Page 38 of The Jilted Lovers Club
Jordy turns back to Grace and grins. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”
Back in the truck, I can’t stop hearing how she rattled off her New York address to the gallery manager. It shouldn’t have hit me so hard, but it did.
I brush it off though, and give her a side glance.
“So, Miss I-Don’t-Have-Any-Friends,” I tease. “That was pretty damn friendly, and a hell of a lot of money to shell out on art.”
Jordy shrugs. “I have an inheritance from my late grandmother. Most of it is tied up in stocks and savings, but occasionally I use it if it seems like a worthy investment.” She gives me a pointed look. “Besides, that wasn’t me being friendly, that was me making an investment. Grace Dalton is an untapped talent. Once she’s discovered, those paintings will be worth ten times what I just paid.”
I nod slowly. “You really believe that?”
“Iknowthat. Galleries in New York would kill for work like this. She’s just too big for this town. No one here sees it.”
I don’t argue. But it doesn’t sit right with me either. Yeah, small towns have their limits. Boxes people can’t escape. Labels that stick longer than they should. But no one gets lost here. People belong to each other, even if they don’t always see it.
And while Jordy may be right about Grace and this small town, New York isn’t some magic fix either.
Some people are just too big for small towns.
But Jordy? She hasn’t just outgrown the box. She’s redesigned the whole damn room.
And me? I’m just the guy watching her walk through it, knowing the door is already halfway closed.
Paint Night is Just an Excuse to Drink
Jordy
I wake up the next morning feeling sore from my day on the river. But happy.
And a bit confused.
Enough that, as I hear Ashton milling around the kitchen with Lottie, I stay in bed and pretend to be asleep until I hear the front door click and the silence of an empty house.
Spending yesterday with Ashton felt so natural, like we did stuff like this all the time—and let’s face it, he’s really, really nice to look at. But it also makes me realize that my time in Lahoma is not as long as I originally thought it would be. Even though I have a few weeks left, it’s not enough time.
And crushing on him is making this reality so much worse.
I know this is going nowhere. It doesn’t even matter if he returns my feelings. My whole world is in New York, and his is here. It’s pointless to start something we can’t finish.
And yet, I can’t shake my feelings of restlessness.
Last night, we arrived back home after dinner to very little conversation. I’d put on the teakettle, thinking we could unwind after Lottie was in bed, but he said goodnight without even looking up from his phone. Somehow, that hurt more than I want to admit. Yesterday morning, we were holding hands on the river. Now it feels like we’re strangers in the same house.
The message is crystal clear—this crush is very one-sided, and it’s probably for the best.
Now I’m alone in this empty house, lying in bed with my feelings.
Eventually I drag myself out of bed. I pull on a pair of slacks and a silk blouse, followed by my black heels. But when I look at myself in the full-length mirror, it’s all wrong. No one around here dresses like this. I love my clothes—I’ve created a very distinct style for myself—but looking in the mirror, it all feels so stuffy.
I dig around my bag again until I find a pair of workout pants and a sweatshirt. It’s not my favorite to wear athleisure as fashion, but it’s better than silk and stilettos.
Today’s mission: a new wardrobe that’s less New York and more Northern California.
And I can’t do this alone.
I head into town, stopping first at Lock & Key. My heart sinks when I see the girl at the counter. I recognize her as the single mom with a million kids who’d been picketing outside the store, and I warily back up so she won’t see me.
Too late, though. She looks up, her eyes locking with mine. It takes a moment for her to register, and I stand paralyzed as I watch it happen. Her eyes widen, then narrow.
