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I can hear the lie in her voice. I’ve known this woman my whole life, but I know her now like I never did before. I know every hitch in her breath, the tone of her voice, every quick look or eye roll she gives me.
“I think you are. And I like it. Even if you don’t need to. I’m fine. And your shelves are coming along. I’ll send you some pictures tomorrow.”
“I guess I should let you get to sleep…”
“Are you tired?”
“No. I’m always a bit, ummm… wired… after.”
“Right. Then we’re not hanging up. Keep talking to me, Lemon.”
And she does. I don’t care how tired I am tomorrow. If my Lemon wants to talk to me, then we’re not hanging up.
Even talking to her from across town like this, what we’re doing right now is what I spend my whole day looking forward to.
chapter eighteen
lily
Jameson’s been showing up at my shop nearly every day for weeks. Sometimes he comes at lunchtime, with an excuse that he was just picking up a sandwich from Selena’s bakery next door, and popped by to see my progress. Sometimes it’s after he’s worked a full day at the farm. But he just keeps coming back and offering to help me with whatever he can. I’ve always been able to ask my mom and sisters for help. The whole Waters family. Gunnar. My best girlfriends Drea and Claire. I know I can ask for help. But Jameson’s not waiting for me to ask. I’ve never had anyone keep showing up for me like this, and it’s… really nice.
And maybe every night at ten-thirty, I end up calling him when I get into bed. And yes, I make him listen to me while I come. But I started not hanging up as soon as I’m done. And Jameson doesn’t hang up either. We started talking. And now, I haven’t gone to sleep before midnight in weeks. I need my beauty sleep. I don’t know how he’s getting up at the insane hours he does to work on the farm all day like this, much less his after-hours second job building my shelves. Oh right, because he’s twenty-six.
I’ve been holding on—or holding out—for something. But I don’t know what it is or if I’ve found it yet. All I know is that I’m tired and cranky, and it would be nice to go to bed with something other than my vibrator for once.
I think I’m ready to have sex with Jameson again. Not that it’s anything more than that. Just two old friends hanging out and giving each other orgasms. There’s nothing complicated about that. It’s simple. Easy breezy.
When he’s not at the shop by one o’clock, I figure Jameson isn’t stopping by at lunch today. Just my luck that the minute I think I’ve decided to have sex with him again, he stops coming around. Yeah, that’s exactly what I deserve after torturing both of us for this long. And making me want him more than I thought was possible.
Since he’s not coming, I need to go by the hardware store and pick up the three gallons of white paint I ordered. I could drive, but it’s only a couple of blocks and it’s sunny out, so I decide to walk.
After picking up the three gallons of paint, a couple of stir sticks, and some paint trays and rollers, I’m regretting my choice not to drive over.
When my phone pings, I have to put everything back down again to check it.
JAMESON:
I’m at the shop. Where are you?
You should probably give me a key
LILY:
Just picking up paint. Key? Ha! Can’t type. Hands full
Be back soon
Before I can put my phone back in my pocket and pick up my rollers, paint tray, and the three gallons of paint—and only in that order as I learned the hard way—my phone rings.
It’s Jameson. Did I not just tell him that my hands were full?
“What?” I ask, swiping to answer.
“Why are your hands full?”
“I just told you I was picking up paint. Did you only read half of what I said? You should re-read the part about the key. It’s not happening.”
“How much paint, Lemon?”
