Jesse (Glass City Hearts Book 3) Read online

  Sitting on the sofa, giving JJ her most rapt attention as he sat cross-legged on the floor, was Gerta. Her grey hair perfectly permed, and a coral twinset made her seem like a Spring flower in the otherwise craziness of the room. On the floor, scattered all around him, were little toy cars of all sizes, and he was picking each one up in his hand and showing Gerta—explaining in detail how he came by every single one. He hadn’t seen me yet so I took a moment to watch him interact with the older lady I knew lived downstairs. It didn’t look like he was having any trouble acclimating at all.

  “—and this corbette is the one my Mama gave me for going number two on the potty the first time. And this motorcycle Mr. Creaton next door gave me for not askin’ him any more questions and winning at the quiet game.”

  Gerta laughed softly and asked, “Oh? What’s the quiet game? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of it.”

  “The quiet game is where you see who can go the longest without talking. Mr. Creaton was watching me while Mama had to work at the resternaut and I was asking lots of questions. He said if I could be quiet for five whole minutes he would give me a toy. It was hard, Ms. Gerta, but I won the game. Do you like my motorcycle?”

  Gerta’s eyes lit up and her smile took ten years off her face. “I do, I like it a lot. Did you know I used to have a motorcycle?” The twinkle in her eye made me think she might have been joking, but I had seen the sleeve tattoo that she normally kept covered under those bright colored cardigans, so I guess anything was possible.

  “You did not!” JJ giggled, leaning back on his elbows and wiggling his legs with mirth.

  “I did too. It was shiny and purple, and had a sidecar on it that I used to make my boyfriends ride in.”

  JJ’s laughter was full blown now, and he clutched his tummy as he rolled on the floor. “You’re fibbing, Ms. Gerta, you’re fibbing, I know.”

  “Okay, maybe just a little. I didn’t make my boyfriends ride in the sidecar. But my big dog Joe sure loved those rides! He even had his own little helmet and everything.”

  JJ laughed again, but suddenly his face sobered up, and he said to Gerta sort of sadly, “I wish I could have a dog, but Mom says we don’t have the room or the money.”

  “Dogs are a lot of responsibility, Buddy,” I said, making my presence known. “But I bet someday, when you have a house with a yard and a place to walk one every day, you might be able to change her mind. You would have to show her that you are a responsible boy though. You can do that by always doing what you’re told and help out with chores when she asks. And sometimes when she doesn’t ask,” I amended. Remembering my mom loved when I did things without being told.

  “Mr. Jesse!” JJ yelled and launched himself off the floor to attack my legs in as big a bear hug as he could manage. I felt that hug all the way down to my soul, it was amazing what the arms of a four-year-old could do to ease your troubles. I picked him up under the armpits and swung him in the air, grinning as he whooped and hollered, no concern for the other tenants in the building.

  “Maybe we should use our inside voices, JJ,” I said, cutting a glance over to where Gerta sat, watching us with a smile on her face.

  “It’s just Jolene, Gary and I here anymore lately, Jesse. And Gary is deaf as a doornail.” Gary must have been the grumpy old man in the downstairs window.

  “How’re you doing, Gerta? It’s been a while since I’ve seen you and Jolene down at Nasta’s. Where is Jolene anyway? You guys are usually together.” I didn’t think I’d ever seen them apart from each other, actually.

  Gerta smiled wickedly.

  "Doctor told her she has diabetes, you know." I didn't know, and I certainly didn't see it as anything to smile about.

  "It's not so bad right now, she's borderline, but Doc Angelo told her she has to cut her margaritas way down if she wants to live another ten years. Made her so mad she swore off of them completely. Says she's gonna outlive Doc Angelo." Gerta hid her laughter behind her hand even though her shoulders were shaking and I could hear her giggles. "Doc Angelo is thirty-seven years old!"

  "So, is she sulking in her apartment or something?" She still hadn't answered the question about where Jolene was.

  "No, she's cooking. When she is stressed out she cooks so she's finishing up the lasagna she's making and a bunch of freezer meals to welcome our new neighbors. They're going to need a deep freeze to hold it all I swear. She's so excited to have a young family in the building you know."

