Done (Harmony Haven #1)

Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

EASTON

On the way home from Sunday dinner, I decided to grab everything I needed to make the notebook for Jesse. At the very least, I hoped it showed her I was sincere. I didn’t want her thinking that just because she had tried to blow me off that I was done trying.

At the rate I was going, I’d never be done.

“Here, take it,” Ms. Ellison whispered, sliding the box across the hood of my truck and looking around as if she had just passed a drum of Uppers. “Quick.”

She was taking her role, and the mission I had sent her on, incredibly seriously. Even dressing the part in a big floppy hat that covered her face, sunglasses that made me think her eyes had just been dilated, and combat boots that looked three sizes too big.

Wait? Combat boots?

“Ms. Ellison? What’s with the boots?”

“Shhh,” she hushed me, throwing her arms around in a panic but then immediately shifting as if she were swatting a fly. “Just take the box and go. I didn’t read it.” She hesitated for a second then added. “I mean, I wanted to, but I didn’t. Where’s the next meet up? It's too busy here, people can see.”

We were in the parking lot of Harmony Haven's busiest grocery store. It was just a little bigger than a gas station, but everyone in town passed through at some point. I chose it because it was convenient and easy, not to mention I needed to grab a Hungry Man for dinner.

“Now that I have my answers,” I lifted the box that had the binder packed back inside, “There won’t be a next time.”

“What?” Ms. Ellison broke character and stood up straight, putting her hands on her hips. “This is the most fun I’ve had in years. It can’t end here.”

“Maybe there’ll be another mission I’ll have to send you on when it comes to your new neighbor.”

“Good,” she huffed and backed away toward her own car. “Keep me posted. I’m gonna go take these damn boots off.”

Holding the box tight, I waited as Ms. Ellison drove away slowly in her old Cadillac. Then I jumped into the driver’s seat of my truck and looked down at the neatly wrapped package. The ribbon was the same one I had put on it, but it had clearly been redone. It was prettier, daintier, and some stupid part of me didn’t want to mess it up.

The bigger part of me said, ‘fuck that,’ and I ripped it off, pulling the binder out and tossing the box—and ribbon—into the passenger seat of my truck. Without even considering driving home first to put my Hungry Man in the freezer, I flipped to the first page and settled in to read her answers.

Question 1: What is your favorite color?

It was a simple first question, and easy to answer. There wasn’t anything personal about telling me her favorite color, but I wanted to be prepared in case I ever needed to know.

Instead of a one word answer, though, Jesse gave me details.

I used to love pink, but Max prefers yellow. All his favorites become my favorites. So the answer is yellow… for now.

Yellow was my favorite color too. It wasn’t before I read that, but what was good enough for Max and Jesse, was good enough for me.

Question 2: What is the silliest thing you’ve ever done?

I had underlined the word silliest. As much as I wanted to ask her about her craziest, or most impulsive, moment, I knew those were moments I wanted to hear her answer face to face. But her silliest moment intrigued me just as much.

It’s a tie between thinking I may one day own that old house on the hill when you’re driving into town, or answering these questions. Both are completely silly.

Somehow, I knew she’d mention answering my questions as being silly. The fact that I could have predicted that answer after only knowing her a short time made me smile.

Then the first part of her answer made me freeze. Did she mean the one next to Gramps and Gram’s house? It was a few miles on the outskirts of town, definitely on a hill, and something you’d pass coming into town from Atlanta.

My heart skipped a beat, thinking of the old place that looked more like the setting of a scary movie than the place a woman would want to buy and raise her son in. But no one could deny the location, and I guess from the road, it looked okay. Rebuilt and taken care of, it’d be an amazing place.

Interesting , I thought, taking a little longer to read over her answer again and again. Jesse was from the city but she clearly had the heart of a small town girl.

Finally moving on, I flipped the page to the third question. It was a ridiculous question, but one that I added just in hopes it made her smile.

Question 3: Who is the most handsome firefighter you’ve ever met? Bonus points if you met him while naked in your bedroom.

I was asking for a smart ass answer. So I couldn’t even pretend to act shocked when I read her response.

No charge.

Jesse may as well have written ‘no comment’ and the laugh that got out of me could be heard through my closed windows as people milled about in the parking lot. An older woman was climbing into her car next to me and stopped, looking around for the noise. My tinted windows kept her from seeing me, though, and it didn’t take her long to realize that my laughter wasn’t for her.

Question 4: What is the most interesting dream you’ve ever had?

If we’re talking about a dream, as in a strongly desired goal, then I wanted to own my own business and would dream of the day I could financially support myself with something I find passion in doing.

Shit. I meant the kind of dream that happened when she was sleeping, but the answer I got was better. It showed me another one of her layers—and how much of a rockstar she was to already be living her dream. But it also made me want to start carrying her candles in my truck, to sell, just so I could help her dream grow even bigger. Whatever she found passion in doing, I wanted to bring it straight to her front door and make it her reality. It may have been the hero complex I sometimes sported, but that didn’t make it any less true.

Below her answer was another note that I almost overlooked. It was written in her same perfect writing, but it was smaller and in parenthesis.

(If you meant a sleeping dream: I once dreamt I could shrink people and carry them in a shoe box. I would shake a little tea bag full of magic powder and poof, whoever I wanted in my box was mine to keep forever. It was pretty interesting.)

For fucks sake.

That time, I had to keep a hand over my mouth to muffle the laughter. My chest was in pain from shaking and tears were leaking from my laughing eyes. It wasn’t even that funny. In fact, it was kind of disturbing. But she took the time to tell me, and that was all I cared about.

Then I stopped. Sobering up quickly as reality hit me—hard. Jesse had me acting like a little kid. Giggling, passing notes, fuck.

I slammed the notebook shut, trying to prove I wasn’t twelve and could handle shit like a man. What was I giggling for anyway? Some answers to some stupid questions that were meaningless because Jesse would never actually give me the time of day?

Like she said, and like I agreed with, Max was the only person she had time for in her life. She was being nice, answering my idiodic questions, but that didn’t mean that she and I were headed for a happily ever after. And if sex was all I was after, going after Rory would make more sense.

Ok, I was losing my mind because Rory was the opposite of making sense. It was just the insanity talking, that was all it was. So what if I giggled?

No, chuckled .

Ah, fuck it. Jesse was worth me giggling.

From the moment I laid eyes on her, I knew it was more than just meeting a random woman. There wasn’t really a word for what happened to me at that moment. Jesse was different. Special. I wasn’t sure yet why, or how, but I knew it was the kind of thing that made me use MLA format in a damn binder full of dopey questions.

“Get it together,” I sighed, tossing the binder to the passenger seat and putting my truck in drive. “She’s special, but she’s still a woman. You know all about women. You know—” I had to cut myself off. Talking to myself was showing just as much lunacy as giggling.

My stomach was in knots and I needed a beer, so I called Miles and told him to meet me at Fiddler’s. If there was anyone that could talk some sense into me, it was my little brother. He’d know what to do.

Or maybe he wouldn’t.

But I was so lost inside my head, and flipped upside down because of this girl. I needed to feel normal, and I needed to be with someone I trusted, someone I knew had my back. Someone that would give me shit for giggling, but would also drive me home if I drank too much.

Someone to keep an eye on me when I apparently couldn’t keep an eye on myself.