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It was time to get to work to put the Honeyed Lemon back to rights. That meant finding out when the fire investigators would give us access to the shop again to begin clearing debris. Since I’d expected a call from them anyway, I checked my phone. Sure enough, there was a voicemail from Gail Brown requesting a time to interview me about the case.
I stepped back outside and called her back. After the requisite pleasantries, she got right down to business. “Dirk had a few questions for you and wanted to know if you could meet us sometime today to go over them.”
“Anytime is fine with me. Truman also wanted me to ask when the building safety inspection will clear him to start work on the property.”
I heard her rustling some papers around before getting back on the line. “We have a tentative date for the inspection on Friday, but until the investigation is complete, I can’t confirm—”
I stopped listening as I caught sight through the window of Barney leaning over to kiss Truman. My heart sped up as I reached for the kitchen door, but then I saw Truman put his hand on Barney’s chest to push him off.
I exhaled and turned around to catch my breath to keep from storming in there and making a scene. My heart was in my throat, and the strength of my reaction grabbed me by the balls.
My reaction hadn’t been protective concern for Truman as the recipient of an unwanted advance. It had been complete and utter jealousy along with a healthy dose of possessive rage, something a caveman would feel if he found another asshole stealing his fresh kill. I’d never felt that way about another man before, and I’d scoffed at people who did. To me, jealousy had always been an indicator of mistrust. There was no need to feel jealousy when you trusted someone not to stray.
I let out a desperate laugh. How was it possible to feel jealousy when I didn’t even have an official relationship with Truman from which he could stray?
It was entirely his prerogative to kiss anyone he wanted to. We weren’t dating. We weren’t in a relationship. I’d known him for only a matter of days. What the hell was wrong with me?
I rubbed my face with a hand and realized someone was talking to me. My phone. Gail.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered. “Dropped my phone. So sorry. Can you repeat that?”
“We’ll be in touch with Mr. Sweet about the inspection. Meanwhile, Mr. Bromley and I will meet you at the crime scene this afternoon. See you there.”
I nodded stupidly and ended the call before taking another breath. Slow down. I didn’t need a new job, new hometown, and new relationship all at once. One thing at a time.
I turned around and entered the kitchen, trying my hardest to remind myself that Truman could handle one measly little town librarian.
But then I saw Barney’s hand pressed intimately against Truman’s lower back as he led him out of the kitchen toward the front door of the lodge.
And everything I’d promised myself about staying calm and allowing Truman to fight his own battles went completely out the window.
“Are you leaving?” I asked, trying to keep a steady voice, if not a casual one.
Truman turned to me with a smile. “Barney wanted to look at your motorcycle. I told him it was a rental, but he said he still wanted to see it. Maybe you can show it to us since neither of us knows beans about motorcycles.”
It was an odd request, but I followed them out front and showed them the Versys, explaining the basics for about half a minute before Barney interrupted with an excuse for needing to leave.
“I’ll swing by and check on you later, Truman,” he said before shuffling over to his car and driving away.
“That was weird,” I said.
“Really weird. He hates motorcycles. Thinks they’re death traps.”
I glanced at him to see if he was pulling my leg. “Then why in the world did he… He was trying to get you alone outside.”
Truman blushed and shrugged. The pink in his cheeks was enough to make me salivate. “Maybe.”
“Then I’m glad I interrupted,” I said without hesitation. “I’d rather be the one to get you alone outside.”
Truman was silent for a moment, and he looked flustered like maybe I’d put him on the spot. Maybe I’d been too forward in my attempt to interrupt them.
Things between us were awkwardly silent for a few minutes until we both spoke at once. I said, “I’m sorry,” at the exact same time he said, “I want to have sex with you.”
“I’m sorry, what?” I asked, pretty sure I’d heard wrong.
“I want to start by giving you a blow job,” he said hesitantly. “But no sixty-nining me this time.”