  I wondered what Harlow's first impression of Jolene was. The diminutive dark-haired landlord was in her early seventies and rarely without a margarita glass in her hand. She was a fixture in the community and a wonderful soul. She wasn't without her quirks though.

  Harlow came through the door with her phone in her hand and a disgruntled look on her face. She smiled when she saw me standing in the small living room, and I realized I was still holding JJ. Setting him back on his feet, I turned to Harlow, and as JJ ran back over to continue instructing Gerta in the car business, I gave Harlow a tiny wave.

  "Hey."

  "Hi," she absentmindedly patted her crazy hair and smoothed down the open flannel she wore over a plain black tank top and faded blue jeans.

  "Gabe overwhelming you I take it?" I was referencing the phone call, and the clearly crammed apartment full of boxes and new furniture still in the process of being put together.

  "They all are, actually," Harlow said, exasperated before laughter bubbled out of her throat. "Angel told me the apartment was furnished, right? But apparently furnished meant they were furnishing it with all new everything. If I would have known that I would have just kept our old stuff. Apparently, Dino and Gabe are competing to see who can get the coolest little boy décor, but they failed to remember it's a one-bedroom apartment. There isn't anywhere to put all this stuff." Harlow sighed and ran her fingers through the top of her hair, getting stuck in the bun and accidentally pulling several strands free. The movement was familiar as I had watched her do it several times before on another occasion. I liked that I was getting to know her well enough to remember her quirks.

  "I mean I get that they are really nice people. I do. But why are they so nice to me? I haven't done anything to deserve this kindness. I'm not used to it."

  She looked like she needed a hug. I wanted to give her one too, but before I could move and most likely embarrass myself I heard a feminine shout through the open apartment door from down the stairwell.

  "Jesse!" It was Jolene. I would know that yell anywhere.

  "Jesse!" She yelled again. "I know you're up there, I saw you come in. Come down here and help an old woman out. I need you to carry something." I raised my eyebrows at Harlow, who just shook her head, probably trying to figure out if I knew everyone in the city. I didn't, but it was close. Turns out, Jolene's "something" was six casserole dishes of various foods along with chocolate chip cookies and a peanut butter pie. Gerta had not been kidding, Jolene had been on a welcome wagon cooking mission. She loaded up my arms until the dishes came to my chin and sauntered ahead of me up the stairs with nothing in her arms but a plastic grocery bag with a few loaves of fresh bread.

  Wily old woman.

  "Jesse let me help you—oh you are carrying too much!" Harlow rushed to pull the top two glass containers with lids from my aching arms, while Jolene grumbled.

  "Nonsense, Harlow. It's the job of strong young men to help their elders." As Jolene spoke she turned her face to the living room, one eyebrow arched high. JJ, who had been paying attention to her since we'd come back into the apartment, scrambled to his feet and ran to Jolene, arms stretched wide.

  "I'm a strong young men, Miss Jolene. I can help." Jolene smiled and ceremoniously handed him her grocery bag of bread like it was a thirty-pound bag of bricks and he had just eased her of a heavy burden. Beaming, JJ took the bag and put it up on the kitchen counter that took up one side of the small apartment. Chest puffed out and happy he helped, he had no idea he'd just been had by Jolene. I made eye contact
with Harlow, but she just smiled, clearly amused by Jolene's antics. I took it they had already become acquainted.

  "Sorry, Jesse, it's crazier than I thought it would be today," Harlow apologized as she looked around the apartment. “And I’ve gotten two hang-up calls this morning. Normally I don’t answer restricted numbers but with all the delivery people running around I don’t want to miss something important.” She got her hand stuck in her hair again and this time just pulled the band out completely until her hair fell down her back in a dark cloud. “If you called the wrong number you should just say so and be done with it. Hanging up is so rude.” The delivery guys were finished with their furniture assembly and were filing out of the apartment—none of them making eye contact with Harlow. She must have really been making a fuss about the delivery; they all looked like they were afraid they would get yelled at if they stopped on their way out the door. The movers were still bringing the last of the boxes in though, and Harlow looked exhausted.

