Page 24 of Not Exactly a Small-Town Romance

I know how she sees me. She teases me about it. A manwhore. An opportunist. A man angling for press and limelight.

And I’ve been those things. I’m probably still those things.

But letting sweet, naive, bubbly Kelsey go on this wild-goose chase doesn’t sit well with me. Not all alone.

Who knows who she’ll run into. And with this fortune teller nonsense in her head, the withering-faith business and end-of-summer deadline, she might not make rational decisions.

I don’t have to be a contender. I’m acutely aware of all the reasons that I’m not.

But I can be a protector. A big brother.

I should fill in for those siblings she doesn’t see anymore. Talk some sense into her.

“You miss her already, don’t ya?” Jester’s eyes remain fixed on the keyboard as he asks this, typing at roughly one word per minute. He looks like a flower in a pink shirt with green pants, his head topped with a pale-yellow cap.

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not. There’s no foolin’ Jester.”

“She’s out there all alone.”

“Kelsey can handle herself.”

I grunt in reply.

“What are you doing in the office anyway? You only come in here to fight with Desdemona or flirt with Kelsey.”

Flirt? I do not. I’m about to sputter out a vehement denial but Jester waves me off. “Don’t bother. There’s—”

“No fooling Jester,” I finish. This shtick of his is funny only when it’s about other people.

“You’re going to get frown lines if you keep scowling like that,” Jester warns, sticking his tongue out as he concentrates on what must be a particularly difficult piece of typing.

I should get out of here. I don’t have any duties, no women to woo on behalf of Desdemona, no files to study to learn what might get them to accept some project that matters to the office.

The chair squeaks as I roll away from Kelsey’s desk.

“Will I be seeing you around?” Jester asks.

“Probably.” Summers get light without Desdemona directing my actions. Maybe I should take a vacation. Cozumel. Ibiza. Costa Rica. All of the above. It might keep my mind off Kelsey.

“Keep tabs on our girl!” Jester calls as I stride out into the blinding sunshine.

I should take up surfing. Dye my hair blond.

Now I’m rambling in my own head.

I know what Iwant to do.

Catch up with her. Watch for her. Keep her from getting in a scrape.

But that’s insulting. She’s a grown woman.

I slide into my silver Jag. There are a hundred women I could call. Most of them would jump at an opportunity to dress up and get some photos taken on the strip or at a club, even if they aren’t too interested in me.

But instead of doing that, I head for Highway 1.

Driving this stretch of the coast always fills me with awe. The ocean. The beaches. The craggy cliffs. It gives me perspective.

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