Page 12 of Jameson’s Salvation

“I’m not a liar.”

“I didn’t think you were, but twice you’ve lied to me. Both of them while we’ve been in my truck. You didn’t lie to me when we were at the barn. I asked you what was wrong and you laid it out for me, bold as brass, not caring you were talking to a stranger. Now? Now you’re lying.”

I thought about what he said and I had lied to him, once. And the second time he was making reference to, wouldn’t have been the lie he’d thought it was if he’d allowed me to finish.

“You cut me off before I could finish my last statement. Nothing’s wrong. But I was going to add I have a roast in my crockpot at home and I don’t like eating out when I have food at home because it’s a waste. But since you mentioned pizza that sounds better. But then I was thinking it’s a big roast and maybe you’d like to come to my house and have some. But then I remembered that the last time I invited you into my mom’s house as a thank you for running off Reggie, you turned me down. So I didn’t think my ego could take another hit like that, so I was going to tell you pizza sounded great.”

“Your house for roast it is.”

“Come again?”

“We’re going to your house to eat the roast you’re cooking.”

“Um.”

“You’re right, no sense wasting good food. You a good cook?”

“I’ve never had any complaints.”

Jameson’s brows pulled together before he rested his features and said, “Great. I haven’t had a real meal since McKenna took pity on me and invited me over for supper.”

He drove past the shopping center that the pizza place was in and I wondered if he knew where he was going.

“You’re gonna have to give me directions.”

Well, that answered that. I told him where to go and when I was done, he asked, “Why’d you lie to me? The first time when I was stopped at the light and you were staring off into space looking like someone kicked your cat.”

I didn’t own any cats—yet. Though I was starting to get worried I would be buying a menagerie of pets in the not-so-distant future.

“Because I was embarrassed to tell you what I was thinking, so instead I told you I had chores.”

Jameson nodded. “I understand that. But in the future, if there’s something you don’t want to talk about, tell me to mind my own business, don’t bullshit me.”

I was looking at Jameson, really looking at him, and for some reason this meant something to him. Something big. Even though his demand was abrasive and frankly kind of rude—not to mention, I had no plans for any sort of future where I got to know him better—I still wanted to give him this, so I did.

“All right,” I agreed.

“The second part to that is, I understand not wanting to share, but if you find yourself wanting to, you never have anything to be embarrassed about. I’m the last person to judge. I may be an asshole and I do my best to avoid human interaction, but I don’t judge the people I like.”

“And I fall into the category of people you like?” I stupidly asked.

Jameson was quiet for a while and I was starting to panic a little when he finally spoke, “Yes, strangely, you do.”

I realized two things. The first was, Jameson didn’t just say things. He took the time to measure his answer and make sure what he was saying was what he meant to say. And I had a feeling, if his answer would’ve been the opposite, he still would’ve told me, even if it was impolite to do so. Jameson Grant did not do social grace.

The second was, he was oddly confused about liking me. He sounded genuinely surprised.

“Thanks for your help,” I told him.

He shifted in his seat. “You already said that.”

“No, I didn’t. I said I was sorry to put you out.”

“Same thing. Your appreciation was implied.”

“You don’t take others’ gratefulness well, do you?”

The slightest smile. “No, I do. I just haven’t done anything to earn yours, yet.”