by Mandie Tepe
Now—almost five hours later—it appeared he was disappointed that she hadn’t had a freak out and needed him, so he’d stormed over anyway. And, after doing that, was even more disappointed having observed Early Morning Jimi in her natural habitat. Well, if this was what was going to drive him away . . . then so be it.
Jimi crossed her arms around her middle and hitched a hip, causing the towel to shift so far it fell off and landed at her feet under its own damp weight. “What don’t you like?” she challenged, reaching up to drag her fingers through her wet corkscrew curls.
She didn’t try too hard to make them behave because he was already . . . well . . . whatever he was. Disappointed? Disgusted? Turned off? Chance was watching her hands in her hair with a changed expression. If she didn’t know better she’d think it was rapt fascination.
“Chance?!” she exclaimed, commanding his attention. He looked her in the eyes. “What don’t you like?” she repeated in frustration.
Confusion was soon replaced by something she couldn’t read. “Your being over here.”
Her hands dropped and she felt hurt wash through her. “Me being here,” she parroted on a whisper. She fiddled with her belt nervously. In a small voice she said, “I knew it was a bad idea.”
“What?” he asked befuddled.
“When you first asked me out, I asked if it was a good idea. You even admitted it wasn’t.”
“What are you talking about?” he asked, his confusion full blown by now.
“Now, it’s gonna be awkward when we see each other,” she said in exasperation. “What I don’t understand is why you came over to do this now before I have to go into work. Why couldn’t you have dumped me this evening instead?” she demanded, her voice rising louder by the end.
He took two long strides closer and leaned in until he was in her face. “What are you talking about? Dumping you? Who said I was dumping you?!”
“You did,” she accused, not stepping back but standing her ground.
“I didn’t say that. When did you hear me say that?”
Jimi thrust her hands out to the sides. “You said you didn’t like this. When I asked you to explain, you said you didn’t like me being here.” Realizing her sudden movement had gaped the robe open a bit at her chest she clutched the lapels together with one hand and put the other on a hip. “So, now you’ll just have to brace for seeing me coming and going because I am not moving out just to make your life easier,” she sassed.
“I don’t want you to move out. That’s not what I meant. And I’m not dumping you,” he bit out. He drew in a deep breath and let it out. “I meant that I don’t like you over here,” he motioned toward the door, “while I’m way over there.”
Her brows drew together and she stepped back. “You’re just across the hall,” she said carefully, as if he were simpleminded. “I don’t see how we could be any closer geographically.”
His lips quirked in amusement. “You don’t?”
This time she threw one hand out in agitation, keeping the other clutching her robe together over her chest. She didn’t say anything, though.
He moved back a step and took her free hand leading her to the kitchen table and seating her, pulling a chair closer to her and dropping into it. It was at this point she realized he was in a pair of flannel pajama pants imprinted with beer logos over a dark blue background and an antique gold tee. He hadn’t even bothered to get dressed to come over. What had him so worked up? Worry for her? Despite her irritation her heart warmed in her chest.
He launched into a more cohesive explanation. “I was concerned for you. All night long I imagined you hiding under your bed and shaking like a leaf.”
“I said I’d call if that was the case,” she reminded him.
“No, you wouldn’t. For the same reasons you didn’t call when you got up, you would have sucked it up. You didn’t want to bother me. You wanted me to sleep.”
“If it got bad I would have. But it didn’t.”
“I didn’t know that. I kept thinking how nice it would be if I could just roll over and look at you sleeping peacefully. Or if you were having a rough time, I could hold you so you wouldn’t be going through it alone.”
Jimi bit her lip uncomfortably. “I . . . umm . . . that would be nice, but . . .”
“We could have mornings together like this every day,” he added after she trailed off.
Jimi blanched. “That’s probably not such a great thing,” she murmured reaching up to comb her fingers through her drying hair. “I look hideous in the mornings.”
He sucked in a breath. “Are you kidding me? You’re gorgeous.”
She blinked. “I haven’t finished my make up yet. I’m too pale without it and my lashes are invisible so I look like a freak.”
“That’s not true,” he soothed. “You’re glowing, peaches.”
She waved a hand in dismissal of his compliment. “My robe has a coffee stain on the lapel, and if I don’t get in there with dryer diffuser my hair is gonna be a lost cause.”
“Go on. We’ll talk when you’re done.” He glanced toward her coffeemaker. “You haven’t made coffee. Do you mind if I do?”
“I was just going to pick some up on my way to work. You go ahead, though,” she invited.
She tried not to panic while she applied bronzer and put two coats of mascara on her lashes—one before she dried her hair and the other between the drying process and putting product in her hair and fluffing and scrunching the curls expertly. She was a pro at that after years of practice.
As soon as she finished her make up with a little mineral powder, she bolted for her bedroom. Fortunately she’d laid her clothes out before hitting the shower that morning so she avoided her common routine of standing in the doorway to her closet and staring in indecision too long.