  "Hey, it's fine," I assured her. "I just came to see how things were going and see if you needed help. Looks like Gerta and Jolene have JJ occupied though," I said mournfully. Jolene had taken a seat next to Gerta on the new couch and had pulled her glasses out of her pocket—the better to see JJ's toy car demonstrations I imagined.

  "I'm just going to have my hands full for the rest of the day unpacking this stuff. It's not a lot, honestly, but I won't be able to rest comfortably until I have everything put away. That's just how I am." Harlow rubbed her eyes tiredly. I wished there was something I could do to get her to relax, but then I remembered what I had wanted to ask her when I was on my way over.

  "So, Sundays the bar is closed, and I have the day off," I began, hoping the two old ladies were too entertained by JJ to be paying attention to our conversation. "And I wondered, if you wanted to take a break, I could cook a late lunch at my house and you can have a little bit of time to relax where you don't have to do anything. Cook, clean, entertain." She was just looking at me with her mouth half open like she wasn’t processing what I was saying. "I won't even make you do the dishes," I said lamely, wondering why she wasn't saying anything, just staring at me like she didn't quite hear what I said.

  "The man's saying he wants to cook for you," Jolene said loudly from across the room, and I closed my eyes and groaned. I should have known better. Jolene was always listening.

  "We don't have to if you don't want to," I amended. "I can take you out somewhere. Wherever you want to go. I just wanted to see you again and thought you might want to slow your pace down a little bit. It's just an idea."

  A beautiful blush stained her cheeks and she swiped the hair stragglers out of her eyes and tucked them behind one ear. She mumbled something and tipped her chin a little bit. I didn't catch what she said so I took a step closer.

  "What? I didn't hear you."

  "No one's ever offered to cook for me before."

  "You've got to be kidding me," I said in disbelief. That was a crying shame.

  "No. Actually, between you and Jolene I think that's the most anyone has ever offered to feed me in my life. I can't think of a time where a man has offered to actually make me food. JJ too?" she asked the question as if she thought I was excluding him. I knew better than that.

  "Of course, JJ too. You guys are a package deal, aren't you?" She smiled, a real smile, and even though there was a smudge of dirt under one eye and across the bridge of her nose from moving, she looked so beautiful to me.

  "Actually," Jolene interrupted again. Goddam that nosy old woman. Holy shit, I was trying to make a date here.

  "Jacob Scott that lives a few streets over is having a birthday party for his five-year-old, Kenny, tomorrow. I used to babysit him during the summer before he started kindergarten so I'm close to the family and they asked Gerta and me to come." Jolene turned a sly eye to Harlow and I as she asked, "Do you think JJ would want to go to that? It would be an opportunity to make a new friend in the neighborhood." JJ had become still as a statue, holding his breath, waiting for Harlow to respond. I could tell by how wide his eyes were that he was very much interested in this birthday party.

  I thought back in my head for a minute. That name sounded familiar. Then I remembered, "Jacob Scott has a kid? I went to high school with him, haven't seen him in about six or seven years though. He still lives over on this end of town then? I always got along with him, he was a good guy. His dad owned Whitehall’s, the grocery store chain, right?" I asked Jolene. I was pretty sure I was right, but she would know for a fact. If it was going down in this neighborhood—Jolene was on top of it.

  "Yep. Jacob actually took over the chain so his dad could retire. He's doing really well. His wife's a nice lady; they just had a baby girl last year. Kenny's a sweet boy, and I bet JJ would meet some neighborhood friends. I know we've just met, Harlow, but Jesse can vouch for us. I've known Jesse since he was a pimple-faced hormone. JJ is safe with us. Can he go?"

  "JJ's never been to a birthday party," Harlow whispered, her voice clogged with emotion. She was about one more nice gesture away from a breakdown. "He hasn't had any real friends either. It wasn't safe to play in our neighborhood."

  JJ swiveled his head around like an owl and gave his mom wide eyes, vibrating back and forth a little as he sat on his knees, waiting for his mom's final verdict.

  "I heard they're having a bounce house," Gerta slid in softly.

