Where You Least Expect (7 page)

“I don’t even know how you come up with this stuff.”

“It’s not like I have better things to do,” she said with another eye roll.

“Seriously, Verna. There’s something admirable about not settling. I respect the hell out of it, actually.”

She pursed her lips and gave him a speculative stare.

“It’s nice that you admire my discernment, but we’ve gotten our wires crossed. I haven’t been pining away for the one, saving myself until I know it’s true love. I’ve never had an offer, Joe.” She leveled a heavy stare at him. “
Ever
. Not at a bar, not at all the college parties I didn’t attend, the prom I didn’t go to. Never. Nada. Not once. Fuck, I’ve never even been on a date, not even a double date. And I’ve never been kissed. I mean, one time, I think this guy was beating off on the phone when I answered, but he most likely thought I was my sister. Every human alive can’t be wrong, Joe. I’m just a mess, a lame, underachieving, undesirable mess.”

“That’s progress, Verna. A minute ago, you said you were nothing, but now you’re a mess and a mess is not nothing.”

“Technically correct, I suppose,” she said around her laughter, “but only in the letter and not in the spirit.”

She chuckled quietly and then went solemn before again turning her gaze to him.

“It sucks, but it would be easier if I could just accept that I am who I am and that this is the way things will be. But I’m stubborn, and I can’t give in, even though I know doing so would make my life better.”

“You’re wrong, Verna. It would make your life so much worse. You can never stop fighting until you get what you want. And if things don’t change, it’s only because you didn’t want them to, or didn’t want it enough to fight. And I know you have fight.”

They both smiled at that.

“Now let’s get you inside,” he said, standing and then hoisting her up. “It’s getting cold out here.”

Chapter Six

Verna woke with a start and glanced over at her bedside clock.

4:32.

Shit. If she didn’t hurry, she was going to be late, and if she was late, the restaurant wouldn’t have biscuits for the first customers of the day. She threw the covers off and jumped out of bed. And then immediately stopped when she realized that she no longer worked at the restaurant. Sinking down on the edge of the bed, she let out a deep sigh and rubbed at the throbbing ache at her temple. Memories of the previous day, her birthday, came flooding back.

Her father firing her. Getting more than a little tipsy on the deck.

Oh God, the shit she’d confessed to Joe.

She groaned and fell back on the mattress, closing her eyes tight, wishing she could convince herself that yesterday had been a dream. But it hadn’t been, and she felt the hot flush of embarrassment creeping over her body. It was bad enough that her father had basically humiliated her in front of half of Thornehill Springs, but when she thought of sitting on the deck and spilling her deepest, darkest secrets, stuff that maybe one other person on the entire planet knew, to Joe of all people, the flush of embarrassment turned to a stab that pierced her guts.

Suddenly nauseous, she rushed to the bathroom prepared to retch, but nothing came out, and after a few minutes, she stumbled back to her bedroom and buried herself under the covers, determined to stay there until she could think of a positive to yesterday’s debacle. She must have dozed off, for when she stirred, the sun shone bright behind her curtains, but she certainly didn’t feel any better, and the elusive bright side still escaped her.

Well, not entirely. Maybe her father firing her was the push she needed. He was never going to listen to her ideas or respect her as an equal, so perhaps it was time to branch out. Into what, she wasn’t entirely sure. She turned over, sighing as the ache in her head intensified, the pain probably a reflection of her sadness as much as the alcohol.

She loved making clothes for people, but there was no viable career path there. Sure, sewing for Blakely Bishop was nice and the few pieces she had at La Femme were nice, but nice wouldn’t feed her or keep a roof over her head. She closed her eyes, trying to fight against the wave of despair that threatened to overtake her.

Bursting from the swirling mass of her thoughts, Joe’s voice sprang into her head, and through the fog of her hangover and her shame, she could almost hear him speaking to her, pushing her not to be a wimp and to fight for what she thought she wanted. She’d have bet serious money that there would never be a situation where Joe MacDermid motivated her, especially not about something so profound and potentially life changing, but she’d take what inspiration she could, no matter the source. And he was right; she was no stranger to work, and if she wanted this as badly as she believed she did, she couldn’t wait for it to be handed to her. Last night, she’d lamented the state of her life, but now she had a real chance to try and change at least a part of it.

A tiny voice in her head, one that sounded far too much like her own, whispered of the risk and of the fact that she might fail, and for a moment, she retreated a bit, considering other possibilities, like finding work at another restaurant, or picking up the night shift at the Laundromat, a position she knew was notoriously difficult to keep filled. But she pushed those thoughts aside, excitement at the prospect of taking a real shot bubbling up to overtake them. She could finish the project for Blakely and then hit it hard, try to pick up another client or two, push the stuff she’d already designed and work on new stuff. A smile formed and spread across her face. She could do this, and it could work. She had some savings and a lot of time and if nothing else, she’d have fun playing designer while she got her shit together.

As for the rest…

She might have to move. Motivation notwithstanding, there was no conceivable way she could ever look Joe in the face again. Not after she’d spilled so completely, probably confirming what he’d always suspected was true. She’d give him credit though. Last night, he’d been compassionate, and not in the poor-Verna or it’s-just-Verna-being-wacky way that was as familiar as it was tiresome, but in an authentic way, like one human being relating to another. It was endearing, something she didn’t want to acknowledge, the reservoir of positive feelings she had for Joe far too full to accommodate any more, at least not without putting her emotions at risk, which wasn’t smart on the best days but which would be pure insanity with the upheaval in her life.

