Page 78 of The Fall Back Plan
“She’s more saintly than I thought,” I say. “She was looking out for me in more ways than I ever knew.” I look out in the darkness, but my mind is elsewhere, traveling down Maple Street and the constant stream of surprises it’s given me. “So many people have had my back here. People I barely knew when I was growing up. People who I’m barely meeting. And they’ve all been . . .” I wave my hand, not sure how to describe it. “I don’t get it. Why?”
Lucas leans over to give my shoulder a soft bump with his. “Why not? Harvest Hollow is about like most places, I imagine. Five percent of the folks here are Sloanes. It’s inevitable. But eighty percent are like Roberta Herring.”
“What about the other fifteen percent?”
There’s a smile in his answer. “Those are your odd ducks like Janice Sullivan.”
“Where do you think you fall, Lucas?” I know the answer. I wonder how he sees himself.
“I’d like to think I’m the eighty percent.”
I shake my head. “No.” I say it softly.
“No?”
“No, Lucas Cole. You are one of a kind.”
“Shoot, Jolie.” He fidgets a bit, like he’s scraping his nail against his uniform jacket. “Confession: I’m having those more-than-friendly feelings again.”
I turn my face toward his. We’re almost close enough for me to feel his breath, which I know from experience now will smell faintly of cinnamon. “Confession: that’s all right by me.”
Lucas goes still, and I wait in those few full, delicious seconds for him to lean in, but when he moves, it’s to stand. “Jo, you’ve had an intense night. The kind that would leave anyone feeling vulnerable. No one could blame you if your thoughts are too much of a mess to make clear choices right now. I won’t take advantage of that. When you’ve got some clarity, I’ll be waiting. These more-than-friends feelings . . .” He makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “They aren’t going anywhere.”
Lucas, the good sheriff. The good friend. The good man. I wouldn’t expect anything less. But . . .
“Small problem,” I say. “I’m always a mess lately. How will you know when it’s okay?”
This time, there’s definitely a chuckle. “Don’t worry, Jolie McGraw. I’m sure there’ll be a sign I can’t miss.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Jolie
Lucasisrightaboutone thing: there is a lot going on in my head. After he walked me to my car, I stayed up late into the night, thinking about all the revelations from Janice Sullivan.
On Tuesday morning around 10:00, a text from Ry wakes me up. It’s just five exclamation points with a picture attached. I expand it and find the press release from the sheriff’s department explaining that the mystery of the porch dolls has been solved: They were intended as a gift by a senior citizen who thought the recipients might enjoy having dolls that looked like them, and she’s sincerely sorry to have caused so much trouble.
His public information officer has done an excellent job of keeping the giver’s details vague enough that it could be just about any woman of retirement age in Harvest Hollow.
Ry follows this up with a picture of the sidewalk chalkboard which now reads “She didn’t do it. Sorry we lied. Pink-Faced Liar cocktails half off tonight.”
I send back a laughing face and text informing him I’ll be in later. I have some business to attend to first.
An hour later, I walk into the library. When Mrs. Herring smiles and greets me, I raise an eyebrow and say, “The Harvest Hollow Library Distinguished Scholarship?”
She looks guilty for a second, then pulls her shoulders back and sniffs. “You deserved it. I’m not sorry.”
“Good, because I’m here to say thank you.”
We visit for an hour, working on my volunteer schedule in between helping the occasional patron, and when my stomach rumbles to inform me it has demands, I stroll out at noon and pause to study the sheriff’s station.
I definitely woke with a clearer mind, but I’m not ready to talk to Lucas yet. I know what I want: him. I haven’t figured out what “sign” to give him except marching in to make out with him again. I sense he’s waiting for something more than that.
I walk up Maple instead, dipping into the café for a turkey sandwich and continuing on, window-shopping and enjoying all the warm fall décor appearing in store windows and doors in preparation for the big Harvest Festival this weekend. It’s a family event, not really the crowd for drinks we sell, but I make a mental note to have Ry work up some apple-themed mocktails that everyone can enjoy next year.
This year, we’ll count on tourists finding us in the evenings this weekend. If Sloane’s reviews are still up when I check this afternoon, I’ll be tracking her down and having a conversation with her about removing them. It will not be a request.
As I near the Mockingbird, Sophie steps from the jewelry store and calls a hello.
