Page 19 of Stella's Christmas Rescue
“I do, indeed.” I nod and take note that when she lowers her voice, it is sexy as hell.
But then, her much higher Southern Belle register is back, and her sexiness is once again in question, “Oh, gosh. Are you in some kind of trouble, Jordan?”
“No, not really. I’m just a cog in a machine that I thought I quit. That’s all it is, Katie. Nothing to worry about, I promise.”
Her soft hand cups over the back of mine. “If you need someone to talk to, or for anything else, then I’m here for you.”
“And if I could talk about it, I would, Katie. Thank you.”
“Well, like I said. I’m available for anything else, too.” She sits in the booth across from me. “And speaking of telling you all about it, did you hear about Carl Winters’ wife?”
“Edna?”
“Mm, hmm. She was caught with Pastor Keppler’s son, going heels to Jesus in the church parking lot during services.”
“Can’t be. You’re pulling my leg! She’s more than twice his age!”
She grins and shakes her head, “Swear to God, Jordan. I got it from Mr. Wyler, who heard from Danny White, whose cousin heard Mrs. Patinkin squeal when she saw them going at it. That is practically straight from the horse’s mouth!”
And this is why I tell her nothing. “Katie, you always have the best gossip.”
“People like to tell me things.” She smiles and shrugs. “So, if you’d like to share anything?—"
I shake my head. “No. I’m just here for the food.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“And the company.”
Her smile brightens. “I’m glad to hear it.”
She rambles on, spreading more inane gossip, but when she goes to get my food, I check on Stella. She’s dressed like she’s leaving her house. No suitcases, and she’s leaving Sugar behind. That’s good. I can breathe a sigh of relief. My food arrives, and all I can think of is why Stella left her house. Katie popsby to check in on me and flirt some more. But I’m distracted by worrying about Stella, and I don’t enjoy our usual morning flirtation like I used to.
When Patricia heads out, she smiles my way, and Katie notices, while she pours me more coffee. She waves at her and says, “Bye, see you next Tuesday!”
Patricia chuckles, then says, “I’m here almost every day, Katie.”
“Oh, I must need more coffee myself,” she says, friendly as hell, like she’s a ditz. But Katie, as sweet as she is, is no ditz.
The mousy librarian remarks, “Or maybe switch to decaf. Bye.”
When the door closes, I ask, “What was that all about?”
“Patricia Martin is a terrible tipper, she is rude to anyone she thinks of as ‘the help’, and I think she has her eye on you.”
“So, ‘see you next Tuesday’?”
She smirks, “I’m too much of a lady to explain it, but I’m sure google can tell you what it means.”
“While I do that, can you get me a to-go order of the corned beef hash?”
“Sure thing, darlin’.”
I google the phrase and I’m surprised Katie knew what it meant. She always seems so innocent. I have a little chuckle at Patricia’s expense, but then Stella pops into my head. I bet she would have laughed about it, too. I have to tell her. Oh, wait, we’re not…Ugh, I have to get her out of my system. Nothing gets a woman out of my head like work. I shovel my food into my mouth fast, and, once my to—go order is ready, I head to the firehouse.
Our town is a one—stoplight, one—sheriff, no deputies sort of place. The firehouse is tiny, like Floyd. It’s across from Bailey’s, so at least we don’t have to go far for grub. They have the best fresh donuts in the morning. From the outside, the firehouselooks like a brick warehouse with two large garage doors. On the inside, there’s an office above the vehicle bays on the second floor, which is where I find my buddy, “Michael, how’s it hanging?”
“Good, Ghost.” His faint Russian accent is more pronounced when he’s annoyed.
