cell to release me.
Cruz waited for me at the front desk, hands shoved inside the pockets of his slacks.
“Thank you,” I said, refusing eye contact with him.
He smiled tersely. “That’s the first time you’ve ever said that to me.”
I frowned at him. “Surely, that can’t be true.”
He’d bought me an entire wardrobe, took my son under his wing, stood up for me at the rehearsal dinner, and much more. But now that I thought about it, I really didn’t thank him for anything he’d done for me throughout our short but stormy relationship.
My stupid pride really was out of control.
“Sorry,” I mumbled.
“Another first for you,” he pointed out, opening the door to the police station for me. “Aren’t you just a box full of surprises today, Tennessee Turner.”
“Darn it. I suck.” I heaved out a sigh as I dragged my feet out the door.
“That you do, and you could use some guidance in that territory, too.”
Did he just criticize my oral skills?
“Did you drink a truth potion or something?”
I dragged my feet to his car, feeling miserabl
e. He was cold and pragmatic, and suddenly, I realized I shouldn’t have taken for granted all the times he’d been sweet and caring to me.
“I’m in the process of giving up on some things,” he explained, opening the passenger door for me.
“Such as?”
“The fucks I give about what people think about me. Watch and learn.” He slammed the door after me.
I watched as he rounded his car, buckled his seatbelt, and started the car. He didn’t look at me. He didn’t ask how I was.
Instead, he explained in a deadly quiet, calm voice, “Now we’re going to drive out of town, where we are going to have a cup of coffee and discuss our relationship.”
“Now?” I spluttered.
Now was a terrible time for me to fall at his feet and explain it wasn’t that I wasn’t into him, it was that I was a complete and utter nut-less idiot (oh, the irony). I’d also just spent four hours in a jail cell.
Sure, every now and then people who used to work with my father stopped at my cell to tell me the allegations were not going to hold water and that at worst I’d be out of there by tomorrow morning, but still…
My reputation in Fairhope had taken yet another blow, and I’d have to start sucking up to my parents if I wanted to salvage my relationship with them.
“Now’s as good a time as ever.” Cruz barely touched the steering wheel when he drove, which I found both sexy and scary. “I have to pay a visit to the Duggars to make sure baby Bella is all right, and that leaves me an entire hour of giving you a piece of my mind.”
“I can’t wait to see her.”
I placed my elbows on my knees, lying unabashedly. I liked the Duggars well enough. They were blue collar, which meant they didn’t judge me as harshly as the rest.
But I certainly had bigger fish to fry than seeing their recent addition.
“She’s very cute. Looks like an alien.”
His face opened up when he talked about the baby, and my womb clenched. It was the first time in thirteen years that thing had given me any indication it was still inside my body.
Huh.
“Do you want kids?” I played with the hem of my uniform.
“Sure,” Cruz said. “A bunch. Do you want more?”
“No,” I said, feeling even more disheartened. “I can’t imagine myself with a new one, now that Bear is a teenager. It’s so much work.”
“He’ll help you out.”
“Kids cost money,” I pointed out.
“Maybe the next one will be with someone who sticks around.”
“Life taught me not to count on that.”
His jaw ticked, but he bit down on his tongue.
Fifteen minutes later, he took a right off of Interstate 74 into a cozy town that could double as Fairhope. Massive old trees, an old church, a charming Main Street, and a small creek welcomed us.
He pulled up by a small, white-bricked coffee shop with overflowing flower pots, opened the car door for me, and helped me out. I knew we must have looked strange as we entered the small shop.
Me, in my tacky pink diner uniform, and him, looking like someone’s respectable hot daddy with a few hidden kinks.
Nonetheless, the waitress who came to take our order—an Americano for him and a cappuccino for me—didn’t bat an eyelash when we sat down.
Cruz cut straight to the chase. “Tell me what happened.”
I told him about Gabriella and Mrs. Holland.
About how they insisted I’d serve them. How much they stressed that she was allergic to peanuts—something I doubted anyone in Fairhope didn’t know at this point, seeing as she advertised it as if she’d won the Nobel Prize—and how I definitely hadn’t added peanuts to the sundae.
“Coulter backed you up on that. So did Trixie.” Cruz dipped his head for a moment to check his bulky watch. “Even Jerry seemed skeptical, and he says the customer’s always right, even when Mrs. Underwood claimed she saw traces of her beloved late dog Brutus in one of your burgers.”
“Sounds like everyone in town is caught up-to-date with my latest scandal.” I rubbed my forehead, thinking about poor Bear and how his mom always managed to make headlines. “How mad are my parents?”
