Chapter Five
Asking Smith to have a no-strings-attached affair was like trying to speak underwater. She couldn’t get the words out clear. She’d barely been able to manage the word try. But she shoved all thoughts of him aside for the time being.
“Tell me what’s going on.”
She pulled out a chair for her sister at the table in the back alley near a small oak tree. Diane plopped down in it, her shoulders sinking. Her heart ached for her sister and all she’d been through in the last year. Her ex had put her through hell and back.
Diane shook her head and sniffled. Jamie reached into her pocket for a tissue, handing her one.
Diane wiped her eyes. “I’m so glad you’re such a nut about carrying tissues everywhere you go,” she teased.
“You know me. I like to be prepared for anything,” she said, because you simply never knew when you might need one. What if a public restroom, for instance, had run out of toilet paper? What if it was windy out and your eyes watered? Or what if someone you cared about needed to shed a few tears?
Diane blew her nose, a loud honking sound. “I found out there were more women,” she said through broken sobs, and Jamie rubbed her back as she cried. It was supposed to be the other way around. An older sister taking care of a younger one. But, in their case, Diane was the one hurting. She then went on to detail the affairs she’d just learned of—apparently he’d been messing around with someone he used to visit during his shifts at the firehouse, among other extracurricular conquests. “But here’s the worst part. He screwed my favorite barista at the coffee shop down the road. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a good latte? And now, thanks to my ex, I need to search for a new coffee shop.”
She was trying so hard to protect herself with anger, but Jamie knew how much this really did hurt. And not because Diane had placed the cafe on her blackball list, and with good reason. But because each new revelation of her ex-husband’s infidelity must have made her feel like her already-broken marriage was shattering yet again. Like being kicked in the gut when you’re already down.
“Well, then I am just going to have to learn to how to make the perfect mocha.”
“You’d do that for me, wouldn’t you?”
“Of course. You know I’d do anything for you. I’ll sign up for barista classes or get myself one of those fancy silver machines from Bed, Bath and Beyond this weekend just for you,” she said, and that earned her a sliver of a smile.
“Well, here’s the one thing I want you to do,” Diane said, back to the big sister role.
“What is that?”
“Don’t make my mistakes, promise me?”
Jamie’s heart sputtered, and she felt as if Diane’s big sister radar was so sharp she knew what had happened last night. And while last night was only a fling, the warning was loud and clear. Only get involved with someone reliable, serious, steady. She glanced at her hands so she wouldn’t have to make eye contact. What would her sister think of her if she knew what had happened with Smith? Worse, if she knew she’d been contemplating going there again with him just for sex?
“I mean it,” Diane said, grabbing her hand and squeezing it. “Don’t fall for someone because he’s fun and friendly, like my ex. I was all hook, line, and sinker for that carefree, happy-go-lucky man, and now look at me. Only give your heart to someone you can depend on.”
Jamie crossed her heart, the gesture as much for Diane as for herself. “I promise.”
“I should let you get back to work now. And I need to stop by the winery to sign forms for the new employees. We just hired some part-timers and they’re working out well,” she said, referring to their parents’ winery that she managed.
“That’s great to hear. I’m glad it’s all working out. Want me to come over later? I’ll get some ice cream and we can watch Anchorman again,” she said, since that was her sister’s favorite movie, and she was pretty sure Diane needed a Will Ferrell–induced laugh tonight.
“Yeah. That would be great.”
Anchorman would help Jamie keep her mind where it belonged, too. Smith might be thoughtful, he might be fun to play Skee-Ball with, and he certainly could deliver mind-shattering orgasms, but he was also a recipe for late-night cries in a tub of ice cream.
What a difference the last twenty-four hours had made.
Her sister was feeling a smidge better from the double comfort of Ron Burgundy and Ben & Jerry’s, and Jamie spent the next morning rereading some of her favorite Robert Browning poems to recalibrate her heart. Because she wanted a relationship like poetry, like her parents had. She was heading over to their house on Pine Crescent Road later this week for a regular dinner. Her sister and niece would be there, too. A nice family gathering, one where they all turned off their cell phones and were present in the moment.
Now, she walked from her little house to the nearby town square to pop into the local bookstore. She was an ereader gal, but she also loved the feel and smell of real pages for poetry and for children’s stories, so she was a regular at An Open Book, directly across the wide grassy square where the festival would be held. She passed The Panting Dog, spotting Smith’s truck a block ahead, a flashy silver number with the name of his construction company in bright red. He’d mentioned his business was booming and that he needed to expand. She wondered if he’d gotten around to finding help yet.
