Jesse's Girl Page 8

  “Sounds risky. What if we spread ourselves too thin?”

  “We need to make the leap. Now seems as good a time as any.”

  “We could lose our shirts.”

  “I’ll send you a short list. We’ll start small. I can order a trailer and supplies.”

  “I’ll trust you on this, but it makes me nervous,” Carson said.

  “Thanks. I’ll make it work.” He ended the call and slipped the phone into his back pocket.

  The bells on the glass door jangled. Mary Clare strolled in, wearing a pretty summer dress with her hair pulled up, a few strands curled around her neck. He hadn’t seen her for a few days. She lifted her gaze, seemingly distracted. When her eyes lit on his, a hint of a smile graced her lips and tugged at his heart.

  He was in serious trouble.

  “Hi, Jesse. Mr. Thorpe.” She tipped her head toward both men.

  Jesse scooted in. “Join us.”

  Mary Clare lifted her hands. “Oh, I don’t want to intrude.”

  “You’re not intruding. Right, Dad?”

  His father glanced up from his puzzle. His eyes brightened and he lifted a shaky hand and pointed at her. “You’re Jesse’s girl.”

  Pink blossomed on her cheeks. “Jesse is a friend of my brother’s.” Jesse lifted a questioning eyebrow. “I suppose he’s been a good friend of mine.” She smiled at Jesse and her humor wasn’t lost on him.

  “Just friends?” His father seemed to be processing that. “Well then, he’s a fool.” He picked up his pencil and returned to his puzzle.

  “I suppose I’ve been called worse.” Jesse laughed, then patted the vinyl seat next to him. “Please, have a seat.”

  Mary Clare hesitated a moment, then slid into the booth seat.

  “What has you out and about?” Jesse asked.

  “Thought I’d grab a sandwich before I head home.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I thought a little bit about your pep talk the other night. Thought I’d get a part-time summer job to hold me over until I figure out my plan. Maybe save enough money to rent the townhouse in Buffalo by the time the school year starts.” She ran her fingers along the edge of the table. “So far, I’m not too encouraged. Any chance you have any leads?”

  “I kinda live in my own little bubble, but if I think of anything, I’ll let you know.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Wouldn’t it be more cost effective for you to live with your mom for a while longer?”

  Mary Clare scoffed, then seemed to check herself. “My mother’s putting the house up for sale. One way or another, I need to stand on my own two feet. Since I’m trying to minimize change for Henry, we’re better off going back to Buffalo. That’s where all his friends are. Not to mention his father,” she added as a quiet afterthought.

  “Sounds like you have a plan.” Who was he to stand between a boy and his parents? When he was a kid, he would have done anything to have both his parents in his life.

  The waitress came back for Mary Clare’s order and a few minutes later, the three of them had their lunch. Mary Clare took a long drink of her iced tea, feeling as if the silence had extended a little too long. “I think I need to brush up on my interviewing skills.”

  “First one didn’t go well?” Jesse asked, setting his BLT down on the plate.

  “I saw an ad in the paper for a receptionist opening at Steele’s Chevy dealership. When I walked in, guess who I had to interview with?” Renewed anger heated her cheeks.

  Jesse shook his head. “Who?”

  “Tiffany Steele.”

  He narrowed his gaze as if the name didn’t register.

  Mary Clare playfully tapped his bicep with the back of her hand. “Come on, you have to know Tiffany. She was the most obnoxious girl in my graduating class. Prom queen. Queen bee. Ruler of the world. Suppresser of all those like me.” She laughed, but it wasn’t very funny.

  A peculiar smile played on Jesse’s lips as he shrugged. “A few years after my time. I’m sure she’s not the same as she was in high school.”

  Mary Clare shook her head, recalling the condescending, holier-than-thou look on Tiffany’s face. “Oh no, I think Tiffany is still playing the role of queen bee. The interview started with her shocked surprise that I was back in Mills Crossing. She wanted to know what happened to my marriage, and oh dear, I couldn’t possibly want a job that barely paid minimum wage.” Mary Clare briefly closed her eyes and clasped her hands to her chest. “In one instant, she reminded me why I wanted to get away from Mills Crossing. Far, far away. I should have realized she worked for Daddy’s dealership.” She placed her hands on either side of her plate.

