CHAPTER EIGHT
JEANIE
Two weeks into working together and, day by day, it gets a little easier. I’ve got the storefront in better shape, though there is a backlog of contractor invoices and other paperwork still from the months of construction on top of all the incoming business.
Mason seems intelligent, but he clearly has little to no experience keeping books or tracking expenses. He stands behind me, one arm leaning on the counter as I show him the accounting program I downloaded onto the computer.
“So, from now on, make sure that all invoices go in this file so I can do the data entry and we can track this information electronically. It’ll make taxes a lot easier.”
He’s looking at me like he’s impressed. “Why are you working at the diner when you know how to do this sort of thing?”
I look away. “I guess because I don’t have a degree. Who would trust me with their books when I have no formal training?”
Other than you…
“Well, I did. Besides, you obviously know what you’re doing, so you’ve gotten some kind of training, right?”
I smile a little as I remember Lola’s insistence I be self-sufficient and capable of handling money. After she watched my momma hand over all her money to my daddy just to have him squander it down at the Canteen, it was no wonder.
“My great-aunt, Jerry’s late wife, her daddy was the bank manager and she kept the books for a few local businesses. She thought it was important for a woman to be able to budget and track finances.”
“Smart lady.”
“Yeah, she really was,” I say, and realize this is one of the first non-hostile conversations we’ve shared.
“Well, formal training or not, you’ve done a great job getting all this set up. I’ve got my strengths, but this,” he says, gesturing towards the computer, “is definitely not among them.”
A guy who can acknowledge a woman is superior to him in something? Maybe he’s not quite so terrible, I think.
“Thanks. I’m glad we could work out a way for me to be useful to you…” I trail off, realizing how little space there is between us, how close his face is to mine. It’s close enough I can make out the light blond dusting of stubble on the angular planes of his face. He’s looking at me with those intense icy blue eyes behind half-lowered lids. My skin feels tingly. I try to swallow away the nerves.
Say something. Change the subject!
“I need to call Danny back,” I blurt out.
Something in his eyes seems to shift. The corner of his mouth tilts, showing off that dimple.
I fumble awkwardly. “It’s about the Blazer he towed in last night.”
“Alright.” Mason smiles. “Whatever you say…”
He walks back into the garage and I exhale, realizing I’ve been holding my breath.
Settling into a routine with Mason, just the two of us in the shop most of the time, I keep reminding myself to keep him at arm’s length. I definitely don’t need this kind of distraction, and what’s the point?
Most men are exactly like Clint, just after the conquest. To my relief, he hasn’t been back in, but I’ve seen his truck parked outside the diner. Though I can’t see past the tinted windows, it gives me the heebie jeebies. He’s stopped texting me lately, which is a relief, but I’m not holding my breath it’ll last forever.
Maybe Mason isn’t entirely like Clint. Mason has been entirely respectful, plus he hasn’t made any kind of obvious move on me.
Too bad… Wait, no, that’s good. That’s what we want. Right?
I’m not so sure.
Jerry’s upcoming chemo treatment has me all out of sorts. Still, it’s getting harder to deny that, at the very least, I enjoy looking at him… Or that I don’t want to see if those muscles are really as hard and firm as they look.
I busy myself with projects like cataloguing the inventory, including the back-up supplies in boxes in the back-storage room.
Apparently, Mason erred on the side of caution when stocking his retail inventory because there are boxes and boxes back there I doubt we’ll be getting to in the very near future. It seems like as good a project as any to put a bit of distance between us.
I’m sorting through boxes of brake pads and wiper fluid when I come across two unsealed boxes that look a little more banged up than the rest.
I open the first one up to be greeted by Mason’s smiling face, only much younger and resplendent in a high-school graduation cap and gown. He’s surrounded by three young boys, each of them a good six inches shorter than him. It looks like maybe his family. I feel a streak of guilt.
This is clearly personal stuff, Jeanie. What are you doing?
I quickly close up the box and start to turn away, but stop.
There’s no harm checking the second box, though… You don’t know what’s in that one—not for certain, anyway.
I open the panels of the second box and find more picture frames, but these are different—artistic black and white photos, mostly portraits. They’re beautifully composed, matted and framed with care.