So she’d lay low today and hope that aliens abducted Joe and excised his memory of last night. Seemed unlikely, but she’d grasp at any straw she could, at least until she came up with some reasonable explanation that he would accept for what had come over her last night.

Two hours later, after she’d finally showered and dressed, though she had nowhere to go, there was a knock at her door. She knew who it was, and sad that she wouldn’t be able to put off seeing him any longer, she trudged over and opened it without looking in the peephole. He walked in, casting slightly worried glances at her.

“Gosh, Joe,” she said, going for the casual but direct vibe, which she amazingly managed to pull off. “You’ve never seen a drunk person before? I thought you Army guys were big drinkers.”

“Navy,” he responded. “Looks like you’re feeling better.”

“Why wouldn’t I be? I mean, I had two glasses too many last night and it was nice of you to help me in, but other than that, I can’t think of any reason why I wouldn’t be completely fine.”

“So that’s the approach? You’re going to pretend you didn’t say all that stuff?”

“You’re not even going to let me indulge the fantasy that my alcohol-induced confessional wallowing either didn’t happen or fell completely out of your brain the moment you left?”

He immediately shook his head, his lips pressed in a firm line, his face set in that impassive expression that she knew meant he was not kidding, and she couldn’t help but laugh.

“You’re the worst, man.”

One corner of his mouth lifted, making her smile again. Oddly, the terrible embarrassment she’d felt when contemplating seeing him again hadn’t sprung up. Joe had always made her feel some degree of trust for him, even when she could tell he hadn’t liked her, but this was disconcerting. She should have been flustered and practically immobilized with self-loathing and shame, but this felt almost…normal.

“So…anyway,” he said, and she looked up, noticing that he’d moved closer to her. “Uh,” he said, but then he stopped, seeming to reconsider his words.

Before she could ask what he’d planned to say, he leaned down and slotted his lips over hers. Then he stepped back and stared at her, but she couldn’t speak. Her heart boomed in her ears, drowning out everything but the confusion that now clouded her brain.

“You’ve officially been kissed, so mark that off your list.”

“It’s after my birthday, which means I wasn’t kissed before I turned thirty, so that doesn’t count,” she said finally, her voice sounding distant and her mind barely processing the words even as she spoke.

There was the faintest tic in his jaw, but Verna could see the laughter in his eyes. “Close enough for government work.”

She pressed her lips together and slightly closed her eyes, but her brain still wasn’t cooperating, and she couldn’t begin to fathom what had possessed him.

“Ah…Um…”

He laughed this time. “Is that all it takes to keep Verna Love quiet?” The smile that now covered his face was full and unrestrained, and it made Verna’s heart pound even harder. “It sucks that you spent your birthday alone, so let me try to make it up to you at least a little. Dinner at my place tonight?”

“Um…I’m busy.”

“No, you’re not,” he said.

“No. I’m not,” she admitted.

“So dinner at my place tonight.”

“O-okay.”

“Good. See you later.”

After he left, Verna went to the couch, still stunned by the turn of events. She had no paradigm for a world in which Joe MacDermid entered her home, kissed her on the lips, and invited her to dinner. It wasn’t a date,
date
or even a kiss,
kiss
, but still…there was no universe where that encounter should have occurred.

She spent the rest of the afternoon puzzling through what had happened, and specifically
not
thinking about the fact that even all these hours later she could still feel the pressure of his lips against hers. Or that she’d give anything to feel it again.

••••

“You’re being weird, Verna.”

“I’m always being weird,” she replied without missing a beat, but the words lacked their usual energy.

She then smoothed her hand over her hair for what had to be the thousandth time since she’d come over, something he couldn’t ever recall her doing before. Then she scooted to the edge of her chair and sat up as straight as she could before reaching out to grab her water glass by the stem. But she didn’t take a drink, and instead wiped at the condensation that had gathered on the glass, all while making what seemed a concerted effort not to look at him.

He’d essentially browbeaten her to get her over here, and now she was as jumpy as a jackrabbit, had hardly spoken at all, and he suspected he knew why.

“Spit it out,” he said after more long minutes of excruciating silence.

She’d left the water glass alone and picked up her fork, and when he spoke, she stopped pushing the piece of steak she’d been playing with for what seemed like hours across her plate long enough to glance at him before she looked down again. Her lips were pulled tight and turned down, her expression was reflective, quizzical, and she hadn’t cracked a joke or uttered a swear word the entire time she’d been here. Not Verna-like at all.

“Come on,” he said, “just spit it out and we can go back to sniping at each other. If I’d wanted to sit in silence, I could have done that alone. So let’s just get this over with.”

She cut her eyes at him and heaved a huge sigh, and for an instant she was the person he recognized.

“Why did you kiss me?” she finally asked after several more moments had passed.

It was a fair question, one that he didn’t quite know how to answer himself.

“It seemed like the right thing to do,” he said.

That was the best answer he’d come up with, even after having all day to consider it. Her eyes flashed and then narrowed.

“I don’t need your fucking pity,” she bit out, the words as angry as her eyes.

“Whoa, no offense intended,” he said, raising his hands. “I’m just being honest, but don’t put words in my mouth and don’t jump to conclusions.”

She paused then, pursing her lips as she thought. “So that wasn’t a pity kiss, but you don’t know why you did it?” she finally asked.

“Yeah, like I said, I was just being honest.”

She shook her head, livening up as her face took on that expression that told him he was in for a thorough chastisement.

“Well lie next time,” she snapped. “I mean, Jesus, that is the worst fucking answer imaginable.”

Her thunderous expression had him laughing.

“It wasn’t that bad, Verna.”

“Pfft. Says you, and you clearly don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”