Sweet and Salty (Marshall My Heart #1)

40. Chapter Forty

CHAPTER FORTY

L aura

“I told you, Rory. I got home from work. I was in the paddock with the animals and Jesse, and we smelled smoke. I don’t know what happened. I was at the café all day.” I wrap my arms around my chest and squeeze, but even with the remains of the fire lingering in the air, I can’t get warm.

I told Jesse I loved him, and he called the police.

Okay, legitimately, he called 911 and they sent both the fire department and the police. And he is completely justified because his cabin is on fire. Still.

I told him I loved him. I bared a little bit of my soul, and he didn’t say anything in response.

It’s been hours now, and even though he’s present and attentive as always, we haven’t been alone together. What is he thinking? Probably that his house is on fire. If that isn’t a sign from the gods, I don’t know what is, but I desperately want to talk to him alone.

My brother is harshing the vibe. Typical Rory.

“And Jesse? When was the last time you were at the cabin?” Rory asks, notebook at the ready, all imperious in his sheriff’s uniform. I wonder if he loves Davey or that uniform more.

“You already asked him that,” I grumble.

Rory turns to me, hands on his utility belt. “And I’ll ask again if I need the information. Who’s the detective here?”

“There is no detective here, Lawrence .” I sound like Frannie, and I do not give a hoot. He deserves the rare use of his real name. “This isn’t Law and Order. You’re a town sheriff. You couldn’t even figure out who spray-painted your baseball glove neon blue in the tenth grade. You think you can handle an arson investigation? And it’s not even arson. That cabin was falling down. The electricity was probably held together with kindling and matchsticks.”

Rory’s eyes narrow. “I know it was you in tenth grade, and I have to play out all—”

“It wasn’t me; it was Ma.” Even now, decades later, it feels like a betrayal, finally telling him Ma had been the culprit. “She thought it would make you laugh, even though all of us told her it wouldn’t work. No one can crack your hard shell.”

My brother looks like he might, for maybe the third time in his life, lose his temper.

“Can Laura go inside?” Jesse asks. His face is all grimy from the smoke drifting toward us on the wind. His presence should be a comfort, but he stands too far away from me. It sucks. “She must be hungry, and we’ve been out here for a while. I’m happy to answer whatever other questions you have.”

“Fine.” Rory gives me his Stern Dad stare, and it takes every inch of my self-control not to stick my tongue out at him.

“I’ll be in soon,” Jesse says, his expression morose. I’d be morose too if the cabin I was renting—but hadn’t been sleeping in because I’m sleeping with my neighbor—burned down.

Maybe I need to eat something.

I stalk back into the house, Einstein following at my heels, clearly upset by the evening’s events. It had all been going so well too. Typical me. Getting too clingy and messing everything up.

Tears stinging my eyes, I find a plain gray, long cardigan, wrap it around myself, then bustle around the kitchen. Under normal circumstances, I do not make sandwiches with tornado-level fury, but today demands it.

My phone rings as I slam my sandwich plate onto the kitchen table, shocking Einstein, who yelps and flees to the living room.

“Hello,” I growl.

“Wow, that answers my question,” Daphne says through the phone.

“What question?”

“How are you?” She sounds like she’s eating something.

With my phone on speaker, I rest my forehead on the table. “I said I loved him, and he didn’t say it back.”

“Oh. Is this a guy thing? I was calling about the fire.”

Right. Fire. I can still smell smoke on my hair and clothes, carried on the breeze from the burning cabin. Thank heck and the rapidity of the St. Olaf Fire Department that it didn’t cross the tree line. “How did you even hear about it?”

“Opal called me.”

“Why would Opal call you?”

“Please, you know she’s got a whole phone tree for town gossip. A fire burning down a defunct Dryden property? That’s like Packers-winning-the-Super Bowl news.”

“We’re fine.” I sniff and pick at the bread from my sandwich. It’s going stale. I’ll have to either make more or buy it, and I have zero desire to do either. “No one was hurt. The fire department arrived in plenty of time, so the fire was contained to the cabin.”

“Good. Sounds like those F-I-Bs stayed off the road so the fire trucks could do their job.”

“You’re one of those fricking Illinois bastards now, you know.”

“I know. And you can say ‘fucking,’ Laura. It’s the 2020s. Everything is fucked.”

