Page 45 of The Fall Back Plan
I text Tina to see how her boy is doing, and when she tells me his fever is down, I give a sigh of relief. I just wanted to make sure he’s okay, but knowing she can be back at work tomorrow is a bonus. Right now, I’m so wiped I’m sure that after a quick shower to knock the smell of fermented hops off me, I’m going to sleep the sleep of the righteous.
I do not.
I do not because one Lucas Cole keeps interrupting my efforts to fall asleep like my sleep is trying to run a stop sign on a country road at 2:00 in the morning.
Is Mary Louise right? Did he come in to ask me out?
I don’t bother pretending that I wasn’t highly aware of him the entire time he was in the bar. Even though I couldn’t get to his table often, I could sense his restlessness. The fidgeting. He used to do that during tutoring, but as a full-grown man, the sheriff has a fascinating stillness about him. That coiled feeling of pent-up energy, the energy that revealed itself when he exploded into action to help Mary Louise subdue Shane. He doesn’t fidget. He moves with intent. But not this afternoon. This afternoon he was twitchy.
Couldit have been nerves? Lucas doesn’t strike me as someone who is shy with women, but what do I know? I tried to pretend he didn’t exist outside of tutoring, so I have no idea if he had a lot of girlfriends back then. He doesn’t come across as a flirt, but I don’t think I’m alone in my heightened awareness when we’re near each other. I only have the evidence of a few small moments between us where nothing was said but the space was still full of words, in a way. Words in my head likeClose the distanceandDon’t close the distanceat the exact same time.
I replay every look, word, and movement from him this afternoon until late into the night.
I hate this. And I’m going to do something about it.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jolie
Ittookmesolong to fall asleep that I wake up midmorning, disoriented by the intensity of the sunlight coming through the window. That’s 10:30 AM sunshine, and I’m usually out in it, not waking up to it.
Mixed in with the sleepy confusion is an image of Lucas, watching me carefully, one side of his mouth hitched up in the tiniest smile. Have I even seen him smile that way before?
Yes. The night he pulled me over and I rattled off geometry theorems.
Was that when he started slipping past my guard?
Because that’s the conclusion I’ve come to: Lucas Cole is one of the people I should be most on guard against, but I somehow keep forgetting to be. It’s not okay. It needs to change. Itwillchange. Which means having an awkward conversation.
I have been ruthless in suppressing exactly how awkward I feel in most of my life. College was a three-year exercise in blending in, avoiding notice so the awkward didn’t show through. Would have been four years, but I finished early, of course.
I got several more years of practice at the hedge fund until I became such a world-class faker that I wasn’t always sure if I’d become good enough to fool myself about my own awkwardness or if I’d finally become more comfortable in my own skin.
I am that. Comfortable in my own skin. But as I imagine the impending conversation with Lucas, it’s obvious that still leaves room for awkwardness.
Has to be done, though. I can’t have him popping up unexpectedly to put me on the spot about a date. Time to be proactive here and “nick this in the butt,” as Precious has said twice now. Ry even corrected her, telling her it should be “nip this in the bud,” but she’d fixed him with stern blue eyes and said, “I know how it goes. I say it how itshouldgo.” And that’s been that.
I get up and get dressed, pulling on a pair of Vince Camuto pants. I own so many pairs of expensive black slacks. Why? No one needs this many suit pants, especially not someone who isn’t working in an office anymore. But I’ll be working with the new chef, Bonnie, today. She’s coming in to make some different dishes for the staff to try, and I’m itching to get in the kitchen with her. I’m not a great cook, but I can wash vegetables and peel potatoes or whatever she needs. The inside of my brain itches, and the idea of being hands-on soothes it, a little. And black pants are going to be better for that.
But honestly? I eye the racks in my closet hung with jackets and slacks. This really is kind of a stupid number of suits. I think there’s a Gap on the other side of town. Might be time to get to know it. I sort of went from thrifting straight to Bloomingdale’s at my mentor’s urging. I’d gravitated toward higher-end brands in the thrift shops, but I didn’t know they were high-end until I was buying the same brands new off the rack in a department store that offered me complimentary seltzer water while I browsed. But I’d never had the GAP/Loft/Zara in-between stage. Maybe Tina could come advise me again . . .
I’m avoiding thoughts of Lucas and the conversation we need to have by doing a closet inventory. Another Young Jo move—avoiding friction.
But friction is how you stay sharp. So I choose a blouse I don’t mind getting stains on, and I put it on, all while figuring out how I want to bring this up with Lucas. Then I catch my reflection and frown. Black pants and a gray shirt. How . . . drab? I pull off the shirt.
Maybe it’s stupid to want to look cute in front of someone you’re going to reject for a date, but whatever. I’ve got my pride. I choose a fitted ivory shirt that I would normally only wear under a buttoned blazer for the office. It looks good by itself.
It stays that way exactly as long as it takes me to step one foot in the garage and realize it’schilly. Then I duck back into the house and grab a sweater jacket, a long one in teal, and decide I like the pop of color anyway.
I have no more excuses to avoid the talk with Lucas. During the drive to the bar, I come up with a script that makes sense to me. Straightforward. To the point. Just dealing with things instead of pretending they’ll go away if I ignore them.
Still, when I pull into my parking spot, my first impulse is to climb out of the truck and head straight to the library and disappear into the fiction shelves. Freaking Phillip flattened my real-world hopes for romance like roadkill, but a fictional escape into someone else’s love story—one that I know will work out—thatI can handle right now. It’sallI can handle right now.
So, yeah. Time to talk to Lucas.
But I’ll do it on the way to the library. Like when you get your lip waxed then the esthetician puts cooling gel on it. I will stop by the station—lip wax—and go from there to the library—cooling gel. And see if Mrs. Herring set the new Katherine Center release aside for me. That’s like . . . that’s like if the esthetician hands you a Candy Junction Choco-Mocha Bonbon on your way out.
Sure, you look like you’re working for Franco’s Birthday Clowns with your bright red mouth, but you’re a clown with abonbon.
