Faithful

by S. A. Wolfe

  And, although we’ve never dated since he moved here over a year ago, I had Cooper penciled in as a wanker, too.

  Cooper, my brain murmurs.

  Three

  After a shower and a half-assed attempt at blowing my thick hair out, I stumble into the kitchen for coffee to make me feel human again and a slice of untoasted bread to stop my stomach from rumbling.

  Leo left a note on the fridge, saying he’ll make us dinner tonight. He’s not a wanker. Lauren actually has a nice guy. Gangly, sweet Leo. In the humidity, his short, brown hair curls make him look like a young teenager. He moved in a year ago when he sold his home to Dylan, which is where the newlyweds now reside.

  I don’t mind having Leo around, helping with expenses and upkeep. So far, the house feels large enough to avoid intruding on each other’s space. They have the master suite on the third floor, and I’m at the other end of the hall with several empty bedrooms between us. Aside from our workroom, we have an actual formal library we’ve designated as the TV room. This is where Leo escapes from us and spends most of his time, either on his computer or playing video games on the TV. The first floor living and dining rooms are rarely used since we don’t have all those great parties we imagined hosting when we first moved in here. Other than eating in the kitchen and sleeping in my bedroom, I live in the second floor studio, beading every chance I get.

  I’m not always so negative or cynical; I absolutely love designing and creating our jewelry. It’s the business end that has me in a constant state of distress, worrying if we can succeed or if I’ll have to learn how to love Spam and powdered milk.

  Once I’m suitably awake, I plant myself at the large craft table that can seat more than a dozen people and takes up most of our studio space. Starting with the new beads that were delivered, I begin sorting the gemstones and silver beads into their proper bead boxes. It’s the kind of tedious work that sucks up our time and slows down our productivity. We’ve discussed hiring a high school girl to come do some of the grunt work so we can work on the craft and business details, but even a minimum-wage employee is too steep for our non-existent budget.

  As I begin filling bead trays for individual necklaces we’ll make today, I hear vehicles rumbling up our dirt driveway. Then I hear Lauren and Leo in the downstairs front entryway. They trail off down the hall, heading towards the kitchen, but I also hear heavy footsteps on the staircase.

  I look up from my beads to see Cooper filling the doorway. My insides quake with a little tremor, either at being found or suspicious of what will follow his appearance.

  Cooper looks as good as always; no hangover, no sallow, tired skin. His shoulder-length, straight blond hair is tucked behind each ear and looks perfect against his tan, handsome face. I’ve seen that knowing grin of his so many times I’ve learned to look away to avoid being swayed by his magnetic charisma. Everyone thinks he’s charming and gorgeous if you listen to the women gossiping at the yoga studio when they have their asses in the air and their heads low to the ground as they rate local men in hushed tones. He’s a regular ol’ chick magnet, the last thing I need.

  “Imogene.” There’s that deep, rumbling purr again. He always says my name with a slight smirk on his face.

  “Hi, Cooper.” My eyes sweep over his physique quickly before settling back on my work.

  I didn’t miss a single detail: the relaxed jeans that hang from his narrow waist; his thick biceps reaching up as he places his hands on both sides of the doorframe, pulling his white T-shirt up enough so I see his flat stomach; and his broad chest that seems to get bigger every time I see him. The heavy, physical work he does at Blackard Designs has definitely done wonders.

  Cooper was promoted to operations manager, and I’ve watched him helping the crew load furniture into the delivery trucks and unload timber delivered to the factory. He looks like he does it all, and it looks amazing on him.

  “How are you feeling today?” he asks with a little smugness.

  I continue beading, though I see him out of the corner of my eye, slowly walking around the studio, checking things out. “I feel like I have sharp boulders rolling around in my head. How about you?”

  “I didn’t drink last night, so I’m good. You look great, by the way.”

