“My partner?”
Memaw looks up at me through her lashes, her lips slightly pursed. “Let’s not hide the plain truth from one another, dear. I’m too old for all that nonsense.”
“Are you some sort of mind reader?”
“I’m an old woman in a small town. I guess there’s not much difference between the two.”
I spend the next fifteen minutes in Memaw’s kitchen while she makes each of us a coffee and offers me a muffin. I’ve been warned against her casseroles, but heard her baking is always prize-winning. If the lemon cupcakes were any indication, I’m hopeful.
I tell her all about Jesse—the way we met the night of the scavenger hunt, how he treats me as an equal, the way he feels like a safety net, but also my heart sometimes feels like I’m on a high wire when he’s nearby.
We take our drinks to the kitchen table. Everything in here’s frozen in time. Formica, tile, linoleum—all in colors of avocado, yellow and an off-white that probably started far more white than it is now.
Memaw listens intently, only asking the occasional question, while I sip coffee, nibble on my muffin and spill my thoughts.
“Well now,” she says after I seem to have run out of details. “This is a lovely development.”
“Is it?” I sound miserable.
“Of course it is.” She smiles warmly. “First of all, I wondered if you’d be hightailing it back to New York after a while. Maybe the plan was to cut your teeth here, then take your place there.”
“It had occurred to me.”
“Naturally.” There’s no condemnation in her tone. “That’s your home. A small Ohio town is a big adjustment coming from that sort of setting. Always something to do, people everywhere, though they don’t all know your business the way people around here do.”
“That’s an understatement,” I say with a laugh.
“We gossip because we care, dear,” she smiles and winks.
“I’m sure boredom and nosiness have nothing to do with it.”
“Exactly.” She gives a curt nod and we both laugh.
“But back to Jesse,” Memaw says. “He’s a good young man. A little quirky at times, but who isn’t? He’s been a loner for years. He’s got his family. A few friends. But he keeps to himself. Nothing wrong with that. Introversion isn’t a disease to be cured. It’s a natural state for some people. We extroverts need those deeper souls like a ship needs an anchor. Jesse’s watchful. He sees things. That’s because he’s not always running hismouth. And he’d literally die for any of us. Thankfully we don’t really have much crime to speak of. But if we did, he’d run into danger—not away from it—if he thought it would protect anyone in town.”
“I know.” I can’t help the smile that warms my face.
“And he’s a nice-looking young man too,” Memaw adds. “It’s the kind of good-looking you don’t notice all at once. It kind of grows on you.”
“I know.” I’m a parrot, repeating myself, but what else can I say? “What if this is one-sided?” I risk voicing one of my fears, hoping Memaw has the answer. “We work together. In a small town. Talk about awkward.”
“Well, I’d say the women in my generation discovered the solution to that predicament years ago.”
“What is it?” I probably sound as desperate as I feel.
“Let him chase you, dear. But don’t make him work too hard. We courted men too. Only they never knew it. The key is to keep the man thinking he’s the one in hot pursuit. The women of my generation played hard to get on the surface. But underneath it we were as reliable as Hansel and Gretel, a breadcrumb trail of flirtation leading straight down the path to where we wanted them.”
“That sounds like a lot of work,” I admit.
“And a lot of fun,” Memaw wags her brows. “Let the man pursue you. It’s in his nature. Something about him wakes up as he chases you. And when he catches you, he’ll have earned it.”
I think about Marco. I made it way too easy on him. And he took me for granted. But maybe that’s more due to who he is than how we ended up dating. I can’t see Jesse ever taking me for granted, regardless of what happens between us.
“Don’t play games, dear. I’m not talking about manipulation or dishonesty. I’m talking about letting him know the door is open, but not standing on the porch. Does that make sense?”
“Oddly enough, yes. It does.”
Maybe I’ve gotten so used to standing on my own that I’ve forgotten how to let someone walk beside me. I remember the day I decided I didn’t need a man telling me what to do. But Jesse’s different. He’s not Marco. He wouldn’t ever dismiss my opinions or dreams. I’ve only known him a short time, but we’ve been immersed in one another’s company. And I already know that much about him.
