Page 56 of The Fall Back Plan
“Yep.”
He looks up and meets my eyes, smiling. I smile back. And somehow the moment stretches into something longer, and the texture of it changes. He leans over and rests his forearms on the counter, his eyes not leaving mine.
“Jo,” he says. It’s soft, and something about it makes my stomach flip. “You’re amazing.”
“I’m not,” I say. “I pay attention, that’s all.”
“But to everything. It’s impressive as heck. To the details here. To Brooklyn. To your staff and what they need beyond their jobs.”
My eyebrows fly up.
His smile gets wider. “I pay attention too. Especially when it comes to you, lately.”
Oh, that is a big, giant swoopy flip inside my stomach, and there is no mistaking why. “Lucas . . .”
“Wait.” He straightens. “Whatever you’re going to say, can you wait about twenty minutes to say it?”
“I guess?” I say, because I’m not actually sure what was about to come out of my mouth.
“Twenty minutes,” he says.
I nod and he scoops up everything that goes in the file and leaves.
Which means I have twenty minutes to brush my teeth and figure out the most diplomatic way to say that despite whatever these little moments are, Lucas and I arenothappening.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Lucas
Jolieonlylivesfiveminutes from me, so I run into my house, change my clothes, and drive back in my own car—a Ford Ranger I bought when I won the election. When I knock on Jolie’s door seventeen minutes later, I’m in my most broken-in jeans, a blue plaid shirt, and my good boots, my truck in her driveway, my service vehicle back in mine.
She opens the door and looks like she can’t decide if she’s confused or amused.
I hold out my arms to my sides, presenting myself for inspection. “I’m here as a civilian, not the sheriff.”
She steps back. “Okay, civilian. Come on in.”
I follow her inside and she stops to turn and face me.
“Wait, do civilians still come to the kitchen, or do we need to sit in my living room?” She gestures to her sofa set. “I got those two weeks ago, and I think I’ve only sat on them once.”
“Living room,” I say. “I’ll give you an unbiased opinion on your sofa comfort.” This makes her blush, and I grin. I hadn’t meant anything by it, but if she’s blushing, it’s because she imagined a very interesting way to test the sofas. Good. We’re on a shared wavelength, because business-type meetings over her kitchen counter are not on my mind.
I’m here to ask her out. Despite her preemptive date rejection the other night, the mood and tone of this morning feel different. More relaxed. Even flirtatious. For the first time since she’s been back, Jolie seemsopen.
She chooses an armchair and waves me to the couch. “Are you going to explain why you changed clothes?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say to tease her. It works. She smiles. “I’m glad you’re home again in Harvest Hollow, Jolie McGraw. I wasn’t too bright in high school, but I’m smart enough to see it now: you’re a cool person, and I wondered if you might like to grab lunch sometime and talk about things besides our jobs.”
The tops of her cheekbones are light pink, and I can’t tell if it’s still the last blush or a new one. She bites her lip and gives me the same look she used to get when she was solving a particularly tough equation.
“I’m talking about a date, Jo, if that clears it up for you at all.”
She nods but doesn’t smile. “We talk about Brooklyn.”
“We do.” Is this a precursor to telling me she doesn’t want to date a dad? Because that’s what I am. My brother isn’t getting out of prison until Brooklyn is done with college, and that’s only with good behavior, which isn’t his strong suit.
“So no.”