  I snort a laugh and look up at him. “Honestly, Cooper, you don’t have to lie to make me feel better. I feel like crap. I actually got winded brushing my hair today. But I’m fine. I’ll recover.”

  “I’m being honest.” Cooper’s gray eyes catch mine, paralyzing me for a moment. “You always look good, Imogene. No bullshitting.”

  “Oh,” I manage to say then look down again. Usually, I have a sarcastic comeback or a mean dig for Cooper. This time, nothing comes to mind.

  “Well, look at that. I made you blush.” Cooper’s slow, rich chuckle feels like a caress.

  Damn, he’s good.

  “Thank you for carrying me to bed. I’m told Leo was too drunk to help and Lauren was too tired to care.”

  “It was my pleasure.” He leans against the opposite side of the table from me. “I wasn’t going to let them leave you in the car, and I finally got a chance to show you I’m not a jerk.”

  “I never said you were a jerk,” I snap and immediately wince at my sharp tone.

  “You didn’t have to. You’ve been treating me like I have the plague, and you take every opportunity to walk in the other direction from me.” He tilts his head slightly, waiting to see how I’ll talk my way out of this one.

  “True. I haven’t been the most pleasant person over the last year. Sorry. Now you know why I’m not on the board of the Hera Welcome Wagon Committee.”

  “Does that exist?”

  “Not officially. It’s really just Lauren.”

  As Cooper laughs, I take a breath and laugh along with him. Perhaps this is a first—us being together alone where I can’t use the presence of others as a safe buffer. I’ll admit, this moment with him is surprisingly nice.

  Said Little Red Riding Hood about the wolf.

  “So, you really do work all the time,” he says, lifting his chin at the wire crimper in my hand and the elaborate display of beads in the tray in front of me.

  “Yes, but I love doing this. I wish I could do only this and make a living at it.”

  “Lauren told me you two plan on quitting the diner soon, and you need to put more into your business.”

  “She did?”

  “Yeah. She and I talk a lot. She’s not afraid that I’m contagious, and she is living with my best friend, after all.”

  For a silly, stupid moment, I think he’s referring to me, but of course, he means Leo.

  “Ha. Funny. I guess I didn’t think you two talked much.” I sort through my bead tray, concealing the fact that I’ve completely forgotten to use two beads and screwed up the sequence on the necklace.

  “She’s even eaten dinner at my house, with Leo, of course,” he continues.

  While I only stare at Cooper as if I’m meeting him for the first time, he laughs at my stunned silence. “What’s wrong? I never see you speechless. Are you surprised that we share the same friends?”

  “I suppose I haven’t given it much thought, but I guess I have missed some of the things going on around here. I always assumed Lauren and Leo were going out to restaurants or movies. It never occurred to me that they went to your house.”

  “I always ask her to invite you, too, but Lauren thinks it would be uncomfortable for you,” he explains with a sly smile. “Something you want to tell me?”

  “Um, no. I’m good. I kind of stashed the social life for work and sleep. I’m a little bit more concerned about our setup here than Lauren. She’s better company than me, anyway.”

  “She told me you’re a little stressed out.”

  “Wow, you two do talk a lot.” About me.

  Cooper studies me for a moment, his eyes giving away nothing, seeming to casually assess me and everything arou
nd him. Sometimes, when he watches me, I sense he can see right through the defenses I’ve put up when I can’t tolerate small talk or casual, flirty behavior from customers at the diner or men who think buying me a beer at the pool hall will put them in good favor. With a slight nod or a questioning tilt of his head to the side, I know Cooper’s thinking about something that’s out of the ordinary. Do I know this for certain? No, but a guy doesn’t leave an extraordinary career without having mastered some kind of unique skills, even if he’s secretive about his background.

  I don’t know much about his old life before he moved to Hera other than he was an FBI agent, involved in some mob dealings that had to do with Emma’s past. At some point last year, he resigned from the agency and went from being an undercover, gun-toting character du jour to leading a rather simple existence in a management position at our local furniture factory. It’s all a little peculiar, especially since he comes across as a leather-clad, easy-going biker.

