Chapter 21
Destiny
“Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me three times, I’ma get the fryin’ pan.”
~ Grandma Dixie
Nothing is going to happen.
That was what I kept reminding my heart and my hormones as they attempted to outvote my head. My emotions and libido were contending that all of JJ Briggs’ sins, which included not one, but two Houdini-like disappearing acts, could be redeemed by his smile, his voice, and his mere presence.
“Can I get you anything else?” I asked the fellas from the lumberyard.
“We’re good, thanks,” Harry winked as he dug into his pulled pork sandwich.
Nothing is going to happen, I repeated as I crossed the diner and tried to rein my battling emotions in. I’d been meditating on that mantra since I’d woken up this morning, sleep deprived from a long night of tossing and turning.
Nothing is going to happen.
There was no way I was going down this road with JJ for a third time.
Last night at Gram’s, my overactive libido and too-forgiving heart had been put to the test. Spending three-plus hours with JJ, just hanging out, totally PG, was something I hadn’t done since before prom four and half years ago. When JJ was in town over the Fourth, I’d felt like I hadn’t had a moment to breathe. From the minute he’d stepped into the Spoon, it was like we’d either been engaged in a battle of wills or naked.
Last night, the opportunity had been forced on me. Once the awkwardness of the surprise of him being there had worn off and we’d sat down for dinner, the evening could not have been more fun. Over lasagna and Fixer Upper, our conversation had mainly consisted of commenting on the show and talking about memorable episodes. After it had ended, we’d migrated out to the porch to drink sweet tea, catch up, and reminisce about old stories.
Gram had actually shared a few I had never heard before, which I would’ve thought was impossible. The show was based in Waco, Texas, not far from Wishing Well, and Gram talked about her first beau, who was from Waco and had been killed serving his country. Two years after his death, Grandpa Walter had swept her off her feet.
JJ talked about playing baseball against Waco when he was in little league. He had beaned a kid who was talking smack in the shoulder, on purpose, and he’d gotten caught kissing a Waco girl under the bleachers during a game—and somehow managed to talk his way out of both situations. He’d always been quite the charmer.
It wasn’t that I’d forgotten how funny and entertaining JJ was, but his talking for hours with Gram and me had brought a lot of feelings, ones I’d thought I had sunk as effectively as the Titanic, up to the surface of already-choppy emotional waters.
Needless to say, my heart hadn’t stood a chance. JJ was dangerous enough when he was being annoying and arrogant. Kind, funny, and charming JJ? Lethal.
“You look about a million miles away. Penny for your thoughts.” Tami Lynn booty-bumped me as she slid beside me at the front counter, snapping me out of my reverie.
Blowing out a breath, I sighed. “I’m just tired.”
I was exhausted, so it’s not like I was lying. And, since I was doing my best not to admit, even to myself, that JJ had taken up permanent residency in my thoughts day and night, I certainly wasn’t going to let her in on that little tidbit.
“Tired, huh?” She grinned, not buying what I was offering. “You mean tired of fighting your feelings for JJ.”
“I’m not—” Oh forget it. What’s the point of denying it? “Yes, so tired.”
Titling her head to the side and shaking it, Tami Lynn clucked her tongue on the top of her mouth. “Then why are you?”
I did a cursory sweep of the diner to make sure none of the gossip-thirsty customers were going to drink in this conversation. From what I could see, not a single one was paying us any attention.
Still, I took the precaution of lowering my voice and leaning closer to my friend. “Because he can’t just breeze in and out of my life. Every time I’m around him, it’s like I lose the sense the good Lord gave me. I instantly become his little puppy, lapping up any attention he’ll give me. It’s ridiculous. I’m not his toy to play with when he wants to, and then put back on the shelf when he’s bored.”
The corners of Tami Lynn’s bright-pink lips curled. “You sure ’bout that? I bet his ‘playtime’ is pretty fun.”
Well, I couldn’t argue with that.
