Page 24 of The Coppersmith Farmhouse (Jamison Valley 1)
“So you were pretty young when you got elected. That’s impressive. You’re, what, thirty-three, thirty-four?”
“Thirty-four. You?”
“Thirty-one.”
“What’s your family think about you moving to the mid
dle of Montana?” he asked.
“Well . . . ah . . . I don’t really have any family. My mom passed away a few years ago. My dad died when I was young.”
“Sorry,” he said.
“It’s okay. My mom was amazing. I rarely felt like I was missing out by not having a big family.”
“How’d she pass, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Breast cancer.”
“Sorry,” he repeated.
I just shrugged. Talking about my mother and her battle with cancer was not a topic I wanted to get into during dinner.
He didn’t say anything for a few moments but then he reached out with his hand and covered mine on the table. The gesture was so kind a lump formed in my throat.
“It’s okay,” I said. “How about we change the subject to something lighter? We don’t want the old-crony gossip group to see the first dinner companion you’ve had on a Friday night in years start sobbing at the table because she was talking about her dead mother.”
“Old-crony gossip group?” He chuckled.
“By far a better name than the Coffee Club.”
That earned me a smile. A smile that I couldn’t help but return. A smile that sent a warm wave of happy through my body, from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.
The rest of our dinner conversation was casual and easy. Never once did I get the feeling Jess was playing an angle or that he was just putting in his time until he could get me into bed. He was genuine. And being together felt comfortable. Relaxed. Natural.
Jess told me about growing up in Prescott. He had lived here his whole life except for his time at the police academy. The previous sheriff had retired, leaving behind a team of deputies whose average tenure was twenty-five years. As most of them were looking forward to their own retirement, Sam and Jess were the only viable local candidates. Sam had no desire to go for the position so Jess had entered the election, racing against a man from Idaho.
Another thing I was learning about Prescott: There was a clear divide between the locals and everyone else. Though the community was welcoming, outsiders were treated with a bit of apprehension. It came as no surprise that the people of Jamison County had chosen to elect the hometown high school football hero even though his out-of-state rival had possessed more experience in law enforcement.
We both smiled and laughed a lot through dinner. Jess had a dry sense of humor and a sharp wit. We teased each other with harmless jests, and by the end of our meal, he’d almost made me forget about the jackass he’d been earlier in the week. Almost.
Jess insisted on paying and I didn’t argue after I made an initial reach for my purse. After years of eating out with Ben, I’d learned that manly men paid. The end. And Jess, much like Ben, was a manly man.
Stepping outside the café, Jess asked, “You been downtown yet?”
“Not really. I’d love to wander around a bit. Do you have time?”
He nodded and we set off to stroll up and down Main Street.
“Are you going to make it in those shoes?” he asked after we’d been walking for five minutes.
“Absolutely. I love my heels and they love me back. I could walk for miles.”
His eyebrows lifted in disbelief but he didn’t comment. He just swung out a hand so I could keep walking by.
Even though most of the shops were closed, it was nice to peer into their windows and get a better sense of what Prescott had to offer. There were a few clothing stores. Another with kitchen gadgets and fancy oils. A fly-fishing shop. An old-fashioned drugstore.
We walked mostly in comfortable silence along the sidewalk. I liked that we didn’t need to fill every second with conversation.
