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Valor County isn’t that big, but for a woman I’d never seen before in my life to land in my jail cell, it was like the gods were pushing us together. I wasn’t messing this up again.
I was a fool to think I hadn’t already, yet each time I found myself in her company—every banter back and forth, every heated exchange that almost went too far, and every easy conversation—that lasso was pulled even tighter, squeezing so hard that I damn near suffocated.
For my heart, it was a life-or-death situation.
Maybe that’s what a soul mate is. Someone you connect with on a level that’s unexplainable. A person your heart continues to find, even when you aren’t looking.
I didn’t set out to fall in love with Melissa Jones, but I can tell you the exact moment I stopped denying it was happening.
“What you working on?”
From the look on Melissa’s face, I’d startled her from where she was working at the kitchen table. I had seen her sitting there, and she looked busy, but I couldn’t just walk out and not say hi.
“Done already? You really don’t have to perform in the show. I mean it. I can fake an illness for you. I’d pretend you broke a bone, but if a kid can perform with a fracture, then so could you.”
It was a weekday, and Hunter and I had just finished one of his levitation lessons before the talent show. He had gone into the den while Izzy escaped to her room.
“I’m happy to fill in for you. I mean, my kid wants to perform, so I’ll make it happen.”
“You know how to levitate?”
“No, but I can YouTube pretty much anything. I once tried my hand at whittling. I nearly lost a thumb.”
“Whittling, as in shaping wood?”
“I thought I could make awesome crafts for weddings, but Dad and I decided we’d leave the woodworking to him.”
I smiled in agreement. She had this ridiculous bun on the top of her head that looked like it was about to topple over, and she was wearing my sweatshirt. It was the first time I’d seen it on her since I had given it to her in the jail cell. It looked way too big, yet it was absolutely perfect. I liked the way she looked in my shirt. I liked it so much that I wouldn’t comment on it, for fear she’d try to give it back.
“You need help?” I gestured to the table of glass balls and boxes of ribbon, glitter, and tiny beads. It was a craft table that would have made my nieces scream with excitement.
“Not really, but I wouldn’t mind the company if you have time to kill before work.” She gestured to the seat, and I sat down. “I’m making wishing ornaments for a wedding. I’m filling them with beads of the wedding colors, and each guest will be given a piece of paper to write their wish and place inside. They bring it home and hang it on their tree. It’s a wedding favor.”
“May I?” I asked, and she handed me an empty clear bulb.
“Make as many as you’d like. I have plenty if you want to make them for your nieces and nephews. These are special markers you can write with. My hand is cramping from writing one hundred sixty names today.”
I took her hand in mine, flipping it over to expose the palm. It wasn’t the first time I’d grabbed her hand, so she didn’t find it odd as I pressed my thumb up and down her lifeline and massaged her hand.
She let out a groan and dropped her head. “That feels magical.”
“You should see what I can do with a back.”
“I’m imagining many things, Officer Bronson, and feeling this good from a hand massage shouldn’t be legal.”
I chuckled. “If this is what gets you going from a palm touch, I can’t imagine what you do when you go out on an actual date.”
It was a loaded comment. I could imagine what she’d be like. How she’d fall apart in my arms as I touched her in all the places. Couldn’t blame me. I was a hot-blooded man, and she was a beautiful woman.
I also knew there was a strong possibility she’d be in another man’s arms someday. We were in this place where we were friends, yet I felt like we could be more if she’d just let her guard down. It was possible she never would. I was okay with that. I had to be. She wasn’t mine.
She took her hand back, and I opened a small bin and found Ziplock bags of beads and charms that were different than the ones on the table. While we talked about our week and then took turns asking each other Family Feud fast-money questions we looked up on our phone, we filled our ornaments. It was easy to talk to Melissa. From the first time I had spoken to her, I had seen the openness in her.
Our banter and conversation flowed like no other. Even when she was holding back, I could see her tells. The way she twisted her mouth when she wanted to ask a question. Her eyes would widen when she was lost in thought, which I found she did whenever she touched me. And then there was the humor, the sarcastic wit she used to protect herself from getting emotional. She might not be as easy for others to read, but for me, she was an open book.
“Having a hard time over there with your chubby boy fingers?” she teased as I dropped a few beads on the table.
“They’re called masculine man hands.”