As she stepped into the chocolate brown leggings she noted the aroma of bacon frying. Her heart swelled again as she realized Chance was cooking for her. She made quick work of pulling the simple long-sleeved swing mini dress over her head. The knit fabric was the color of dark apricot. Wrapping a scarf she’d woven on one of her small tabletop looms in autumn shades of soft lightweight yarn around her neck and pulling on a pair of flat-heeled dingo-style boots finished her look.
She grabbed a pleasantly broken in leather hobo bag that was one of her favorites and stuffed her wallet and a few other things into it as she moved back down the hallway to the kitchen.
Sure enough, Chance was standing at the stove scraping scrambled eggs onto two plates already holding strips of fried bacon and lightly buttered toast. He looked over at her as she came into view and whistled appreciatively when he saw her. “Wow. Look at you.”
“Stop. You don’t have to do that. I’m aware of what you walked in and saw, so you don’t need to try to make me feel better.”
He set the plates on the table, spun on his bare heel and stalked down the hall without a word. She stood and peeked around the corner to see him reach through the bathroom door and flip the light switch on before disappearing inside. That was weird. What was stranger was that he didn’t shut the door behind him and stay in there long enough to do his business. He just immediately stepped back out, turning out the light behind him and returning to drop into his seat at the table.
He looked at her standing there watching him in baffled amazement. Picking up his fork in one hand and toast in the other, he said, “You gonna eat—or what?” Then he scooped a pile of eggs onto the corner of his toast and shoved it into his mouth.
Jimi sat down and took a tiny first bite of bacon. She wasn’t going to ask. She really wasn’t. But in the end she couldn’t help herself. “What was that?” she inquired, thrusting a thumb over her shoulder toward the hallway.
“What? Oh. The bathroom thing?” After her nod, he said nonchalantly, “I was just checking your mirror.”
“My mirror?”
“Yeah. I suspected it must be different than mine. Magical or something.”
; She didn’t respond, but sat looking at him in astonishment.
He took another big bite of eggs . . . transferred from his plate with his fork to the toast and into his mouth. After chewing, swallowing and sipping his coffee, he expounded casually, “I mean, that mirror must be cursed if it made you see yourself as hideous this morning when you were the most beautiful morning view I’ve seen my entire life.”
“Stop it,” she said again . . . this time her voice tender and her eyes suspiciously dewy.
She didn’t want to cry, but her emotions were on a razor’s edge after her mistaken belief that he was there to break up with her and now how sweet he was being. Even his cooking breakfast for her was messing with her. The thought of them having every morning together . . . every night like he’d described before . . . it was too tempting to think about at seven o’clock before work. Those thoughts were meant for lying awake at night or daydreaming on a long walk alone.
“Stop telling me to stop it,” he cracked with a grin behind the egg-laden toast he held up.
She cleared her throat. “What’s happening here? The whole you don’t like me living across the hall stuff?”
“I don’t think we should get into it right now. You have plans for dinner?” he hedged.
“I was going by the hospital to visit Axel after work, but no other plans.”
“You do that and I’ll cook dinner for you at my place. We’ll talk then.”
She looked down at her plate. “You already cooked me breakfast, so mayb—”
“Yeah . . . a breakfast that’s getting cold,” he interrupted. “Eat. I have nothing going today except meeting with Detective Xavier about the break in. Maybe I’ll call Mom and have lunch with her if she’s free and go by to check in on Axel too. Other than that I’m free as a bird, so let me cook you dinner. And we’ll talk.”
She forked up a bite of eggs and let the argument go. She was too emotional and maybe some of that was due to everything that had happened over the past few days. Her sip of coffee reminded her that he made it stronger than she did, but he had the amounts of sugar and French vanilla creamer she liked down pat. It was something else about him for her to be charmed by.
“Got any jelly?” he asked, pulling her out of her emotional inner dialogue.
She noticed he’d finished his first piece of toast with his eggs and bacon, but still had his second left untouched. “Yeah,” she croaked. “I’ll get it.”
“Thanks, peaches,” he said gently.
That brought the realization that he’d noticed she might lose it, so he’d created a distraction for her. Normally, she’d learned, he’d insist on getting up to search for the jelly himself.
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
Dinner was nothing fancy. He’d made tacos using ground beef and packet seasoning. He’d chopped onions, tomatoes and lettuce, putting them in small bowls and setting them on the table. . . along with pre-shredded cheddar cheese and heated canned refried beans in matching bowls. They were actually just the dessert/cereal bowls that matched his golden tan stoneware adorned with rings of dark blue glaze, but he’d set those bowls around a pretty pot of rust-colored mums. And there were lit beige pillar candles on either side of the flowers. He’d dumped the tortilla chips into a breadbasket and the salsa into yet another bowl. So, although the food wasn’t fancy, the presentation made it special.
Their plates sat on wicker placemats—placemats she was surprised he even owned. That was until he ‘fessed up that he had indeed met Suzanne for lunch, mentioned his dinner plans, and so she’d marched him into a home store next to the restaurant and bought the classy-yet-masculine placemats, candles, and breadbasket for him as a gift. It seemed odd to Jimi that Suzanne would take a casual midweek dinner so seriously, but his mom was a different breed. Besides, Jimi was charmed again by the effort he’d put into making their simple dinner so nice.