“Yes, it is,” I conceded, even as my cheeks blushed the same shade as Tami Lynn’s lips. “Which is one of the many reasons why fighting it—fighting him—is so utterly exhausting.”
“Listen, I know you two have been doing this little dance for so long it’s probably hard to change the tune. But, for what it’s worth, I do think this time is different. JJ is different. And, sweetie, when JJ is around, you are no puppy lapping up his attention. You go toe-to-toe with that boy. If anyone’s the dog in this situation it’s JJ. He follows you around lapping up your attention, not the other way around.”
No. He disappears for sometimes years—or, in the most recent case, weeks—at a time. Then shows up like he never left.
I shook my head. “No. He doesn’t.”
“Yes. He does.” Tami Lynn could be stubborn sometimes—all the time.
I knew better than most that there was no point in arguing with her when she set her mind to something. It was a long and losing battle I had neither the time nor the energy for. Especially since, as of five minutes ago, my shift was over. All I wanted to do was go home, take a long hot bath, snuggle up with Captain Pickles, watch TV, and not think about JJ Briggs.
“Don’t believe me, huh?” Tami asked before pointing towards the large window that looked over the parking lot. “Well, check out exhibit A.”
My eyes tracked to where her finger was pointed and landed on JJ leaning against his truck. He was wearing a Waves baseball cap, a gray T-shirt that advertised every hard-earned line of muscle across his chest and his arms, and jeans that were worn in all the right places. And he was holding a small bouquet of handpicked flowers.
The sight sent my heart fluttering and my stomach doing more flip-flops than gymnasts practicing for the Olympics. I took in a deliberately calming breath as a tingle of bliss spread through me with so much potency that my palms dampened. The man was not even in the building and my body was responding like he had me pressed up against a wall.
“Aww, this is your very own Hope Floats moment.” Tami Lynn clasped the dish cloth to her chest.
“What?” I asked, having no idea what she was talking about.
“You know, at the end, when Harry Connick Junior is outside the photo studio Sandra Bullock works at, leaning against his truck, flowers in hand,” she explained like it was unfathomable that I hadn’t immediately picked up on that reference.
“Oh, right.”
“Well, what are you waitin’ for, Birdee? Go get you your Justin Matisse.” Then she swatted my rear with her dish cloth.
“See ya tomorrow.” I grabbed my purse doubled-timed it out of the diner, figuring I better get out there and at least find out what exactly JJ thought he was doing.
It was one thing to show up for lunch at the Spoon or even dinner at Gram’s, but this display was ridiculous. As if the entire town didn’t have enough fuel for their gossip bonfire, this little stunt was going to add a heap of kindling, lighter fluid, and a lit cigarette to it. I needed to take a fire extinguisher to this situation.
The second I stepped outside, the afternoon heat and humidity swallowed me up whole. Beads of sweat broke out on the back of my neck before the door had shut behind me. That was the only drawback of Bud finally puttin’ in the AC—the heat was so much more punishing and jarring when you walked out into it after havin’ been spoiled with air conditioning.
“What are you doin’, JJ?” I asked, raising my hand to my forehead so that I could see him against the harsh rays of bright sunlight.
When he cocked his head slightly, the left side of his mouth turned up in a grin. “Don’t tell me you forgot about our date, Pip.”
My eyebrows knitted. “Our date?”
“Picnic. River. Wednesday. Ringing any bells?”
“Oh…” It all flooded back to me. The middle-of-the-night phone call. My saying I had plans last night, which JJ must have taken as a challenge because he’d ended up party-crashing my plans. His getting off the phone before I could turn him down for the picnic. “You mean the one I never agreed to go on?”
“That’s the one.” He winked as he pushed off his truck and began walking towards me, holding out the bouquet of wild flowers.
My traitor of a heart started galloping in my chest like a runaway horse, going faster and faster with every step JJ took. I hoped that he couldn’t see my heartbeat from beneath the thin, white, cotton V-neck with the Spoon logo over my left boob. The last thing I wanted was for him to think he could show up and send me spiraling with just a smile. I mean…he could…but I didn’t want him to know that! I was trying to pull off aloof and unaffected instead. My cool façade was seriously at risk of being revealed as a fraud, though, when I reached for the flowers and my hand shook.
