by Penny Reid
“And so nice. So, so nice. I just knew she was nice. No one can act that well. Sienna’s so nice, but the papers say she’s nice, so I wasn’t surprised. But Twitter—are you on Twitter?—folks talk about Raquel like she’s a slut or something, like a man-stealing tart. She didn’t give me that vibe at all.” Charlotte leaned against the closed passenger side of my truck, making no move toward her house.
“I’m not on Twitter.”
“What a thrill, you know? It’s so great having Sienna Diaz in town when all her movie star friends visit. And Sienna is so great, I just love her—what I know about her. We’re not close. I just, you know, I’m sure everybody wants to be friends with her. I haven’t really approached her, we got kids the same age, so maybe it would be okay? What do you think?”
“Maybe—”
“You’re right. I’ll give her a call. See if she wants to have a playdate.”
I closed my eyes against the threatening headache. “You should.”
Charlotte was blessedly silent for a moment, and I gathered a deep breath.
“Jackson?”
“Hmm?”
“You were quiet during dinner.”
A smile curved my lips, a real one. “When would I have spoken?”
“I guess I did talk a lot.” She chuckled lightly, but then was quiet again.
I opened my eyes when her silence stretched and found her staring at me—studying me—with a troubled-looking knot between her eyebrows. “What? What is it?”
“Did I embarrass you?”
I didn’t answer right away, but I knew I needed to say something based on the hint of worry behind her eyes. “What do you mean?”
* * *
“Kevin always said I embarrassed him, whenever we went out. That I . . . didn’t act like a mother should, like a lady.”
I’d known Charlotte for a long time, so I’d been there when her husband walked out on her. The man was a giant asshole—an elephant-sized asshole—in my opinion. And he acted like he had something perpetually stuck up that elephant-sized asshole, likely his own mouse-sized dick.
“Absolutely not. You didn’t embarrass me.” At least, she didn’t embarrass me the way she was asking about.
Yes, I’d been embarrassed. Yes, she’d pushed me into doing something I really didn’t want to do. But that was just Charlotte. She pushed. I’d known from the start of our relationship that she was a pushy person.
“I think you’re lying.” She gave me a wry smile. “You were bright red when we made it to the table, and I’m sorry. I did not mean to embarrass you.”
I felt like she’d punched me in the stomach. If anyone should’ve been apologizing, it should’ve been me. “You—you didn’t. I promise.” I shook my head emphatically.
“I know I did.”
“No. I was embarrassed, but definitely not in the way you mean. I was embarrassed, but not embarrassed of you. Never of you.”
She screwed her mouth to the side, her gaze flickering over me like she wanted to believe me.
So I added, “It was an overwhelming experience, is all.”
Inspecting me for a moment longer, she nodded, finally accepting my words. “Okay. I believe you.”
“Good.” I breathed out my relief, setting my hands on my hips. That settled, I looked over her shoulder at the moon, already high in the sky. It wasn’t late, but I was exhausted.
“Do you want to come inside?” she asked, drawing my attention back to her. “Have a drink? The kids should be in bed.”
“But they won’t be asleep, and tomorrow is a school day.”
Charlotte lifted her chin, the knot between her eyebrows returning, like I’d said something significant, and it irritated her.
“What?” I looked to the left and then to the right, looking for the source of her sudden ire. “What is it?”
She crossed her arms, the set of her mouth more defensive than friendly. “Tell me honestly, Jackson. If I were Ashley Winston, and she’d invited you in, would you come in tonight?”
I made a face. “No. Because that would never happen, and she’s married.”
“But let’s say she wasn’t married, okay? Let’s say Drew, I don’t know, they split up, he was abducted by aliens or something, leaving her with two little kids. Let’s say she wasn’t married and the two of you had been seeing each other for months. Let’s say she invited you in. What would you say?”
My mouth worked, and just like before, no sound came out. What the hell—
“I knew it!”
