“Lights are up!” Trevor announces, coming through the front door.
“Lemme see!” Poppy says.
Oliver stands and runs to Trevor. Lexi walks over more slowly, but with a singleness of focus. Trevor’s her person. And she’s his.
I’ve never been one to envy people. But my chest actually aches for what they have. I rub at the spot as Trevor lifts Oliver and sets him on his shoulders and Lexi grabs Poppy’s hand.
Not only was I never jealous of this kind of scene, I wouldn’t have believed that a man could come along out of the blue and capture my attention the way Jesse has. He’s unexpected. I just hope what I’m feeling isn’t one-sided. In a small town, history never disappears. I don’t want to step my foot in it by misreading Jesse. We have to work together nearly daily. And, as much as I’m guarding my thoughts and intentions where he’s concerned, this town has eyes and ears. People will end up knowing I like him.
It’s not like I can do anything about how I feel. I moved here to start fresh—alone. I never dreamed I’d end up meeting someone who started to dominate my thoughts—a man who brings a private smile to my face just at the thought of him. He’s got me counting down the time until we’re back on shifttogether. Tomorrow can’t come soon enough—my eagerness for another day on patrol with him catches me off guard.
I follow the family outside to check out Trevor’s decorating job. The house looks like something straight out of a Lifetime Original Movie. The white bulbs give a dreamy look to the house and the sprays of pine on the banisters and wreaths on the door add a tasteful holiday touch.
We head back inside for warm cider in the kitchen. Thankfully, the subject of me and Jesse is dropped for the rest of the afternoon. At least, it’s dropped as a topic of conversation. My thoughts continue to circle around our interactions like I’m solving a crime—looking for clues, examining evidence. Does Jesse have feelings for me? Or is he just being kind and welcoming?
“I brought my thermos,” Jesse says the next day on our patrol. He tips his head toward the back seat. “I think you liked my cocoa.”
I glance backward and my stomach does a happy little flip. He brought me cocoa. He was thinking of me.
“What’s not to like?” I answer, hoping my voice doesn’t sound too flirtatious for work.
I’m not just talking about his cocoa. What’s not to like about this man sitting in the driver’s seat—his posture relaxed, but official, his eyes roving over the town he loves and serves?
“Why do you love Bordeaux so much?” I ask him.
He shoots me a questioning glance. “Don’t you love it?”
“I am coming to love it, more than I expected to, to be honest. I’m a city girl at heart. I thrive on the constant background noise,always having something to do and somewhere to go, the myriad of food choices, the shows and exhibits, the overall energy.”
“But …”
I smile at the way he hears abutin my statement even before I say it.
“But, I think I needed a space like Bordeaux—a place to be known and included. A town where I can’t run from scrutiny because people notice me and actually care. A house where I can occasionally feel the silence all the way through to my bones.”
“Hmmm.” Jesse is thoughtful for a moment. I don’t rush him. Finally, he glances at me, a soft smile on his lips. “Well, I love Bordeaux for all those same reasons.”
I’m careful about what I say next—more careful than usual. “But you … the people here … You spend a lot of time alone. And …” Ugh. I’m trying to find a way to ask him without insulting him further. The last thing I ever want to do is add to Jesse’s pain or discomfort.
“Because I’m not at the top of all the guest lists?” he says easily. “Young adults my age have lifelong groups of friends and I’m overlooked? Because my own colleagues sometimes make me the brunt of their jokes?”
“All of that. I’d think you would want to go somewhere else. Find a new place to establish yourself—a clean slate—somewhere that isn’t riddled with old and misguided opinions about who you are.”
“They’re not completely misguided,” he says, humbly.
His smile when he looks over at me is soft and warm. The look he gives me sends zips of awareness skittering over my skin.
“Thanks for saying all that, though,” he says. “You seem to see the best in me.”
“I just see you,” I say.
A silence stretches between us. We’re both fixing our attention on the neighborhood around us, but our conversation lingers in the air, a living presence, begging for more attention.
“I stay here because it’s home,” Jesse says, thoughtfully. “My mom’s here. My dad passed years ago. And these people, say what you will, love me in their own way. They’d miss me if I left. And I’d miss them.”
He goes quiet as if he’s considering the option of living somewhere else for the first time in his entire life—as if I just ripped a hole in the bubble he’s been living in and he’s peering out through it with real consideration.
“I may not have a group of friends knocking on my door at all hours, pulling me out of my shell, dragging me to barbecues and holiday parties,” he says, matter-of-factly. “But I do belong here. There’s something to be said about growing up in one place—the same place your parents and grandparents grew up—and committing yourself to that town and those people, for better or worse. Every place we live will have strengths and weaknesses. I’m known here. I’m comfortable.”
