Page 115 of Love & Other Disasters

Violet: My bathrobe. I literally just finished taking the photo I sent.

The phone lit up with an incoming video call. Violet laughed and answered. J.P.’s grinning face filled the screen. He was sitting in bed.

“Hi there,” she said, laughing.

“Hey, beautiful.”

“Are you shirtless?”

His grin widened. “I just got out of the shower after my morning run when your text came in.” The phone camera panned down his mouthwatering body to a towel wrapped around his waist.

“Maybe I should start running.” What the hell did she just say? The only way she’d run was if there was an axe wielding maniac chasing her.

“I’ll take you running when you come up here,” he said, his face returning to the frame.

“Good god. I’d die.”

“We’ll go slow,” he said. “Now let me see.”

“Here’s my bathrobe,” she said, angling the phone.

“Loosen it,” he growled.

“You first,” she laughed. There was no way he’d do that.

He panned down his body again to the towel, and then his junk appeared.

Violet laughed. “I didn’t think you would do that.”

“I know.” His face appeared on the screen. J.P. beamed. “You don’t have to.”

“No, no. A deal’s a deal.” Violet said, pulling her robe open, and held out the phone.

“When we’re together again,” he breathed, “I’m going to slowly kiss every inch of you.”

The stale air inside the hardware store carried the faint odor of a variety of chemicals. They wouldn’t need the air conditioning much longer for the year, but they needed it today. People like him, who were racing to get in home improvement projects before winter made it difficult, packed the store. J.P. had four gallons of paint in the shopping cart along with brushes, painters’ tape, and other stuff he found. He didn’t know how much paint he would end up needing.

Another shocker had been how many colors of paint existed. There didn’t appear to be any color imaginable that it wasn’t possible to paint a wall in. He’d called Violet to ask her what color he should paint the living room walls and she suggested a light gray or taupe. Without a clue what taupe looked like, he selected a light gray.

He filed in at the end of the line at the cash register.

“Excuse me,” a man said behind him, “are you Jordan Harper?”

He turned and faced a middle aged man in a polo shirt and khaki shorts with black socks pulled halfway up his calves. Even wearing an odd straw hat, this guy looked like someone in charge. “I am.”

“Doug Wilson,” he said, holding out a hand, “Partner at Wilson and Bain Advisors.”

J.P. shook Doug’s offered hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“I’d heard you were in town now and was hoping to run into you.”

People were talking about him? He stiffened and lifted his chin. “Why is that?”

Doug glanced away then back. “My wife and I used to go to church with your mother. Evelyn’s a lovely woman.”

The knot in his stomach loosened. “Thank you.”

“And I’ve heard some excellent things about you and what you’ve done at Turner Health. Paul over there speaks highly of you.”

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