“Knew what? What do you know?”
“You waited too long to answer the question.”
“I was thinking! I shouldn’t be penalized for thinking.”
“If you were over her, you wouldn’t need to think.”
I couldn’t help it, I laughed. “I am most definitely over Ashley Winston. That was a long, long, long time ago.”
“And yet, if she’d asked you over to her house to fix a pipe in the middle of the night, I bet she would’ve gotten laid.”
I flinched, honestly shocked. “Charlotte!”
“Oh, don’t you Charlotte me. You know I’m right. And here you are, treating me like a lady.”
“You are a lady.”
“And you’re a gentleman, and—I’m sorry—but I don’t want a gentleman.”
Wait.
Wait, wait, wait.
What is happening? How did I get here?
“You don’t want a gentleman?”
“No!” She threw her hands up, rolling her eyes. “I mean, yes. Okay, of course I want a gentleman. But I want someone who at least has to try to be a gentleman with me. I want it to be difficult for a man to always be a gentleman with me, I want him to—to—to—”
“Not always be a good guy?” The words and thought slipped out of me at the exact same time.
“Yes! Exactly. And, Jackson, I adore you, I really do, but you . . . you never have to struggle against any ungentlemanly impulses with me, or any impulses. We have no chemistry.”
Chemistry. She wanted chemistry? What the hell was I supposed to do with that? How did I make chemistry appear out of thin air when we’d only been on four dates as of tonight?
“You don’t have to say anything.” She sounded remorseful yet firm, but also deflated and sad. “Truth be told, I think I made up my mind before dinner. I think I made up my mind on Monday night. But I didn’t want to send you a text to call things off.”
“Made up your mind about what?” I was so lost. What were we even talking about?
“I really like you, Jackson. And I know there’s going to be a bunch of people who will call me crazy for doing this, but—honey—we’re breaking up.”
I stared at her, disbelief a heavy veil obscuring my vision. “Charlotte. What—”
“You’re a good man with a steady job and income, from a nice family who likes me. You’re handsome, you take care of your body. You laugh at my jokes, and you’re kind. So, so kind. And who am I? I’m a single mother of four kids. I should be grateful, right?”
Reflexively, I stepped forward and took her hand. As her friend, I hated the desolation I heard in her voice. “No. God, no. You’re amazing, Charlotte. I’m the lucky one.” Maybe society would have her believe that kind of shit, but it wasn’t true.
She sniffed, shaking her head. “No. Neither of us is the lucky one, not in love. Because I don’t see myself falling in love with you, Jackson. I don’t see us loving each other like anything more than good friends.”
My stomach had tied itself in knots while she spoke, and I squeezed her hand. I wasn’t ready to concede defeat, not quite yet. Friendship was a good foundation, that’s what I’d been told by everybody. Charlotte and I had a great friendship. There had to be something I could do.
“Charlotte, what can I do to make this right? I really, really like you.”
She huffed a watery chuckle. “It’s for the best, and you know it. You deserve to be crazy about someone, I want that for you.
And I deserve for someone to be crazy about me. That’s what I want.”
“But—
She pulled her hand out of mine. “You said it yourself, you really, really like me. But you’re not crazy for me. I was wearing nothing under my bathrobe on Monday—trying to force some chemistry—and you didn’t even notice because it never occurred to you to take a peek. Admit it. You know I’m right.”
I closed my eyes, the headache I’d been fighting all night crawling from my neck to my jaw to my temples and throbbing behind my forehead.
“We—we’ll still be friends, all right?”
I laughed. It sounded sour. I had a lot of female friends. I had so many female friends. Boone and I may live together, but he wasn’t the talkative type. My former partner and I had been friendly for a time, but ever since he and his girl got together, he didn’t have much free time. All the friends I actually had real conversations with—other than Cletus Winston—were women.
Point was, I didn’t want any more female friends.