“I wish you could come home.” It sounds plaintive enough that Einstein rests his head on my knee and gives me his I’m-here-for-you puppy eyes. “I miss my friend.” There is silence on the other end of the line, but I have to try. “Can’t you make up with your dad?”

“I’m sorry. I want to be there for you, I do, but I can’t come home, and he knows why.”

Two rejections from two people I love, all in one day. I should bake a special cake. The How to Know Your Life is Over at Thirty-Four cake. It will be bittersweet chocolate with spicy red chili pepper in the batter and filled with sour lemon peel. Topped with airy whipped aquafaba because it doesn’t really have substance or purpose.

Daphne clears her throat. “So… The ‘he’ you mentioned is Jesse, right?”

I rip my sandwich in half, spraying the plate with food debris. Who needs knives anyway? “Way to deflect.”

“Hey, I’m the champ.” She pauses, the line full of the background noise of a busy Chicago street. She must be sitting at an outdoor café, or shopping along the Miracle Mile, or on the beach by Lake Michigan. “Did you ever figure out what he’s hiding?”

“Not really. At times, it feels like I know everything about him, and then other times, it feels like nothing.” I try a bite of my sandwich, but it tastes like cardboard. “The sad thing is that I don’t even really care any more.”

“Why?”

I pause for a long time. From my kitchen windows, I can still see smoke curling up above the trees, though they’ve extinguished the flames. Jesse stands near the paddock, Lucretia Borgia standing near him like a shadow. He’s still talking to Rory.

“Because I love him. Even if he doesn’t tell me everything, I still feel like I know him. He’s good and kind and he makes me laugh. He makes me feel adored.”

“Gross,” Daphne says, a hint of humor in her voice. “Sounds like he’s shit in bed.”

“He isn’t. Not even a little.” My voice is hardly audible. I picture him last night, the way he had fucked me slowly, drawing out all my pleasure.

“What do you want, Laura?”

“Right now? I want to eat this sandwich, hug my dog, have a hot bath, and then crawl into bed for about nine thousand years.”

“Hm. What kind of sandwich?”

Having completely forgotten, I lift the bread to check. “Roast chicken with pepper hummus.”

“Yum. Now what do you want from life? I always pictured you as a mini Ma. Walking around with a passel of kids, making them work on the farm, with a chipped plate of cookies in your hands.”

The tears won’t stop now. Why did I think no one would see what I won’t even allow myself to visualize?

“You can have that, hon. No one deserves it more than you.” Daphne’s voice is soft and caring. “You put a lot on hold when Ma died. You’ve given so much. You need to find someone who can give all that back to you and more.”

But I want Jesse. More than a bakery expansion, more than a chance at fleeting fame. I want a life with him. Kids with him. Town festivals with him by my side. Snowed in during the winter, playing cards with him by candlelight. Rescuing as many animals as our little farm can hold.

The whole idea of us suddenly feels like a photograph dropped into a fireplace, the edges curling and blackening along the coals.

“What if”—I sniff loudly and use my kitchen towel as a facial tissue—“what if I never have that, though?”

Daphne is quiet for a moment. “You’ll always have me. And your family. And the town. You will always have love, Laura. I promise you that.”

“Thank you.”

“If all else fails, I’ll marry you and we’ll adopt some rugrats. We’ll live in some ramshackle shoe with an entire circus-load of animals. Deal?”

I smile through my tears. “Deal.”

“Love you, hon.”

“Love you, too.”

Daphne hangs up, and the kitchen is quiet except for the sounds of Einstein’s breathing and the distant noise from the fire trucks clearing out.

Why is it so easy for some people to say what they feel and so difficult for others? I know Jesse cares for me. Why can’t he admit it?

As if I’d summoned him, the kitchen door opens and there he stands. The sight of him makes my heart seize.

“Hi.” He glances down at his shoes, covered in ash and mud. “I, um, shouldn’t come in. I’m a mess.”

He looks at me, his expression full of wounds he won’t uncover for me. “I’m glad you got something to eat. Do you need anything?”

“No.” The single syllable cracks in my throat.

“Okay.” He swallows loudly. “I should probably sleep in the apartment tonight.”

I don’t bother to wipe the tears from my cheeks. “Sure. Whatever.”

His gaze flicks to Einstein, who’s changed his allegiance—good dog— and back to me. “We’ll talk tomorrow?”

No words come to my rescue. I glance down at my sandwich, my appetite completely gone.

“Goodnight, Laura,” he says softly, and closes the kitchen door.