Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 99748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
He straightens his back and schools his face, leaving without another word.
“Sooo, that went well,” Ben says sarcastically.
“It’s not what you think,” I rush to reassure him.
He guffaws. “Girl, I think it’s exactly what I think . . . that man has more than business on his mind where you’re concerned.” He dips his chin, staring at me from above his glasses and daring me to disagree. When I stay silent, he continues, “I thought I heard you and Jesse were finally figuring things out?”
Yeah, like the whole rest of the town—everyone but me—apparently Ben knows about that too. “We are.”
“Well, it sounds like you got plenty of other stuff to figure out. What do you think about Chrissy running the Township deal?”
“She doesn’t know her ass from her elbow, couldn’t run a ‘boss babe’ business with a step-by-step instruction manual, and will, no doubt, do something that’ll ruin Township. So it’s up to me to figure out how to stop that from happening.”
“How d’ya plan to do that?” Ben’s lips are twitching as he fights to hide a smile at my sudden urgency.
“Research. The lawyer’s best offense, defense, and friend. The answer is in the law.” A professor in law school said that, and it’s always stuck with me. This time, I add my own supplement to the saying, “Or in the contract.”
Ben lets that smile loose. “Well, you’d best get to it, Nancy Drew. Sounds like you’ve got a mystery to solve—how to prevent the destruction of Township.”
Chapter 18
JESSE
I haven’t been to Bill and Pamela Ford’s home since Winston’s wedding. And that was as a helper for my mother, not as a guest.
I hoped that the next time I came here, it would be at Wren’s invitation to have dinner with her parents. I’d get dressed up, shake her dad’s hand and give her mom a bouquet of flowers from the grocery store, and we’d sit down to a fancy meal where I’d prove to them that I’m the right man for their only daughter.
Unfortunately, that’s not how tonight’s gonna go.
I ring the bell, thankful I at least had a clean T-shirt in my truck. Still, I give my pits a sniff to make sure the extra layer of deodorant I slicked on is doing its job.
The woman who answers the door smiles warmly, not seeming to care about my rough appearance. “Ah, Jesse! Good to see you!” Maria gathers me in her arms, patting my shoulder in welcome. “Your mama is already in the dining room with the others.”
Maria usually comes into Puss N Boots on Sundays with her friends from church, and I’m sometimes there running a table or grabbing a bite. But she’s also one of Mom’s regular customers, so I see her at the Bakery Box pretty often when she comes in for her favorite BDSM cookies. Though she won’t order them with the shortened nickname, instead preferring the long version—bacon, dates, sugar, and maple syrup cookies.
“Dining room?” I repeat, patting my belly. I came straight from work, following the instructions in Wren’s group text, which was basically come to the Ford house ASAP. 911. and nothing more. I’m not sure what’s going on or who else is here, but my Spidey-Senses tell me this can’t be good because Wren doesn’t ask for help.
Period.
But she has, from people she trusts. And it means something that I’m on that short list.
“There are snacks in there already,” Maria assures me. When I give her a puppy-dog look, she laughs and squeezes my biceps appreciatively. “And I’ll bring in dinner shortly. I know a boy like you can’t live on char-tooter-y alone.”
I laugh at her intentional mispronunciation. “Thanks, Maria.”
“You’d better get on in there, but don’t be a stranger around here, m’kay?” She pats my cheek with affection and a fair dose of don’t screw this up.
The dining room has been converted into a war room of sorts. There’s a dry-erase board covered in what I’m guessing are legal cases because it says things like “Jones v. City of Marshall.” All of Wren’s generals are pulled together into some mismatched Scooby-Doo gang.
Wyatt and Hazel, Winston and Avery, my mom, Bill and Pamela, Grandpa Joe and his namesake, Aunt Etta, Ben Norton, and Francine Lockewood. Everyone’s sitting around the table, staring at a screen or nose buried in a book, though it looks like Grandpa Joe is drawing in the book he’s holding. If Francine catches him defacing a book, she’ll have him cleaning bookshelves over at the city library. You don’t fuck with books on Francine’s watch.
Not wanting to interrupt everyone, I go to Wren’s side first, admiring her concentration as she reads the thick tome in her hands. She’s beautiful. Her hair is pushed behind her ears, her green eyes scan left to right, and her lips are parted slightly. I wait for her to reach a pause point in her reading, and when she glances up, likely feeling my eyes on her, she smiles brightly. “You came.”