  Seeing him ride around our sleepy, little town on his Harley makes me wonder why a young guy like him would give up his adventurous career in the city for table saws and daily lunches at Bonnie’s diner. It’s not like everyone sitting around, eating meatloaf sandwiches and burgers while trying to drum up the most scintillating town gossip that rivals the local weather report is very interesting.

  I’m not a pushover, I’m not easy to get to know, and I’ve been less than friendly with Cooper for the past year. Maybe it’s because I really do think he has a sixth sense about people, about me. Today, he studies me like he knows I have a peach-colored bra and panty set on underneath my green tank top and shorts without ever looking at my ample chest.

  The first three things men notice about me are that I have a curvaceous body, which they like; big, brown eyes that stare them down; and wavy, chestnut hair like a 1940s pin up model. I’m average height with a small waist that blooms into real hips and a real ass. It’s all about how you carry your weight, and I carry mine with enough confidence because I discovered a long time ago that boys and men appreciate a curvy, hourglass figure. One boyfriend used to refer to me as Vavoom and others liked to compliment me on my boobs and ass. It gets old fast. I’m a little soft and squishy, but I wear it well. I’m also not past using it to my advantage, although lately, I’ve lost interest in the dating game in general. When it comes to Cooper, however, I’ve always been rather self-conscious.

  Regardless of my assets, he always stares at my eyes before producing that sly smile of his and turning away. I give him credit for not doing the classic head drop where a guy’s gaze locks on a woman’s cleavage when he’s talking to her. In a way, it’s more disconcerting to wonder what is going through that former G-Man brain of his than if he were outright ogling my body.

  He turns back to the display cases against the far wall where we keep our finished pieces ready for sale. I pretend to work, though I can’t concentrate with him in my space. I notice he takes a necklace off a display bust and holds it out, draped across both of his hands. It’s my best piece, the one I’m most proud of and definitely the most expensive because of the components and labor involved in creating it.

  “This one,” he says firmly, holding it out to me with an urgent seriousness. “I’ll buy this one.”

  “Excuse me? Why do you want to buy one of my necklaces?” I stand quickly and bump the table, jolting my bead tray and the alignment of the loose beads. “Fuck!”

  Cooper grins. “Aren’t these for sale?”

  “Well, yeah, I want to sell everything, but you can’t buy that.” I walk around the large table to meet him. “I put a lot of work into that necklace and it has some pricey components. That silver locket attached to it is from 1880, and some of those vintage beads are—”

  “So I’m not worthy of this necklace?” He raises an eyebrow.

  “It retails for seven hundred dollars, Cooper. Who would you buy this for? The Pilates instructor you’re banging?” As that last part comes out before I can stop myself, I cringe inwardly.

  It doesn’t faze Cooper one bit. “I thought I’d give it to my sister. She’d really like this.”

  “Oh,” I respond awkwardly. I didn’t even know he had a sister … because I haven’t been neighborly in any way. It’s uncharacteristic for Hera residents not to be hospitable and learn everything about new residents. That ship sailed over a year ago when Cooper moved here and I decided he fit into the Wanker Hunks category and must be avoided. “I should give it to you at the wholesale cost. Three fifty.”

  “No, I’ll pay retail. If you could put it in one of those gift boxes you have with your card, that would be good.”

  He puts the necklace on the table and pulls a wallet out of his back pocket. I put my trembling hand out, palm up, expecting a credit card. Instead, he begins peeling off hundred dollar bills and places them on my palm while I stand there like a statue. I should be thrilled with this sudden monetary injection into our business revenue, which is barley sustaining on life support, yet I feel more like a charity case.

  “Did Lauren put this idea in your head? Did she tell you how much the business is struggling, and you thought you’d help the sad, little bead girls?”