But Charlotte had been a friend before we’d tried being something more, so I reckoned there was no reason we couldn’t be friends again. Nothing had really changed. She wasn’t breaking my heart, and I wasn’t angry. I was . . . disappointed. Now I’d have to start all over with someone else.
“Jackson?”
“Yes. Yes, we can be friends. Come here.” I reached out and pulled Charlotte forward into a hug. Wrapping her tightly in my arms, I felt her body relax on a big exhale.
“You give good hugs,” she said, her voice muffled.
“So do you,” I said, resting my cheek against hers.
She tucked her chin on top of my shoulder. “And you’re welcome to hugs anytime you want, okay? You can come over and hug me all day if you need to.”
I laughed, rolling my eyes at the very thought, knowing she meant the offer sincerely but also knowing it would be impossible. She had too many demands on her time to spend more than a minute or two giving me hugs in any given week.
“Same. And if you ever need anything.” I pulled back, looking her in the eyes. “I mean it, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call.”
“Anything?”
I released her arms. She caught my hand before I could step away.
“Anything at all?” Her tone sounded funny, determined as she peered up at me.
I nodded again. “Of course.”
“What if I wanted . . .” She breathed out, gulped noisily, and then said on a rush, “What if I wanted to get laid?”
I blinked, my mouth dropping open as a puff of a laugh erupted from my chest. “Wait, I thought we just broke up?”
“We did, and we are. Believe me, I do not want to date you. But—now that we’re not dating—there’s no reason for you to be a gentleman all the time.”
Oh my God. She was serious.
“We could meet up once a week for lunch. Your truck is nice and big.” A pleading note entered her voice.
“Charlotte.”
“No feelings would be involved. I promise. I just—God, I just miss it. So much.”
I laughed, then sighed, then laughed again, pulling her in for another hug, doing my best not to laugh some more—not at her, never at her, but definitely at the situation. “You do not want to sleep with me.”
“You’re right, I don’t. I hate sharing a bed. I could never sleep with Kevin when we were married. I used to leave every night, once he was snoring, and slept on the couch. I don’t want to sleep with anyone. I want to have sex. God, Jackson, I want to have sex so bad. I want to be touched and petted by something I don’t have to plug into a wall.”
Now I did laugh.
She pulled away, her face grumpy, but her eyes were full of self-deprecating humor. “I’m serious. Do you know how many vibrators I have? I can’t stop buying them, always hoping I’ll find one that magically sprouts hands and hairy thighs. Is it weird that I miss the feel of hairy thighs?”
“I can’t say as I rightfully know.” I pressed my lips together, knowing it was ungentlemanly of me to keep laughing. Even so, I kept on laughing.
“I do.” She made a grunting sound, and I knew she didn’t take my humor the wrong way. “And the feel of a hairy chest against my—”
Enough. “I’m not having sex with you.”
“Fine!” She heaved a sigh, slouching forward. “I already knew you’d say no. Mostly, I just wanted to complain to a friend about my lack of a sex life.”
A twinge of something uncomfortable, a sense that I’d failed her in some way, settled at the base of my throat, made it ache. Despite the unease, I welded a small smile and walked her to her door. We shook hands, and she laughed, the sound blithe and good humored. She blew me a silly little kiss and walked inside, leaving me on her porch.
I waited until I heard her bolt lock, as I always did, before turning back to the street. My smile dropped, disappointment settling like a heavy stone in my chest. I lost.
I didn’t like losing. I don’t think anyone likes losing, but if life had taught me one lesson well it was the value of losing gracefully. Charlotte didn’t want to make things work between us. I would not push her to reconsider. This wasn’t like quitting, where there’s still hope.
No. When you lose, you wish the person well and you walk away, and so that’s what I did.
With each step toward my truck, I replayed her words, filtering through them to figure out where I’d messed up so bad that I’d lost Charlotte and the future I’d been hoping for with her, so that next time I took a chance on someone, I wouldn’t end up as a loser.