  Jesse covered her hand with his. “It’s a small town.”

  “I hate the way she made me feel.”

  “Don’t let other people dictate how you feel. That’s so high school.” He winked.

  How can he be so rational? “Tiffany Steele is firmly rooted in high school.”

  Jesse scrubbed a hand across his jaw. “High school’s a tough time. My dad sent me to the private school because he was afraid of the trouble I was getting into at the public school.”

  “You still got into trouble,” Jesse’s father added, not bothering to look up from the newspaper in front of him. He traced the letter A over and over with his pencil.

  “Tough audience.” Jesse jerked his chin toward his dad.

  “That’s what parents are for.” Mary Clare leaned in close to Jesse and detected a hint of aloe aftershave. She quickly shifted back, but kept her voice low. “My mom still treats me like I’m in high school.” She twisted her mouth. “Makes me question all of my life choices.” She scanned the dining room of the little diner, realizing for the first time that not much had changed since she came here to grab an Italian sausage sub in high school. “Do you ever wish you could have a do-over?”

  “And go back to high school? No thanks. You couldn’t pay me enough to walk through the doors of Blessed Trinity High School. Nope. No way.”

  “I thought you had a blast in high school. You and my brother. Nothing seemed to faze you.” It made her wonder if she had him pegged all wrong. It was easy to make judgments from the outside. She had experienced her share of that in life.

  Jesse shook his head. “Sure we had fun, but I hated school. Sister Janita used to watch me like a hawk. She feared I would jeopardize every girl’s virtue.”

  “Didn’t you?” Mary Clare crinkled her nose. I really shouldn’t care as much as I do.

  Jesse cut a quick glance at his father who was focused on his sandwich, then met her gaze. A hint of mischievousness lit his warm brown eyes. “I’ll never tell.” He took a sip of his water.

  Mary Clare pointed at him. “You know what I hated? When they distributed carnations on Valentine’s Day in the school cafeteria. I never got one. Not once. I felt like the biggest loser.”

  Jesse laughed as if he didn’t believe her. “Oh, poor baby.”

  “Someone as cool as you wouldn’t understand.”

  The waitress swung by and filled their glasses. “Everything okay here?”

  “Fine, thank you,” Mary Clare and Jesse said in unison.

  A moment later Mr. Thorpe put his half-eaten sandwich down. “What time is it?” Without waiting for an answer, he said, “We should get back to the shop.” He slipped out of the booth and shuffled toward the door. He stopped every few feet to steady himself with a hand on the backs of the booths.

  Jesse scooted toward her, his thigh brushing against hers. Mary Clare put down her fork and stood up. “Time to go, huh?”

  “Yes, when he gets something in his head it’s hard to change his mind. Sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Sitting back down in the booth, Mary Clare watched Jesse walk away in his dirty jeans and scruffy T-shirt. He was the complete opposite of the men she had been attracted to—the guys with collared shirts, khaki pants and loafers—but something about Jesse melted her heart. Maybe it was the way he patiently took car
e of his father. Or maybe how he honestly seemed to care about her plans.

  Or maybe she had grown so tired of Chip’s consistent criticism and judgment that it simply felt good to be around someone who seemed genuinely nice. Sincere.

  Jesse tapped on the window and waved as he passed. She found herself smiling to herself when the waitress reappeared.

  “Are you Jesse’s girlfriend?” the waitress asked, a curious glint in her eyes.

  Mary Clare lifted her hand to her chest. “Me? Oh, no. He’s just a friend.”

  The waitress nodded. “Jesse’s a good guy. He comes in here all the time with his dad. Poor Mr. Thorpe seems to be getting worse by the day. He’s got the Alzheimer’s. It’s really sad to see.”

  Jesse had never told Mary Clare about his father’s condition, but she suspected as much. Mr. Thorpe was such a kind gentleman. She hated to think of the future ahead of him.

