I shrug one shoulder.
What does he want me to say? That the only thing I managed to accomplish yesterday was not texting her, like I’m in fucking high school?
Or that, when she’s in my arms, I would do anything for her?
Or how, even though I haven’t seen or talked to her, I can feel her presence in Revival.
After an extended silence, I raise my head, surveying the patrons, cataloging the lunchtime crowd. I spot Mable headed this way, saving me for at least a few minutes.
In her sixties, she still teases her platinum blond hair into an updo that’s at odds with her faded jeans and an Earl’s T-shirt. She puts my tea on a white doily. “Chief’s sisters are moving in today, aren’t they?”
The haunting of Jessica continues.
I preemptively attempt to head off any more questions. “Ryder’s helping them move, and that’s as much information as I have.”
“Heard they’re real lookers.” There’s a reason Mabel is a fountain of information.
“Wouldn’t know.” I hand her the menu. “I’ll take a cheeseburger.”
One penciled brow rises up her forehead. “I thought you were spotted with the brunette at Sam’s the other night.”
I look at Mitch and shake my head, silently asking the question we’ve asked each other too many times to count. Why do we live in this town?
Mitch also hands over his menu. “I’ll take the same.”
Then the three of us have a standoff that goes on for an uncomfortably long time before Mable concedes with a huff. “You boys call if you need anything.”
When she takes her leave, I pinch the bridge of my nose. “This is going to be a fucking disaster.”
“They are new and exciting. It will die down.” He pushes the sleeves of his navy waffle shirt up his forearms. “Don’t forget, there are two of them, so the attention will be spread out.”
“Maybe, but the other sister’s the writer, so I don’t know if I’m going to get that lucky.” I know I’m not. I’ve learned enough about Ryder’s sisters to know who the troublemaker is.
The bell over the door rings, and as if I’ve conjured her out of thin air, Jessica comes strolling in.
And because I turn into an eighteen-year-old around her, I get hard at the mere sight of her.
It’s infuriating.
There’s a stilling in the room at an unexpected face.
As if she’s a heat-seeking missile and I’m her target, she immediately locks in on me.
Time and space stand still.
Somehow, I have to sever the connection, but it’s so strong, I don’t know how. I can’t even force myself to stop looking at her.
From the inside of my haze, I hear Mitch say, “That’s her, huh?”
“Yep.” The casualness of my response is met with an intense spike of possessiveness that takes me by surprise.
I experience an irrational urge to demand he stop looking at her.
Which is utterly ridiculous.
Mitch is completely devoted to his wife.
But logic doesn’t apply here. Doesn’t apply to her.