Oh, come on!
Irritation expanded through my chest at my unwanted and unwelcomed physiological reactions to the man I wanted—no, scratch that, needed—to be numb to. Thankfully, that frustration took the edge off my hormonal overload, so my hands were steady as a heart surgeon in the zone.
It was a small win, but I’d take it.
I mean, come on—how long was it going to take before I started building an immunity to JJ’s special blend of charisma, sexiness, charm, succulent scent, drool-inducing body, chiseled jaw, chocolate-brown eyes I could drown in, and panty-melting smile?
“So…what do you say?” He held his elbow out, which was a Southern boy’s way of extending an offer to escort me to his truck.
Every cell in my body surged to life and my knees went as weak as a newborn baby’s neck. Okay, so…it was going to take a little longer for immunity to kick in.
My mind was spinning with confusion over what to do. Of course my body was firmly of the green-light-go opinion. My heart was so excited at the notion of being in JJ’s vicinity that it was about to pump right out of my chest. But my brain was leaning towards it being a bad idea. And my pride was telling me to tell JJ to go kick rocks.
It was a standstill. Two against two. I tried to do a quick mental pro-con list. On one hand, spending more time with JJ could not lead to anything good. Unless it was exactly what I needed to build up an immunity.
Both sides were still battling it out when JJ dropped his arm with a sigh as he stepped to the back of his truck and retrieved a picnic basket from the bed.
“I didn’t want it to come to this, but…”
When he lifted the lid he revealed at least a half dozen fried chicken drumsticks.
I gasped with surprise, and my eyes widened. “No…that isn’t… It’s not… It can’t be…” I couldn’t even form the words.
Slowly, JJ nodded his head. “Dolly Briggs’s country-fried chicken.”
For as long as I’d known the Briggs family, Dolly had made her world-famous—okay, well, at least Clover-County-famous—fried chicken once a year and once a year only: for her husband’s birthday, which was in March. This was August. Not to mention, if you weren’t one of the lucky chosen to get an invitation to Walker’s birthday dinner, you were out of luck, because there were never any leftovers. She never revealed her recipe, but whatever was in the golden-crispy goodness acted like crack to anyone who tasted it. And no matter how much begging, pleading, bargaining, and bribing anyone attempted, I’d never known her to make it on any other date than March thirteenth.
“How did you…”
“I asked nicely.” He grinned.
“Psh! Yeah, right!” No way was I buying that.
Shrugging he admitted, “Okay, it might have taken a little bit more than just a simple request.”
“What did you do?”
His grin grew bigger. “You’re gonna have to come to the picnic to find out.”
“Done.” I practically skipped to the truck. By the time I made it across the parking lot, JJ had returned the basket to the truck bed and was holding the door open for me.
Taking his hand, he helped me into the seat. As I settled in, I involuntarily closed my eyes and inhaled his clean, woodsy, masculine scent. When I opened them, he was leaning into the truck, his forearms resting on the roof, which showcased the sexy backside of his arms, and his eyes were radiating an intensity that made me squirm in the seat.
“JJ?”
He continued staring at me as he took a deep breath through his nose.
“What’s wrong?”
The energy between us was like Rice Krispies cereal in a bowl full of milk. It was snap, crackle and popping, making it hard for me to remember to breathe.
“I wasn’t sure you were going to say yes.” The relief in his voice was like a sledgehammer to the wall I was carefully constructing around my heart.
“You had me at chicken,” I teased, misquoting a line from one of my favorite movies, hoping to lighten the mood.
“You’ve always had me,” he rasped before shutting my door and leaving me speechless, stunned, and feeling much too emotionally raw and vulnerable to be spending any time with him, much less one-on-one time at one of my favorite places in the world.
I had a sneaking suspicion even Dolly Briggs’s famous chicken wasn’t worth the heartbreak I was headed straight for.