Page 28 of Murder By the Millions
I noticed Jason was tapping his foot. He was also fisting and unfurling his left hand, as he had yesterday. Nervous habits, I decided. I used to chew my lower lip, until my ex-fiancé mentioned it. A therapist I saw on occasion had recommendedsecuring a rubber band around my wrist and snapping it whenever I caught myself doing the lip thing. The resulting pain of snapped rubber striking flesh had driven the habit from my life.
“Oly, who happens to be the owner, makes it himself.” I hoped idle chatter would put Jason at ease. “Tegan likes to drink Ugly Pig. I hear Spruce Goose is good.”
Our server, a petite blond woman with a winsome smile, greeted us and set two glasses of water on the table. “Hi. I’m Wallis,” she said, “but Allie knows that. You are?”
“Jason Gardner.”
“You’re the developer.”
“Word travels fast.”
“Sure does. ‘Gossip is as gossip does,’ my mother always says.” She winked. “Know what you want to drink?”
Jason gave her our order.
“Gotcha.” She handed us dinner menus. “Allie, before I forget, I scored a second job at Blessed Bean on my days off.” By day, Blessed Bean was a coffeehouse. At night, the place could now serve wine and beer. The owner had secured a liquor license, hoping to grow her business. “It’s sure going to help pay the rent.” Wallis’s father had walked out on the family a year ago, and ever since, she’d been helping her mother and younger sister cover expenses.
“Good for you.”
“I’ll be back in a flash with your drinks.”
Jason watched Wallis go, and his expression grew wistful. Wallis looked a lot like Delilah Brenneman, based on the photograph Tegan had shown me. Was he thinking about her now? I reflected again on the dustup between him and Patrick, and Jason warning Patrick not to utter Delilah’s name. Did he truly hope she would walk back into his life?
“You’re staring at our server. Does she look familiar?” I hoped Jason would speak frankly.
“No.” He wiped the nostalgia from his face and fidgeted with his place setting. “Tell me about you. Where did you grow up? What do you like to do?”
“You didn’t do oppo research on everyone in town?” My tone was light, playful.
“Ha! Not on a bet. Purely competitors.” He folded his hands on the table and leaned forward. “Back to you …”
“I grew up in Bramblewood, went to Davidson College, earned an English degree, thought I’d teach, but life took a different turn, and I came here to start my catering business. When not working, I love to read or exercise or play with my cat.”
“Sounds like an online dating profile. Do you do that?”
“No way.” I blurted the answer so fast I shocked myself.
He chuckled. “Taboo subject?”
“Tegan’s mother … she … Never mind. It’s not important.”
“I don’t do it, either.” He sat back in his chair. “Teaching and catering seem like opposite ends of the spectrum.”
“I’ve always loved to cook. I learned when I was five.”
“What did you make? Mud pies?” His mouth quirked up on one side, triggering the double dimple.
“Three-cheese mac ’n’ cheese was my specialty.”
“Wow.”
“And cookies.”
“I love cookies.”
His eyes twinkled with interest, and I decided they were his best feature. The rest of him wasn’t bad—the aquiline nose and devilish smile—but his eyes were studious yet heartfelt and imploring. To my dismay, I found myself attracted to him and wanted to know if he had this mesmerizing effect on all women.
I gave my mind a mental kick to stay on track and said, “I heard you’re originally from here. Where was your childhood home?”