  “Mr. Thorpe’s been a customer here for a lifetime,” the waitress continued. “I don’t know what he would have done if Jesse didn’t come back to Mills Crossing to take care of him.”

  “Jesse hasn’t lived in Mills Crossing his whole life?”

  The waitress slipped the tips of her fingers into her apron. “No. He came back a few months ago. Not exactly sure where he lived or what he did. Jesse’s pretty tight-lipped.” She rolled up onto the balls of her sneakers and smiled. “But the women around here have been trying to find out.”

  Mary Clare rested her elbows on the table. “You can reassure them the chase is still on. Jesse and I are just friends.”

  The waitress seemed to give Mary Clare a once-over. “I don’t know about that.”

  Heat crept up Mary Clare’s cheeks. She pointed to the sandwiches left behind. “Can you please wrap up these two plates?”

  A few minutes later, Mary Clare gathered the Styrofoam boxes and stepped outside. She turned toward the garage to drop off their leftovers, wondering if it was such a good idea to spend more time with Jesse.

  Mr. Thorpe’s garage had been there for as long as Mary Clare could remember. Everyone in town used to get their cars fixed at Thorpe and Son’s, until the supercenter opened thirty minutes down the road. Then, like a lot of things in a small town, the garage seemed to struggle for business. At least that’s what Bill had said. Perhaps there hadn’t been enough business to keep Jesse in town.

  Mr. Thorpe sat at the desk working his puzzle from the newspaper. Through the glass partition, she saw Jesse in the work area, his back to her. His muscled arms were raised over his head, working on the undercarriage of a car.

  “Hi, Mr. Thorpe.”

  He looked up and a smile brightened his face. “Jesse’s girl.”

  Mary Clare smiled. She hated to correct him because he truly meant no harm. “Yes, I’m Jesse’s friend.” She lifted the boxes in her hand. “I brought your sandwich from the diner.”

  Mr. Thorpe ran a hand across the scruff on his jaw. “I think my wife packed me a lunch.”

  “Do you have a refrigerator?” A confused expression settled on Mr. Thorpe’s features. She hated to disturb Jesse. “I’ll take a look around.” It was obvious there wasn’t a refrigerator in the waiting room. She opened the door to the garage bays. Of the three, only one had a car in it. Careful to give the tools and lifts a wide birth, she crossed to a back door. Sure enough, inside she found a small break room with a refrigerator and microwave. She slipped the sandwiches inside the refrigerator.

  She heard the door open and spun around. Jesse ran the back of his hand over his sweaty forehead. “To what do I owe this surprise?”

  She shut the fridge and leaned back against it. “I hated to see your sandwiches go to waste. Now you have dinner.”

  He shook his head. “Maybe lunch tomorrow. Tonight I feel like having something else for dinner.”

  “Okay,” she said, smiling. “I’ll get out of your way.”

  Jesse planted his palm on the wall, blocking her path. She smelled his aloe aftershave over the motor oil in the small space and her heart fluttered. “Not so fast.”

  She stepped back, her backside bumping into the table. She wrapped her fingers around its edge. Excited nerves twisted in her belly. He took another step toward her, closing the distance between them. “Why don’t you come to my father’s place for dinner? I promised him steak on the grill. Corn on the cob. Garlic bread.”

  Her mouth watered. “I don’t want to impose.”

  “You’re not imposing. My father seems more upbeat when you’re around.”

  “I’m sorry about your father.”

  Jesse’s brow quirked. “Yeah, he’s been declining. I generally don’t talk about it.”

  She ran a hand across the back of her neck. “He’s lucky to have you around.”

  Jesse rested a shoulder against the doorframe. “I’m lucky to have my dad.” A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. “Now come on. You can’t say no. You’ll make my father’s night.”

  “Your father’s?” She pressed the tip of her tongue to her upper lip.

  “You’ll make my night.” The gravelly quality of his voice sent a blanket of shivers coursing over her skin like smooth pebbles raining down a waterfall. “Come over. I want to spend more time with you.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” She glanced at the black floor, then lifted her gaze. “I’m going back to Buffalo at the end of the summer.”