You deserve to be crazy about someone.
Sitting in my cruiser, in a rainstorm, on the side of the road while I struggled to concentrate on paperwork, this was the part of my conversation with Charlotte that plagued me the most.
I shook my head for maybe the tenth time in the week since she’d called things off, frowning at my laptop screen while I tried to focus. What Charlotte didn’t seem to realize was that being crazy about someone wasn’t a good thing. It ultimately ended in a world of hurt and heartache.
Love—the kind of love my parents shared, the kind of love I wanted—required work. Charlotte wanted to skip all the work, all the hard stuff, all the foundational glue that held a couple together through thick and thin, and just hope everything worked out because of chemistry.
No.
Anything worth having, any relationship worth keeping, it took time, patience, and—most of all—hard work. Being crazy for someone wasn’t anything but smoke. Crazy didn’t hold your hand when you were sick. Crazy didn’t comfort you at the end of a long day. Crazy didn’t pay the bills and pitch in and ease your burden.
So, yes. She’d been right to break things off with me. We wanted two different things. She wanted crazy and easy, I wanted nothing to do with crazy or easy.
My phone rang, and I glanced at the screen. I didn’t make a habit of accepting calls during my shift, but I always checked the number. Sometimes my father or Florence—that is, dispatch—called instead of using the radio.
Sure enough, it was her.
“What’s up, Flo?”
“Jackson, we got a problem,” she said, sounding grim.
That’s how she always started things when she got me on the phone. On the radio, where everyone could hear, she was usually facts. But on the phone, she was opinions.
“How can I help?” Please don’t let this be another of Daisy’s pie emergencies.
“I know it’s almost the end of your shift, but we’ve had two calls from several bank chains in and around Merryville and as far north as Townsend about a woman stopping by their ATMs and withdrawing the maximum amount of money. The sheriff had me call Mr. Leffersbee in town, and he confirmed from looking at their security footage that a woman matching the same description was also at his place, doing the same thing.”
“Do we have a name on the account?”
“Let me finish. It’s not an account with any of them, some
national chain, not local.”
“What about—”
“Jackson, just listen. I’m calling you specifically for a reason, but you need the background first. We got a match on the license plate—she’s not hiding what she’s doing—and the car is your sister’s.”
“Excuse me?”
“The woman is using Jessica’s car. The blue Mustang, the one Duane Winston—”
“Yes, I know the car.”
My sister’s husband had given her the car when they were first dating, but she’d left it behind in Green Valley—years and years ago—when they left to travel the world. If you knew my sister, it would make sense. Anyway, they’d left the car at the Winston Brothers Auto Shop as a sort of advertisement, hoping to lure folks in to check out the other classic cars the shop refurbished and sold.
“Did you call Cletus? Was it stolen from the auto shop?”
“No. Cletus said the car is being loaned out, but he wouldn’t tell us who it’s being loaned out to. He suggested I call you, said you’d know what to do.”
I rubbed my forehead, instantly knowing who was taking out the money from the ATMs and driving my sister’s old car.
I hadn’t seen Raquel since last week, but that just meant I’d been looking for her everywhere I went. A few times I’d caught sight of a random woman with long brown hair and tan skin, and my heart would seize for a moment. But it was never her. I’d wondered if she’d already left.
“Cletus told you to call me?”
“Yep. So now you understand. We got several banks here, waiting for us to make an arrest. Not sure how to tell them that it’s okay, just Raquel Ezra the mega move star making maximum withdrawals from ten banks.”
I sighed. “Why not just call Sienna Diaz?”
“Not sure how that will help. Plus, her number is unlisted. You got it?”
“I mean, have Cletus call her. Then Sienna can call Raquel.”
“No, won’t work. Cletus says Ms. Ezra has her phone off most of the time. It’s been mostly off since she arrived in town Saturday. There’s no calling her.”
“Then how’s she navigating the back roads? She’s got to be using her phone to navigate.”