  Cooper scoffs. “Yes and no. She told me about the problems with the business, but I don’t think of you two as the sad, little bead girls.” He smiles at that. “There’s nothing sad about you, Imogene.”

  “Huh,” I reply with suspicion as I look at Cooper. His eyes narrow at me in turn, mocking me as they crease at the edges with a … a fucking twinkle!

  I crumple the bills in my fist, take the necklace, whip around, and walk briskly to the area where we keep packaging supplies. Cooper follows and stands close behind me, watching over my shoulder as I wrap the necklace in tissue and a customized Imogene & Lauren box donned with a silk ribbon woven through our pretty business card. It only took us fifty potential attempts after our preliminary L & I Creations to come up with our not-so-clever business name. While Lauren decided my name was too unique not to use as the headliner, I’m egotistical enough to love it.

  “There.” I turn around and hand the box to him. “Thank you. Come again,” I add without thinking about how it sounds like a sexual innuendo when it’s said outside the diner and between a man and a woman in a quiet, private place. This is the perfect opportunity to say something crude. I usually do, so why am I behaving like a virginal mute?

  He merely smiles at my sudden gawkiness. “I’m not banging the Pilates instructor, by the way. I stopped seeing her a couple of months ago.”

  “Okeydokey. None of my business.” I scoot him out of the room and then pass him to lead him out of the house.

  “I thought you should know since you got a little angry when you mentioned her,” he says softly from behind me as I jog down the stairs to get him out the front door as quickly as possible.

  “Nope. Not angry,” I reply as we reach the first floor where I throw open the front door and walk out to the porch with him right on my heels.

  “Really? Because your body language says otherwise.”

  “How so?” While I internally admit I sound pissed off, I won’t say it to him.

  “Obvious signs. Your lips are curled under into a thin line, which is hard to do when you have full lips like yours.” Before I can react to the comment about my lips, he continues, “And your body went rigid, your arms and hands moving directly in front of your torso, which is a defensive reaction. You scrunched your eyebrows at me, and then your chin went out. You probably didn’t notice, but you also took one step back, away from me, at the same time. You were showing anger and distrust towards me. They’re little signs and they happen fast, but I’m very good at reading signals.”

  This is such an odd conversation; I’ve never heard Cooper talk like this. “Who are you?” My tone sounds disgusted. I can’t seem to control myself today.

  “Cooper MacKenzie,” he laughs. “I’m a regular guy, Imogene. But when I was with the B
ureau, doing undercover—NARC, round-the-clock actor, whatever you want to call it—I could profile anyone down to a T. Even though I’ve switched careers, profiling people, reading them, is still a habit.”

  “You’ve never told me anything about your FBI work other than what happened with Emma’s father last year.”

  “You never asked,” he says in all seriousness this time.

  “I did tell you that Lauren is the official one-person welcome wagon in this town. I’m not known for being … welcoming.”

  “That’s all right.” He walks towards the porch stairs and then turns back around. “I have something for you. Wait here.”

  I watch his perfect butt and bold swagger as he walks to his Harley. He puts the jewelry box in a leather satchel on the side of the bike and then retrieves another object. He walks back to the porch with the same assuredness and smiles as he holds up my lost sandal, letting it dangle from his finger.

  “My shoe! I was wondering how I came home with only one. Where did you find it?”

  He takes the stairs two at a time, and within seconds, his chest is so close to my face the familiar scent of the laundry detergent on his T-shirt shocks me. That sexy dream had the same scent.

  “It was in Lois’s fountain. After you got tired of chasing Toby through the hedges, I put you in Lauren’s car. That’s when we realized one of your sandals was missing. I went back to the party and found Toby using it as a boat in the fountain.”

  Toby, the hedges, the maze … oh, no.

  “Did I do anything embarrassing besides needing you to carry me to my bed?” I ask hesitantly, slipping my sandal off his long finger. His hands are large, tan, and rough from working in the factory and on that fixer-upper house of his I’ve heard about through the grapevine.