Wilma and Faye Quylt.
Why am I not surprised? And why are they looking at me like I’m their next meal?
“Would you look at him. Like a stray dog behind bars. Just breaks my heart.” Faye fans a folded piece of paper in the shape of a fan that I swear has my mug shot on it.
Not the craziest detail of her full-blown jail-themed outfit. Her Kentucky Derby hat is the size of a satellite dish, ringed with lace and plastic handcuffs.
Her fingers dramatically curl around the bars. “Real brave thing you did last night.” The striped tea dress looks like an old jail uniform, swishing with flair every time she turns. “Defending Jade’s honor.”
Prison couture at its finest.
“You hush, Faye. We’re here on business.” Wilma stands straight-backed and unmoving like a rock. “Bail and blessings.”
“Tell me you didn’t really bring bail money.” My fingers dig into the back of my cramped neck.
“A man who defends a woman’s honor is worth investing in.” The corners of Wilma’s mouth twitch.
Not into a smile, but something closer to grim approval.
“You should be proud, Hart. Punching a no-good dirtbag like that? Heroic.” Faye plants her hands on her hips, where a sash made of caution tape is tied in a perfect bow.
“I wouldn’t call it heroic.” I know Jade wouldn’t call it that. “He was drunk and rude. That’s all.”
“A good woman is worth your time here.”
I get the feeling this visit is more to do with their matchmaking than my jail time.
“We heard Jade cooked you a casserole to say thank you for your bravery.” Faye touches my arm between the bars, wearing fingerless gloves that look like she’s ready for easy fingerprinting.
I inhale deeply. “Ladies, I’m not interested in a casserole from Jade.” I lift my eyebrows. “And let’s be honest, y’all baked it, didn’t you? She would never go out of her way for me.”
I’ve made damn certain of that.
“You keep telling yourself that, but we’ve seen the signs. Opposites attract, you know.” A toy key dangles from Faye’s hatband, swinging with every nod.
“Point is, you and she have that same fire. We’re not saying you’re soulmates...” Wilma begins.
“...But we’re definitely saying you’re soulmates,” Faye finishes. “And we’re gonna drive you straight to her once we bail you out.”
Nope.
Absolutely not.
Hell, she’s the last person I want to see right now. I look like garbage, smell like garbage, and my breath could scare a raccoon off a trash can.
“Alright, ladies,”—I’m already taking steps back—“thanks for the visit, but I’d rather stay in the cell.”
Wilma gives me a look that says,Too bad. Then she steps aside.
“Molly, Hart here is hungry.”
Nash’s mom fishes out keys, and before I can protest, she throws open the cell door, and the matchmakers are inside.
Now, I could make a run for it. Getting past three lil’ old ladies would not be a challenge. But Nash’s wrath would befar worse. I’d no doubt end up back here for another night of soothing his broken soul.
Not that I blame the guy. If I lost my family the way he did, I doubt I’d ever want to be with anyone else and with everyone at the same time.
I get it.