She took a sip of her margarita (it was nice to know he made excellent ones). They had chatted about his day . . . lunch with his mother . . . his debriefing with Detective Xavier, who he’d liked and looked forward to working with in the future . . . his visit with Axel.
They also talked about her day, but she didn’t let on how difficult it was for her to concentrate while getting started on setting up the bulletin for Sunday’s services and the prayer lists after their conversation that morning. She’d done it, but she’d have to be sure to double-check what work she’d done when she went in tomorrow before printing them on Friday morning. Jimi felt a little guilty for not attending Wednesday night Bible study in lieu of this dinner, but she knew that until she and Chance had it out, her concentration on anything would be practically nonexistent. She figured the Lord would understand. She hoped.
She also shared that her visit with Axel was brief because he’d had another visitor when she’d arrived—Roscoe. Roscoe seemed to be around the hospital with Axel a lot. Jimi knew the two neighbors were somewhat close, but hadn’t realized how close. After only a few minutes the Vagabond family had begun to trickle in. She’d taken note that if she wanted to visit she should choose a different time of day since the nine-to-fivers tended to gravitate to Axel as soon as they got off work.
“Would you like another?” Chance asked, nodding toward her almost-empty margarita glass.
“Maybe half of one,” she answered.
“We can take them over to the sectional if you want. Do you mind waiting for dessert for a bit while we talk?” he asked, referring to the grocery store bakery cheesecake she’d picked up on the fly on her way home.
“Sure,” she said uncertainly. She both dreaded the talk and longed for it to be past them at the same time.
After he poured their drinks and they were settled, she set hers on a coaster on the table in front of her. He did the same before moving in close and playing absently with her hair. He didn’t start the conversation for a few moments, as if he were nervous.
Unable to take the wait any longer, she started things rolling. “So . . . you don’t like our living arrangements, but it’s not because you don’t want to see me . . .” she prodded.
“Right.” He took a deep breath. “It’s not close enough. I’d like us to move in together.”
It was pretty much what she suspected he was going to suggest and she dreaded that she was going to have to turn him down. She didn’t want to, but she was going to do it.
“I can’t do that,” she began carefully. “It’s not something I feel comfortable with.”
“Okay. I can respect that, but I’d just like to know why you feel that way.” He stiffened a bit—as if he were bracing. “Before you tell me, I have a few things to say though.”
“Alright.”
“I know we haven’t been together long at all. What’s it been? Less than two months, I guess.” After her nod, he continued, “But we both have already used the L word—right?” She nodded again. “I meant that. Did you?”
“Of course.”
“We also talked about the things we wanted for our future and those lined up pretty well—didn’t they?” She nodded again. “So why wouldn’t we jump in? I’ve left the Sparta job so I don’t have any travel plans unless they’re trips I could take with you. I’m happy to be settled in my hometown and you’re a perk to that I never saw coming. After essentially having my personal life on hold while I was in the Navy, I don’t think I could be happier with where my life is going . . . even with some of these dramas swirling around us. I just can’t see a reason why we need to drag our feet moving toward the future because I really believe we’re meant to be together.”
“I like where we’re going too, but the moving in part is just not me.” She bit her lip. “I know people do it . . . and I don’t judge really . . . but, I just don’t think it’s right so it’s something I wouldn’t do. Before marriage, I mean.”
“I see.”
“And—just so you know—this is not a ploy to coerce you into marrying me,” s
he said hurriedly.
His lips quirked in amusement. “I wasn’t thinking that.”
“Well . . .” she began before shifting sideways and out of his arms. “I think we may need to take things slow. I mean, you barely know me. Maybe after awhile you’ll see things in me, or my life that just don’t fit with yours. It could be that I’m not what you need and it could take some time to realize that. I would never want to find out I was a bad bet for you too late.”
His brow furrowed and stared intensely into her eyes. “Why are you saying it like that?”
“Like what?” she asked in confusion.
“That you might not be what I need . . . that I might see things in you that wouldn’t fit . . . that you could be a bad bet for me? It seems like you’re putting any negatives that might crop up on yourself.”
She shrugged and stated—as if she didn’t understand his question. “Well, because any of that could happen. It’s not like I haven’t had failed relationships for all of those reasons. Some of those relationships lasted longer than a few months before th—”
“And these guys made it about you not being a right fit for them . . . as if it was all on you?” he asked angrily.
“Umm . . .”
“They did. They laid the fault on you,” he bit out.
It registered how angry he was on her behalf and she made the mistake of trying to defend the men in her past. “Settle down, babe,” she soothed. “It’s not like I don’t have a challenging family. I can understand how it would be hard to mesh with them and their wild ways. I’m very involved with the church and that takes time away. I’m not well traveled or sophisticated. I’ve lived my whole life here in Carrefour, so I’m not a very . . . well, exciting partner, I guess. Then there’s the fact that I can be too immersed in my art sometimes . . . too independ—”
He surged up from the couch and stalked around the coffee table/ottoman, cutting her off. “These are some of the reasons they gave when they dumped you?”
