Page 26 of Sweet and Salty

“I’ve seen a peacock at the zoo,” Davey proclaims. “When’s my dad coming?”

“Soon, hon.” Mom sets the chip-and-dip on the coffee table between all of us. I’ve only been there approximately ten minutes and already it feels just like my childhood, a whirlwind of food and joking and subtle reminders to sit up straight. The only thing missing is Ma.

A sudden ache gapes in my chest. I sip my iced tea, hoping to drown the sensation, but it doesn’t work. What am I doing with my life? I have an ex-boyfriend who’s demanding money, an overly involved family that’s worried about me, a career that’s stagnant.

I want something to go right. I want Ma. Ma always knew what to say or what to do. The feeling of missing her is so strong, so intense, it’s like a sob that can’t be held in.

“I’ll be right back.” I set my drink on the coffee table and head for the door. No one will notice. Frannie and Davey are getting out the Jenga set and Mom is headed back to the kitchen for more appetizers.

Five minutes. That’s all I need. Five minutes to miss Ma and pull myself together.

I pull open the door and smack into a sturdy male chest covered in soft flannel.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Jesse

Instinct hasme gripping her soft upper arms. She smells far too good, like vanilla and allspice and all sorts of things I should not be thinking of when I’m about to walk into her family’s house. In front of not only her sheriff brother but her mom. Eavesdropping has taught me a lot about Laura Marshall, like that she’s a member of a tightly knit matriarchal unit. Two moms who carved out their family’s place in this town, with sweat and charm. I’ve heard both a lot and very little about her famous brother. All people seem to say about him is “Oh, that Bobby Marshall. Such a good boy. He’s snowbirding it now.”

And yes, I did google what snowbirding meant.

I close my eyes, hoping like hell that my body would respond as I really, really wish it would and just pull itself together. I can not lust after this woman, especially not here on her family’s front stoop.

“Oh my gosh, I’m sorry,” Laura says, trying to back up. Unfortunately all it does is press her soft, lush breasts against my chest. How inconsiderate of her to wear this sundress thatsnugs all over her body. No one should look like sin on top of fluffy cupcakes, but Laura pulls it off.

I wince, forcing myself to think of anything that will not make my dick want to come out and play. “Excuse me. I, um, left something in the truck.”

Forcing her away from me—and no, I do not miss Rory’s arched eyebrow—I leap down the steps and back toward the truck where I have left exactly nothing but my dignity.

I listen from the truck as I pretend to peruse my pockets and the corners of my secondhand vehicle. Why is there a receipt from a place called the Mars Cheese Castle in the glovebox? What exactly is a Mars Cheese Castle? Maybe they can beam me up from here and rescue me from my own inanity.

“Did you find what you’re looking for?” Rory calls. It’s impossible to miss the smirk in his voice.

I exhale and force a smile onto my face. “Yup!” I hold up my wallet, for which I have no immediate need but raise aloft like it’s the most important thing in the world. Now they probably think I’m some money-grubbing asshole. “Found it.” Ugh, I sound like a dick, but at least the shame is keeping my cock at bay.

“Oh good.” Her voice sounds shaky, but Laura smiles brightly, and it nearly does me in all over again. “You don’t want to miss taco night.”

This isa truth that is hard to swallow.

The Marshalls are the sort of family I’ve always secretly wanted but never voiced out loud, even to myself. They’re boisterous and big and caring. They play board games all through dinner, even getting the five-year-old in on the action.Davey is shockingly well-versed in Monopoly rules for a kindergartner, and way too good at Battleship strategy.

In short, I never want to leave them, and that’s exactly why my feet can’t stop itching to go. I have nothing to offer these wonderful people. I lust after their oldest daughter. I want their mom’s black bean recipe. I can’t even tell them my real name.

It hurts so much worse than I expected. This was not covered in Witness Protection orientation. How do you deal with the shame of lying all the time?

“So, Jesse,” Marie Marshall says, filling my glass with fresh lemonade. “Tell us about yourself.”

“There’s not much to tell.” I focus on my lemonade like it’s the best damn lemonade in the entire world—which, incidentally, it is. “My life’s been pretty boring.”

“I doubt that.” Marie has long, dark brown hair threaded with gray. She perches on the arm of the couch, looking over Davey’s Battleship setup. “My wife always used to say everyone has a story. They just need someone to listen.”

No one is supposed to listen to my story. It wouldn’t be interesting. Man is lonely, falls for wrong woman. She sets him up with a job that gets him into toxic swamp level trouble. The usual.

“She sounds like she was a special lady.” Photos of Marie’s wife decorate the whole house. She has a beautiful smile and looks like she’s always one bad pun away from laughing. Just like Laura.

“She was.” Marie sniffs. “How about you? You can at least tell us where you’re from. I’d guess Georgia, but I confuse that accent with South Carolina sometimes.”

I flash back to the briefing Harbor and I ran through over and over and over on our drive from DC to St. Olaf. We kept a lot the same to minimize how often I’d have to lie. Mostly becauseI’m terrible at it. I improved slightly during training, but not by much. “Georgia, ma’am.”

---