  Jesse tipped his head and a smirk graced his full lips. “I invited you for dinner. Not to get married.”

  Warmth spread up her cheeks and the break room suddenly felt close. Very close. She giggled to deflect her embarrassment. He might not think it was a big deal. But she did.

  A very big deal. The more time she spent with Jesse Thorpe, the less she could deny her feelings.

  Mary Clare ran her finger over her bottom lip. Jesse’s intense gaze unnerved her.

  This was not a good idea.

  “I shouldn’t leave Henry. He’s been at his cousins’ house all day.”

  “Bring him. We can fish in the pond.”

  She pressed her lips together, her last excuse evaporated. “Okay…I will.”

  “Good. See you at six.” An emotion she was afraid to identify flashed in his eyes.

  So not a good idea.

  Chapter 8

  Mary Clare set her drink down and glared at Henry. “Stop sulking,” she whispered so Jesse wouldn’t hear. Mr. Thorpe sat on the other side of Henry, but seemed focused on something in the distance. The trailer was modest, but the plot of land it rested on was gorgeous, treed and backing up to the pond.

  “I wanted to sleep over at Zach’s house,” he muttered, crossing his arms and planting them on the picnic table.

  “You’ve spent a lot of time over there. Don’t you think Aunt Amanda needs a break?” Mary Clare cut her gaze to Jesse who was pulling steaks off the grill. She hoped he wasn’t getting an earful from her ungrateful son. Usually polite to a fault, her son was in such a funk. No doubt his father had something to do with it. Chip had canceled much anticipated plans to pick up Henry this weekend.

  Mary Clare had to consciously unclench her jaw at the mere thought of her soon-to-be ex.

  Jesse put the plate of steaks on the picnic table. “Dig in.” He winked at Mary Clare, then stepped over the bench to sit next to her. “The steaks on this side are more well done.”

  “Great. Thank you.” She speared a piece of steak for her son and put it on his plate. “What do you say?” she prompted her son.

  “Thanks,” he said curtly before picking up his knife and fork.

  “Sorry. He’s not usually like this.” She was making far too many excuses lately for Henry.

  “It’s all right. He probably had better plans than to come over here tonight, right Henry?”

  Henry lifted a shoulder and bowed his head, showing the good sense to be embarrassed by his rudeness. The scalp visible at the part on his head was burned. She’d have to remind him to wear a hat, but decide
d now was not the time to get into it.

  Mary Clare took the smallest steak and put it on her plate next to her corn, salad and baked beans. Her stomach growled. “I love summer cookouts.”

  “I love summer. Too bad the season is so short around here.” Jesse fixed a plate, including cutting up the steak into bite-sized pieces, and set it in front of his father. “Hey Dad, can I get you anything else?”

  Mr. Thorpe smiled. “Looks good.” He took a bite and kept his downcast eyes on his plate and didn’t say much.

  “Henry, how’s the bike riding going?” Jesse picked up his knife and cut into his steak.

  Henry’s eyes brightened for the first time since they arrived. “Great. My mom even lets me go around the block with just Zach.” He gave her a furtive gaze. “As long as I tell her where I’m going and come right back.”

  Jesse laughed. “You’re lucky your mom cares.” Not for the first time, Mary Clare wondered about the story behind Jesse’s mother. She never heard Jesse mention her. Ever.

  “Yeah,” Henry said from behind his huge cob of corn.

  “Maybe since you’ve gotten so good, your mom will let you try riding the dirt bike that Zach got for his birthday.”

  All the air got sucked from Mary Clare’s lungs and the muggy night pressed in on her.

  Henry straightened his back. “Could I, Mom?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” she sputtered. “Maybe some time.” She turned her head and glared at Jesse, but he ignored her for the piece of steak on his plate.

  “I gave Zach’s dirt bike a tune-up after the last time he rode. It’s in the shed.” He locked gazes with Mary Clare. “Can Henry take a ride after we eat?”

  A wave of panic washed over her, making her feel prickly. “Oh, I don’t know,” she repeated. The memory of the dirt bikes revving their engines at the starting gate came to mind. The pileup as they rounded the corner to the first narrow turn.