Page 54 of Somebody To Love

“Screwing?”

“Apple!” Olive clutched at her chest. “Language.”

“What? I’m seventy-eight years old and I can’t say screw? At least I didn’t say fu—”

“Sister, please!”

Grabbing her coffee, she chugged the drink. She needed all her faculties to deal with the Blithe sisters this morning. Once she’d downed most of her beverage—and burned off a good portion of her taste buds in the process—she spoke again. “BJ and I have an arrangement that works for us. It’s…complicated.”

Apple snorted. “Honey, every relationship is complicated. Anyone who says otherwise is trying to sell you crap.”

“Pay her no mind, dear.” Olive grabbed her hand and led her over to the small table in the corner where she normally set up when working on their website. “We’re happy for you two. Are there going to be more wedding bells in the Jackson household? Hmmm?”

“Oh no, it’s nothing like that. We’re not serious.” No. They were just going to have a kid together. Nothing serious about that. “It’s just a…thing.”

“Hmph, I’d like to handle his thing, if you know what I mean.”

“Apple! You don’t say that about a woman’s beau.”

“Maybe you don’t.”

Desperate to change the subject, she pulled her laptop out of her bag. “I implemented all the changes you requested from my last visit. Should we go over them to make sure they’re to your satisfaction?”

“In a minute, dear.” Olive patted her hand. “I want to hear more about this new development in your relationship with BJ.”

“For once, I agree with my sister.”

Two sets of wrinkled faces, one smiling and one scowling, stared at her. Waiting. Oh dear, she couldn’t do this. How could she explain to these women who were basically Kismet’s kindly and curmudgeonly old grannies that she and BJ were only having sex so she could have a baby? They would never understand.

“Um, we’re exploring a new facet of our relationship.” A truth of a sort.

“Girlie, I know you’re smarter than everyone in this town put together, but us normal folks need things explained in English.”

She winced. There was no way to explain what they were doing without suffering the judgment of everyone in town and while BJ was right, it didn’t matter what anyone thought but them. A part of her cared.

“We’re taking things one day at a time, not putting labels on anything.”

Apple scoffed. “I tell you what, if I had Bravo in my bed even for a night, I’d put a big ol’ label on him that would read ‘Property of Apple Blithe.’”

“And now, I must say for once, I agree with my sister.” Olive shook her head. “I don’t understand you young people and your need to drop labels. Labels are good. They tell you what things are, that way no one gets confused.”

That would sure be helpful right now because Penny was as confused as a PC user on a Mac at the moment. “Can we work on your website, please? I’m afraid I have a few other appointments today. I don’t want to run late.”

“Oh, of course, dear.”

“Fine, but you’re not fooling anyone.” One gray thinly plucked brow rose. “Whatever is going on between you and the happy Jackson twin has got you turned upside down and inside out and trust me, girlie, that can only mean trouble down the road.”

She ignored the sour Blithe sister, opening her computer and pulling up her software. Apple may be a grumpy, bitter old woman, but she always spoke the truth. Penny was afraid the aged shopkeeper hit the nail right on its very obvious head.

This thing with BJ was supposed to be simple, easy. Two friends stamping out some new attraction while she got the object of her heart’s desire. But now, imagining a baby with her smile and BJ’s eyes no longer filled her entire heart. It only took a portion of it. She was terrified if she looked deeper, she’d see it was because the man himself had worked himself in there too and she wouldn’t be truly happy unless the picture was complete.

CHAPTER 22

Penny woke up much the same way she had for the past three weeks, wrapped in BJ’s arms. Unlike the previous mornings, however, she felt a sharp pain low in her abdomen, rousing her from an otherwise peaceful slumber. Knowing the cause, but hoping she was wrong, she slipped out of bed and hurried to the bathroom. Moments later, her disappointment was confirmed as she reached underneath the bathroom sink for the box of tampons she’d hoped she wouldn’t be needing for the foreseeable future.

After taking care of necessities, she washed her hands.

“It’s fine,” she assured her morose reflection in the bathroom mirror. “It rarely happens right away.”

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