He looks over at me and unapologetically says, “Bordeaux is my home.”
I smile back at him. “I wasn’t trying to get you to leave.”
“I should hope not,” he says with an amused smile.
I try to imagine Bordeaux without Jesse, and I just can’t. It would be a lot less warm and welcoming—for me, anyway. Maybe what I’ve come to like so much about this place has a lot more to do with him than I realized.
“What’s that?” Jesse asks, interrupting our conversation and drawing us back to the job at hand.
I peer in the direction he’s pointing.
Jaxon is walking across the street, heading down the walkway between the Dippity Do and the hardware store. He hasa large bag slung over his back as if he’s Santa, only it’s a trash bag and it appears to be stuffed full.
“I don’t want to assume the worst,” Jesse says.
“We should check it out.”
“How about I pull around to the town square and roll the window down? That way it looks like we’re just passing by—not stalking him.”
“Perfect,” I agree.
We drive around the block, faster than our usual crawl, and end up across from the town square just as Jaxon appears on the sidewalk. Jesse rolls down the patrol car window. My heartbeat kicks up, an unexpected reaction to staring down a teen with a trash bag, but I’m on alert in case things escalate.
“Hey, Jaxon,” Jesse says, his tone congenial.
Jaxon looks at us, his expression drawn tight. He glances to his left and then back at us. I follow his line of sight, not seeing anything in particular worth noting.
“Uh, hey, Jesse.”
“Whatcha got in the bag?” Jesse asks. “Looks heavy. Do you need a lift?”
Smooth.
“Nah. I’ve got it. Thanks.”
I lean over thinking,good cop, bad cop. “Do you mind showing us what’s in the bag, Jaxon?”
His face scrunches up, but then he sets it down. He opens the drawstring enough so that we can see in.
“Decorations,” he says, sheepishly.
Jesse and I exchange a look. This is not good.
“Do you mind me asking where you got those?” Jesse asks. “I’m not accusing you of anything, Jaxon. Just with all the Christmas décor disappearing, I’m sure you’ll understand our need to check into this.”
“I understand,” Jaxon says, ducking his head and avoiding eye contact. He reaches into his back pocket and I unbuckle my seatbelt, ready to chase him if it comes to that.
It is Bordeaux. Where would he run to? The town is about four or five square miles and then it’s corn fields in all directions until you get to the next small town. But still, I’m prepared for a chase if it comes to that.
Jaxon pulls out a receipt and steps away from the open bag to hand it to Jesse through the window. “I got these at the thrift store. I want to decorate my room.”
Jesse looks the receipt over, hands it to me, and turns his attention back to Jaxon. “Why didn’t you say so at first?”
“I dunno? I guess I didn’t want anyone to think anything about a guy decorating his room with holiday stuff.”
“I won’t tell a soul,” Jesse promises Jaxon.
I peer around Jesse, handing Jaxon the receipt. “I won’t either. And just so you know, if I were a teen girl, I’d totally go for the guy who decorated his bedroom over the one who didn’t—if you wanted a woman’s perspective.”
