Page 21 of The Coppersmith Farmhouse (Jamison Valley 1)
“You won’t even consider dinner?”
Letting out a deep breath, I dropped my eyes to my feet to think.
I was curious why Jess had switched personalities today, and maybe over a quick meal I could figure out what his angle was. Was he trying to hook up with the new girl in town? Brag about his conquest? Could this nice-guy façade last for more than thirty minutes? I was betting it couldn’t.
“We’ll see,” I said.
“I’ll take it.” A huge smile instantly replaced her sad, pathetic look.
I shook my head and changed the subject. “If you want to avoid a tirade tonight, I highly recommend not telling Rowen that Prescott doesn’t have drama clubs. In Spokane, she was part of a kiddie club called Glamour Girls where a group of little girls would get together once a week and pretend to be famous actresses and singers. She has a flair for the dramatic.”
Maisy smiled and pretended to zip her lips shut, then popped them back open to toss in the key and swallow it.
I giggled at the gesture and left her to finish my study of the patient charts.
An hour later, I was reading the same line for the hundredth time. With all that had happened this morning, I was having a hard time concentrating.
The crime spree in Prescott was concerning. Leaving Spokane meant leaving behind a city with a high crime rate, but now it seemed like some of the security I had been feeling just because Prescott was small and in Montana was naïve. Prescott certainly would never be as bad as Spokane, I hoped, but I would need to take more care than I had been so far with my safety and Rowen’s. I hadn’t even been locking the front door at night. Just because we were in rural America didn’t automatically make it safe. Look at what had happened to John Doe.
The rest of the free space in my mind was swirling around Jess. If I did decide to go to dinner, what could I expect? And could I control myself around his hotness?
I had no idea why he wanted to take me to dinner. I wasn’t anything special, just a single mother, trying to set up a new life for herself and her daughter. Maybe make some new friends along the way.
And Jess was in a whole different league. One where the plain and average girls, like me, didn’t belong.
; So why me?
Did he think a dinner was necessary to go along with the coffee he had brought me so I would forgive him?
Maisy’s comment about Jess and the farmhouse got me thinking. Perhaps Jess’s interest in me had more to do with my house than my panties. Maybe he was working an angle to keep the farmhouse. After all, what woman wouldn’t want the dreamy sheriff to take interest in her? And he’d told me himself he loved that house.
Dinner or not, I was going to find out what Jess Cleary was up to.
Fidgeting in front of my bedroom mirror, I assessed my outfit. I had chosen one of my favorite go-to ensembles for a boost of self-confidence. I was going to need it for the inevitable face-off with Jess about dinner.
I’d chosen to wear heels with my skinny jeans and sleeveless black top. The shoes were a risk in Montana but they were me.
My hair had been pinned up in a bun today so when I took it out, it had an awesome wave.
Rowen and I had gotten our hair from my mother. In the end, Mom had lost all of her hair from chemotherapy, and after she died, I made the decision to let my hair grow long, at least past my waist. I never wanted to take for granted how lucky I was to have it, and how lucky I was that every day I could look in the mirror and get a glimpse of something Mom had given me.
And tonight, it looked a lot like hers when it had been long.
I straightened my shoulders and held my chin high, inhaling and exhaling a deep breath.
But my shoulders slumped. The nerves pooling in my stomach indicated that I’d chosen the wrong outfit.
Who cared what I was wearing for a five-minute conversation with Jess to tell him I wasn’t going to the café with him?
Me. I always cared about what I was wearing.
My clothes helped me deal with my insecurities. I wasn’t super-model gorgeous and I could stand to lose ten pounds—or more as Rowen’s father had been certain to inform me. But the one thing he’d never done was ridicule my clothes. And when I stepped out in a killer outfit, I felt good. More sure of myself.
“Stop overreacting, Gigi,” I told my reflection. “Step away from the mirror.”
Giving myself a sure nod, I followed my own orders.
