“Jericho,” I correct.
“Whatever.” She waves a dismissive hand. “Tall, dark, and broody is your type now?”
I glance around, lowering my voice. “Can we not do this here?”
“Why not?” Cheryl’s grin is wolfish. “The whole town already knows. Mrs. Wilkinson called Edith at the pharmacy, who told the mail carrier, who mentioned it to?—”
“I get it,” I cut her off, mortified. “Nothing stays private inBig Love.”
“Exactly.” She sips her coffee, looking entirely too pleased. “So you might as well tell us the good stuff directly.”
Grandma clears her throat. “What your sister means is, we’re happy for you. If he makes you happy.”
“He does,” I admit, unable to stop the smile that spreads across my face. “It’s… new. But good.”
Cheryl makes a gagging noise. “Save the googly eyes for him. I’m more interested in the?—”
“Don’t you have crimes to solve?” I interrupt.
“It’s Big Love.” She shrugs. “The most action I’ve had all week was chasing that damn rooster away from the town square. Again.”
“Speaking of,” Grandma says, suddenly very interested in stirring her tea, “has anyone seen him lately? The rooster?”
I narrow my eyes. “Why?”
“No reason,” she says too quickly. “Just curious.”
I’m about to press her when the bell over the door jingles, and my heart does that ridiculous little skip again. This time, it’s not for nothing. Jericho walks in, looking somehow more imposing than usual in the daylight. His shoulders seem wider and his posture surer.
His gaze finds me immediately, and I swear the temperature in the diner rises ten degrees.
“Oh my,” Grandma murmurs, following my gaze. “I see what all the fuss is about.”
Cheryl snorts into her coffee. “Subtle, Nora. Real subtle.”
I tear my eyes away, feeling caught. “Shouldn’t you two be anywhere else?”
“And miss this?” Cheryl settles back against the booth. “Not a chance.”
Jericho weaves between the tables, nodding at the few customers who acknowledge him. Most just stare, then immediately turn to whisper to their companions. The gossip mill is working overtime today.
“Ladies,” he says when he reaches our table, his voice alow rumble that makes my stomach flip. “Morning, Moon.” He nods at my grandmother, then at my sister. “Cheryl.”
“Steve,” Grandma replies with a serene smile, and I don’t bother correcting her this time.
“What brings you here?” I ask, trying to sound casual despite the warmth creeping up my neck.
His eyes hold mine for a beat too long. “Forgot something yesterday when I fixed your pipes.”
Cheryl chokes on her coffee, and I kick her under the table.
“Right,” I say, standing quickly. “Let me show you where we keep the… tools.”
I lead him toward the kitchen, hyperaware of every pair of eyes following us, including my grandmother’s and sister’s. When we’re through the swinging door, I turn to face him.
“You didn’t forget any tools,” I say.
The corner of his mouth twitches. “No.”