She headed straight for the kids section to grab the newest Skippy Jon Jones picture book as a gift for her niece.
After she paid for the book, she spotted Smith…in the frigging kids’ section of the bookstore? She stopped in her tracks and knitted her brow, as perplexed as if she’d just seen him walking on his hands through the town square. “Um, hi?”
He swiveled around and flashed that all-too-familiar grin. His hands were full, and she didn’t even pretend not to look. She raked her eyes over the bookstore bounty—Mad Libs.
“Something to keep you busy at the firehouse on a quiet night?”
“It’s for the Burn Center, actually.”
Her cheeks burned. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make light of your volunteer work. I think it’s amazing that you give them so much time.”
“I’m not offended. I like Mad Libs,” he said, and she had to fight back a smile. Because—Mad Libs. That was adorable.
“What do you do when you volunteer?”
He’d once told her that was why the calendar mattered to him so much. As a fireman, he’d seen firsthand why a hospital needed a burn center, and all the proceeds from the calendar went to support it. But she didn’t know the specifics of his volunteer work.
“I do Mad Libs,” he said with a straight face. “With the kids. Some of the other patients, too. Often helps take their minds off what’s going on. And let me tell you something. Use monkey as much as you can in a Mad Lib and you get everyone laughing.”
“I can picture that perfectly,” she said, and the image was a nice one. She was willing to bet that Smith had a way of making the patients forget about their woes for a while. She could see him, kicking back in a blue vinyl hospital chair, reading off silly stories made by inserting nouns, verbs, and kinds of animals in the most random ways. He had the right disposition for that—someone who didn’t take himself too seriously could be perfect to help kids feel better.
“But that’s not the only reason I’m here,” he said.
“Oh yeah? What’s the other reason?”
“I bought you a gift. To say I’m sorry.”
What on earth did he have to apologize for? She was the one who’d walked off. Stormed off, actually.
He showed her a small hardback book of poems on the top of the shelf where they stood. “I picked it up before I came over to this section. Maybe you have it already, but I know you like your poems, and well,” he stopped, looked down at the white and red book, and then back at her, “You probably already have Shakespeare’s sonnets, huh?”
Her heart fluttered, and her hand flew to her chest. She hadn’t expected this from him, neither the Mad Libs nor the gift. But she found she liked both. A lot. Maybe her idea would work after all. Besides, he’d been volunteering at the Burn Center for as long as she’d known him, and for the first time, she realized this showed something about him she’d never given him credit for—he could remain committed. That didn’t mean she was ready to sign up for a long-term deal, but it made her feel better about her plan for a week-long tryst.
“For me?’ she asked, wanting her nerves to stop skipping with some kind of high school excitement, but damn, she was about to cartwheel. He’d given her a gift, and she’d been…well, she hadn’t been straight with him about anything.
“I wanted to say sorry for coming on so strong the other night. I shouldn’t have been so…well, I should have just asked you out on a date first, but then I did and you turned me down,” he said, and forced out a laugh. “And I just don’t want to lose you as a friend, so think of this as a peace offering and I hope Shakespeare’s words will be enough for you to forgive all those dirty things I said to you since I know you prefer poetry and roses.”
When he handed her the book of sonnets, she grabbed onto his hand, not letting go. She had to be honest with him. They were friends, and it was the least she could do. She gulped, then looked him square in the eyes. “I love Shakespeare’s sonnets, so thank you. I was actually reading them the other day, and they’re beautiful. But that’s not the reason I said I wanted to try something else.”
He looked at her quizzically. “It’s not?”
A young boy raced into the kids section and began pulling Captain Underpants books off the shelves with reckless glee, so Jamie motioned for Smith to join her in a quieter section by the shelves with the less-popular books on philosophy, set back from the rest of the store.
Then she blurted it out.
“I loved the dirty talk. And I loved the biting, even though I never thought I would. And I loved it against the wall,” she said, her cheeks painted a bright red from serving up all those things she never thought she’d say, let alone like. But she owed him the full truth. “But we can’t be involved, because let’s call a spade a spade. You’ve never been into relationships. You’re more the dating type, rather than the serious type. Besides, we’re good friends, and I want us to stay that way, and that’s why I want to propose something else. How about we have a no-strings attached sex-only deal for the next week?”