“Jeanie?” I hear Mason call, as I hurriedly try to put the box back together. “Oh, there you are… What’re you looking at?”
Caught red-handed. You’re in it now, Miss Nosy.
I swallow before speaking. “Um, nothing. I was just trying to go through all these boxes for inventory,” I say, despite the frame in my hand.
He’s raising a brow and looking from me to the frame and back, his voice deep and edged. “Really? Because it kind of looks like you’re snooping through my stuff.”
Crap.
“Sorry, I just saw these boxes and didn’t know what was in them. I just glanced, I promise. I wasn’t trying to snoop.”
Liar, liar…
“So the label on the side that says ‘Personal Effects’ didn’t give you a good enough idea?”
Double crap.
“What? There’s no label…” but as I’m speaking I turn the box and see it on the side facing away from me. “Oh.”
Well, nothing to do now but charge on ahead.
“They’re really beautiful.”
He takes the frame from me, shaking it between us. “This was a long time ago.”
“I’m surprised you’d just have them stuffed in a box.”
He shrugs. “They’re just some old photos I took at college. I don’t really have any use for them.”
“You? You took these?”
“Don’t sound so surprised. You don’t know everything about me.”
Clearly…
“Sorry, it’s just… you don’t strike me as the artistic type.”
His voice is deep and a little gravelly as he says, “I guess you could say I like capturing beautiful things.”
There’s a wistful fluttering in my stomach. I can’t help but look at his mouth, his lips so full for a man. His eyes are intense and I realize my pulse is racing.
“Hello? Is anybody here?” An elderly female voice comes from the next room, dragging me back to reality.
That was close, Jeanie. Snap out of it.
I spend the rest of the afternoon struggling with the realization I’m growing attracted to Mason. He’s obviously good looking, any halfwit would notice that straight off, but the more I interact with him, the more I realize he’s got more going on than a hot body and the ego to match.
Part of me wonders if I haven’t been aware of this all along. If maybe that’s why I’ve had my hackles up and been so short with him. The thought leaves me feeling guilty.
I look over through the windows to see he’s under the hood of Jerry’s car. My chest tightens slightly.
It’s getting close to my shift at the diner, but I know Mason has a long night ahead of him as he’s found himself in greater demand than expected. I go over and start a pot of coffee for him.
I start getting my things together as it’s brewing, thinking about the fact this attraction doesn’t seem to be going anywhere.
Problem is, he doesn’t meet many of the items on my list. He’s good looking, sure, intelligent, handy, and now, apparently, it turns out he’s also creative. On the other hand, I know virtually nothing about his past, where he came from, what he did before this. I have no idea how stable his life is, what his values or goals are.
He’s like one big question mark in a handsome package.
Might be fun to unwrap him…
I blush at the thought and remind myself if I let this go any further I could just be setting myself up for disappointment.
But, if I don’t, am I just short-changing myself?
Either way, I’m determined to be a nicer to him.
The coffee is done. I pour a cup and take it out to the garage on my way out.
“Hey, I’m heading out, but I brought you some coffee. Don’t forget, you’ve got Mrs. Strait coming in with a timing belt issue. She does Meals on Wheels, so she needs her van working ASAP.”
“Got it, thanks,” he replies.
He takes the mug, looking at me over the rim as he takes a drink.
I’m about to leave when I realize I have more to say. “Hey, I just… I guess I want to say thank you for helping with Jerry’s car. I know I probably haven’t been the easiest to deal with, but it means a lot to me.”
He studies me for a second. “Well, I don’t know the details and I don’t need to, but I’m happy I can help. Frankly, it feels good to be a part of something so selfless. Not a lot of people would make the kind of sacrifice and effort you are… It’s refreshing. Your uncle must be a hell of a guy to inspire such loyalty.”
I smile, feeling myself get teary-eyed. Without thinking, I lift up on my toes and kiss him on the cheek—a quick peck, meant to be no more than an innocent expression of gratitude. It just happens.
His cheek is a little pokey under my lips, the heat coming off his body nearly singeing me. It suddenly feels far more intimate than just a platonic gesture. I pull back. Before either of us can say anything, before the moment has a chance to catch itself, I rush out the door suddenly way more aware of him than I ought to be.