“That’s irrelevant, because you’ve done nothing wrong, and anyone with a working pair of eyes and a vague sense of what’s been happenin’ in town for the past month can tell you that. Now, here’s how it’s going to play out. I’m going to lay down the rules, and you’re going to abide by them and do as I say, because frankly, I’m starting to think you’re ready to let them pin an attempted murder charge on you just to avoid your parents and sister getting mad you.”
I licked my lips, waiting for more. I couldn’t argue a cork-sucking thing he’d just said. I was in danger.
Cruz graciously received his Americano, took a slow sip, and continued.
“We’re going to go back to your parents’ to pick up Bear and then head over to my house. Before we leave, you’re going to tell them we’re together, that you’re moving in with me, and that they are not to meddle in your personal affairs anymore. You will not try to explain yourself about Peanut Gate. You will not seek their approval or give them any excuses to draw you into discussing it further. You will inform them of these changes and we get the hell out. Then you will wait for them to come apologize to you. Because, sweetheart? If you don’t start demanding some respect ‘round here, no one’s going to give it to you.”
I listlessly ran the pad of my index finger over the rim of my cappuccino mug, mulling this over. On the one hand, there was nothing I wanted to do more than what he’d just offered.
On the other hand, I was scared sheetless he was going to wake up tomorrow, or the next day, or next week, or next year and realize that I wasn’t good enough for him.
Once the novelty of having the girl he’d crushed on in high school wore off, he’d see that what he had left was a skittish, overly-sarcastic woman with her life in tatters, her career nonexistent, who was still atoning for what she’d done to her parents.
Besides, if I did what he asked me to do—I might not have parents.
“Talk me through what’s going on in that head of yours.” Cruz leaned back in his seat, his eyes following my every moment carefully.
“I’m afraid my family may turn their backs on me if I do that.”
“They may, and in the short term, that might mean not talking to them. But in the long run, you’re all going to figure it out, and they’ll know to stop messing with you.”
It was easy for him to say.
He wasn’t a single mother.
He didn’t rely on my mother for babysitting, on my father for teaching Bear everything he needed to know about becoming a man, and on Trinity for taking Bear shopping.
He wasn’t worried sick about where he’d spend his next Christmas if things went south.
Or ripping a family apart, and the kid in it, a kid who’d had a complicated childhood to begin with.
“But what if that doesn’t happen?” I slumped in my chair. “And what if you decide to dump me next week when another dazzling Gabriella storms into town?”
“We’re playing what-ifs now?” Cruz arched a thick eyebrow.
“All I’m saying is that I’m the one with everything to lose.”
He let out a cynical chuckle. “Yeah, Messy Nessy. You’ve made it real easy to date you, goin’ around collecting scandals like stamps over the past several years.”
The worst part was I knew that if he gave me one final nudge toward his plan, I’d have gone for it in a heartbeat. I would throw caution to the wind and give it a try, even if it meant going against my family.
But as it happened, Cruz was done playing games. He didn’t seem as eager to give out reassurances as he had when we first started…whatever it was we had going on. And I couldn’t grab hold of his aloofness.
I had no one but myself to blame.
Still, I hung onto my pride with bloody fingernails. With everything I had in me, my fee
t dangling into the abyss of humiliation. If we did this, if I gave up on everything and went with him, and he dumped me, I would never be able to show my face in this town again.
And I’d lose my family in the process.
“What’s it going to be, Tennessee?” Cruz asked, his face impassive, his shoulders tense. He stole another look at his watch. That’s right. He still had to pay the Duggars a house call. “You in or are you out?”
“Do I have to tell you right now?” I gave him a little haughty snort, like I was wildly amused by his theatrics.
I didn’t like to be cornered. I especially didn’t like to be cornered by people who had more power and control over the situation than I did.
“’fraid so, sunshine.”
“You realize it’s not fair.”
“What I’m realizing is that not even a woman I’ve been pining for over half my life is worth this roller-coaster, tenth-grade dating bullshit. I’ve been honest, candid, and committed. You blew me off time and time again. I’m done.”
“In that case, take me to my parents’ house.”
“To tell them we are moving in together and to shove their prejudice up their asses?”
For the first time today, I saw the same boyish, eager glint in his eyes, that made people addicted to his presence.
“No, to pick up my son and go home and try to salvage what’s left of his reputation, if I can manage that.”
“Gotcha.” He got up, throwing a wad of cash onto the table between us and shoved his wallet back into his pocket.
“I need to use the bathroom.” I looked away, my words delivered with as much dignity as I could muster.
“I’ll wait for you in the car.”
My head was pounding the next morning.
So much so, for the first five minutes, that I thought I was imagining the knock on my door downstairs.
Groaning, I flipped over in my bed, burying my face in one of the pillows. Huge mistake, as Tennessee’s shampoo scent—daisies and some kind of dessert—lingered in my nostrils, making me ache all over.
