Page 43 of Slow Burn
“I got her, Ma,” Cole said, brushing his hand against Jocelyn’s back to steer her toward the living room.
“Your mother is such a sweetheart, but wow,” Jocelyn murmured, a smile lacing through the words.
“She’s a spitfire when she needs to be,” he agreed. "The full-name treatment'll knock the fight right out of anybody."
"Including you?"
He tipped his head. "Especially me. But don't go spreadin' that around."
She laughed as they moved across the hall to the living room. No doubt John was back there giving Cole’s mama an earful about her scheming, but Cole shoved that out of his head and watched Jocelyn instead—watched her cross the room and perch on the far end of the couch like it was neutral ground.
“I think it’s amazing that you’re building your own house.” Her voice carried that warm ease, her expression soft.
“We’ll see if it turns out.”
She tilted her head at his deflection. “I think it says a lot about you.”
His brows ticked up as he resisted the urge to rub at the heat crawling up his neck. “What’s it say?”
She studied his reaction. “That you know how to stick with something. Most people don’t.”
His mouth curved. “That’s a nice way of callin’ me stubborn.”
She pursed her lips, looking like she wanted to press, but before she could, Ellen swept in with two plates of peach pie.
“Here you go, baby,” she said, handing the first to him.
She crossed to Jocelyn, leaning over the coffee table to give her the other plate. The fork slid off, bouncing off Jocelyn's knee to clatter onto the floor.
“Oh!” they both said at once.
Jocelyn bent to grab it and came up with a slip of paper, too.
“That must be from my scrapbooking the other day,” Ellen said, taking the fork from her. “I’ll get you a new fork. Just set the paper on the table—I save all my scraps.” She breezed out without a second glance.
But Jocelyn didn’t just toss the scrap aside. She stared at it, studying the ripped edge like it held some secret she’d been searching for.
“Problem?” Cole asked, watching her closely.
“Scrapbooking,” she repeated, distracted.
“Yeah. The old lady hobby she picked up a while back,” Cole said, his tone edged with humor. “Don’t let her rope you in, or you’ll be stuck here all night flipping through the hundreds of albums she’s got stashed upstairs.”
“Oh, Cole.” Ellen swatted his arm like he’d insulted her honor as she walked back in.
She handed a fresh fork to Jocelyn, then took her own plate from John, who'd trailed in behind her. Jocelyn didn’t even crack a smile, just dug into the pie like it was duty instead of dessert.
Something had been knocked sideways, and he wasn't the only one who noticed.
“You alright, Jocelyn, Honey?” Ellen asked, sharp as always when it came to sniffing out moods.
“Just a sudden headache,” Jocelyn murmured.
His folks traded looks, then sent the same questioning glance Cole’s way. Pop’s was more accusatory than his mama’s. But he just shrugged, not knowing what to make of it, then offered to take Jocelyn home once the plates were cleared.
“We’d love to have you again,” Ellen said as she walked them to the door, her attention locked on the way Jocelyn’s shoulders crept up toward her ears.
“Thank you so much for your hospitality,” Jocelyn said, voice too polite, too thin. “I’m sorry to cut out early.”