  It was the bounce house that sealed the deal.

  11

  Harlow

  Jesse lived in an honest to goodness, straight from the cover of a magazine, farmhouse. It wasn’t a massive lot, but it butted up next to the Glass City Country Club and the ridge of trees that hedged the property line separating the golf course from the suburban area around it made it looked huge. The house was two story, white with deep green shutters and an honest to God wraparound porch. There was even a wooden porch swing off to the side that had little red throw pillows on it.

  I didn’t take Jesse for a little throw pillow kind of guy.

  This was the address he’d given me though, and the GPS on my phone told me I was in the right place. I paused on the porch in front of the hunter green front door with the glass panels on each side and smoothed down the sides of my beige colored floral jumper. At least that’s what my mom always used to call it. These days I guess people call them jumpsuits. It was the girliest thing I owned, to be honest, I didn’t have a single dress in my closet. I probably could have gotten away with a pair of jeans and a t-shirt but somehow, having Jesse invite me over for a home cooked meal made me want to appear more feminine. I wanted to make the effort. Instead, I showed up wearing the same colors as the landscape and holy shit, please don’t notice I match your house, I thought to myself as he opened the door.

  The smell of something sugary and sweet hit my nose before anything else and before I could even think to say hello I inhaled deeply, filling my lungs with that heady, syrupy scent.

  “Dear God, what is that heavenly smell?”

  Jesse laughed and waved me inside. “Would you believe me if I said it was me?” His dark eyes twinkled, and I knew he was kidding.

  “You did smell like powdered sugar the last time I saw you so yeah, I would believe it,” I said without thinking, pretty much just putting it out there that I had sniffed him before.

  Don’t be such a weirdo.

  “Well, it’s not,” Jesse grinned, and his teeth flashed white behind the strawberry blonde of his beard. I wonder if there are dimples under that beard? I thought to myself. That smile makes me weak. I bet he’s got dimples. Dangerous.

  “It’s actually a dessert,” Jesse continued to talk as he led me through a short hallway, past a flight of stairs and into a country kitchen, complete with a long table and bench seating. Sitting smack in the middle of the table was the most beautiful peach pie I had ever seen, with a decoratively scrolled crust and large sugar crystals on top that reflected the light streaming in through the large bay window.

&
nbsp; “Jesse, why is this house so perfect? Are you a magician?” He smiled and started to laugh but I stopped him. “No, seriously. Why does this house look like something on the cover of Better Homes and Gardens? Why do you have a country kitchen complete with the most perfect peach pie I have ever seen in my life, hot damn I want to eat that—and your lawn looks like it was trimmed on a diagonal line and…” I trailed off trying to think of what else I was trying to say. “I bet you have a creek running through your backyard, don’t you? Tell me there’s a little stream running through there and you and your dog, Pal, go play in it on the weekends. How are you so perfect?”

  Oh, shit. I meant to say, “How is this house so perfect?” But that is not what came out.

  “Jesse, you manage a busy bar. How do you have time for this kind of upkeep?”

  I was in his arms and he was kissing me before I even registered it was happening. A slow pressing of his lips on mine, his tongue gently easing my mouth open. Not urgent, not searching, just a casual sweep of his tongue on the inside of my mouth before he sucked my lip gently into his mouth and let it go with a little pop.

  I forgot how to breathe.

  “Harlow, I’m not perfect. I grew up in this house, it was my mom and dad’s house. My mom passed away about two years ago and I came to help Dad with the bar. He has…some problems. He can’t bear to be in the house without her, it’s too painful he says, so I live here. Cleaning up after one person isn’t hard, although the house is made for a family. I don’t do the yard work,” Jesse grinned. “I know the landscaper for the country club next door. On mow days he comes through and does a sweep through my yard. I pay him, of course, but it hardly costs much because he’s already out here and he has the huge equipment. I do have a creek in my backyard, but I don’t have a dog, and if I did I sure as hell wouldn’t name him Pal. He’d have a kick-ass name like Duke, or Buck. And I’m not sorry that I just kissed you, because you came over to my house looking as sweet as one of the peaches I put in that pie, and you called me perfect.”