“Give Dot a kiss for me, Ann,” Bear calls out, waving at us as we head toward the exit.
I hold the front door open for Ann and Nora, and Nora gives me a knowing look as she steps out under my arm. There’s an intimacy to our inside joke that’s intoxicating, although my stance on the whole holding doors things has shifted. I like doing things for Nora because I care about her, and I want to show her in as many ways as I can. I’m obviously happy to help Ann, too.
Mick and Liam are standing outside with the rest of Nora’s friends.
“Hey,” Mick says to Ann. “That guy’s not going to bother you anymore. Scout’s honor.”
She takes one look at him and smiles. “You, son, are no Scout.”
Mick laughs his ass off, then announces he has to take off. I should probably also take my leave. Our all-ages show at the Asheville Concert Hall—a big, old warehouse turned venue—starts in a little over an hour. But I don’t want to go, not yet. He must understand that, since he doesn’t even ask.
People sometimes call Mick a musclehead, even some of ourfriends, but he’s more intelligent than most people give him credit for. He’s decent too.
We watch him go, and Ann whistles. “It’s no hardship to watch that boy leave.”
“It’s nice to see you moving on already, Ann,” comments Liam, who has his arm wrapped around Briar. “Now, let’s get you inside so you can tell Dottie everything.”
The commute is not long, the tea shop and bakery being next door to each other, but Nora pulls me aside before I can follow the others in.
“Can I talk to you for a second?”
“You can talk to me whenever you want.”
She smiles, and for a moment I think she’s going to kiss me out here, on the sidewalk, where anyone can see us. Maybe she’s ready for this thing developing between us to be more than a bad idea conducted only in places with closed shades in the dark. But she wraps her hand around my arm and leads me around the corner.
She leans in close, and again I have that hope—thatneed.
I thought it would be enough to take what she’s willing to give me, but I should have known better. By my very nature, whenever I like something, I instantly crave more of it. I want more than she’s willing to offer, but I also don’t want to scare her off.
So I’ve decided to pour my Nora obsession into two separate projects: Project Pansy, which she knows about, and Project Jonah, which she does not.
Last night, while I was struggling to sleep, I started a deep dive on this Jonah character. I was able to quickly discover some salient facts.
Fact one: He does indeed work for his father, at a financial managementcompany.
Fact two: He is very charming and handsome, and I loathe his face.
Fact three: He has dating profiles on all of the major dating sites, and judging from what I know of him, it is safe to say he has not learned anything from the judgment that was visited upon him.
Fact four: I suspect he’s guilty of tax evasion, given that he has several product listings on an auction site and specifies that he would like to be paid via a cash app. Perhaps he is also guilty of theft. I don’t understand how else he would have come by such strange and simultaneously valuable objects—packaged toys from the 1980s, antique lamps, silver forks…
Obviously, more work will need to be done before I decide on a proper course of action for him.
Looking down at Nora, I consider telling her all of this, but she’d probably insist she doesn’t need anyone to stick up for her. She’d say she’s more than capable of doing so herself. That is patently true, but she still deserves to have people who will defend her. Who will show her that she’s worth everything, including skirting the law.
Her smile jolts my central nervous system, especially since she’s still holding my arm, her thumb forming little circles on the skin. “You did good.”
I quell the natural desire to correct her with, “well.”
Her smile stretches wider as a warm breeze tousles her hair. “You are dying to correct my grammar right now.”
“I feel very much alive right now, actually.”
“Me too.”
The moment is somewhat ruined when Nora says, “Pansy says she’s sick. Our bowling double date got moved to the Monday after next.”
“Oh no,” I say flatly, to get a smile from her. Buther news genuinely troubles me. It suggests my messages have rattled Pansy. “I doubt it’s a coincidence.”
