Page 8 of Big Dill

Getting off.

Jesus Brody, what are you, twelve?

“Ass first,” she mumbles, and I can’t help but laugh. I shouldn’t be laughing, and I don’t know why I am. Maybe the tension is getting to me. A tiny grin forms at the corner of her mouth, and when a chuckle burst from her throat, it lightens the mood in the truck and my muscles relax.

Okay, maybe we can do this.

She rubs her stomach. “Actually, jiggs dinner sounds just about perfect. Couldn’t even get a pretzel on the cargo plane.”

I nod and drive the short distance to my aunt’s restaurant. I ease my truck into my regular spot, and kill the ignition. We all climb out and because the outside temperature is rising, I don’t bother plugging it in.

The restaurant is quiet at this hour—only a few locals scattered around, forks paused halfway to their mouths as the three of us walk in. Small towns don’t do subtle. I give a curt nod, shielding Jami from the open curiosity pointed our way. The last thing she needs tonight is feeling like she landed in a fishbowl after everything she’s already been through.

I guide her straight to the back booth and she slides in, her movements tired but graceful, Jaxon settling beside her. I take the seat across from them—bad idea, because it gives me a full view of her. One glance and I’m a hot mess all over again.

I spot Verna heading over, pulling her notepad from her apron pocket. I give her the biggest smile I can muster—part greeting, part ‘please don’t see through me’. She slows her steps, tilts her head, following my gaze straight to Jami.

Oh, no. No. No.

That grin.

Someone call for help.

She’s too damn astute for her own good. Or mine.

“Hi there,” Verna says brightly, stopping at the table. “You must be Jami.”

Jami offers a polite but weary smile. “You must be Verna.”

Verna’s eyes crinkle as she taps her pen on her chin. “Ah, so that’s why Brody asked me to make a special dinner tonight.”

My stomach drops. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I grumble, kicking her a look that translates roughly to cease and desist.

She ignores me. Naturally. “He didn’t tell me you were such a pretty thing.”

Oh, for the love of⁠—

“Verna,” I warn, voice low, throat tight. “I just met her too.”

One eyebrow lifts. “Did you?”

Heat prickles the back of my neck. I shrug out of my coat. “Yes. We’re all having jiggs dinner, right?”

At the same exact moment, Jami and I reach for the drink menu. Our hands brush—barely a touch, maybe a millisecond—but it’s like someone plugged me into live current.

We both jerk our hands back, fast.

“Oh, sorry,” she whispers.

“No, you go ahead,” I say at the exact same time she tucks her hands onto her lap.

“I already know what’s on it,” I add fast, too fast.

She tilts her head, studying me. I know what she’s thinking—why reach for a menu you’ve memorized? I’m not about to admit that I needed something to do with my hands that didn’t involve reaching across the table and…

I drag my attention back to Verna, who’s openly snickering now.

Fantastic.