I had seen a few episodes of the old sitcom, and it seemed very fitting for the evening. Watching it might even take my mind off Jackson and the kisses we shared.
“So, why are you really fighting with Jackson?” Tressa asked. “From my view, that’s the straw that broke the camel’s back and not the real issue.”
“Trust,” I blurted out. “I’m having trouble trusting him, and there’s no reason for me not to do so.”
“Trusting him or trusting yourself?” she asked.
I set my mouth so firmly that my face hurt. “Okay, okay. It’s me. What if—”
She held up a palm and shook her head. “You taught me that there’s no room forwhat-ifs in our lives. We bury the past, walk away from the grave, and step into the future.”
“How did you get to be so smart?”
“If I’ve got an ounce of smartness, you can blame it on the short time I’ve been at the Tumbleweed. Don’t let this anger go on too long, or you might lose the best thing that could ever happen to you.”
“Okay, Dr. Tressa, I hear you loud and clear. Let’s eat and watch some episodes.”
A couple of hours later, I yawned. “This has been fun, but I’m tired, so I’m going to bed.”
Tressa stood up and stretched. “I barely kept my eyes open on the last episode.”
I turned off the television. “I’ve been dozing for an hour. See you in the morning.”
When I reached my room, I moved my phone from the middle of the bed to the nightstand and was about to set the alarm when I saw that I had a text from Jackson:One lyric in the song says that you love me. I’ll take that. You can call me when you get through being mad.He ended it with a smiley face.
That one little emoji took what was left of the anger out of me.
Chapter Twenty-Five
On Wednesday afternoon, Scarlett laid a hand on my shoulder and asked, “Are you all right? You’ve been checking your phone every hour for the past two days. Are you and Jackson still not talking?”
“I’m fine,” I answered. “Jackson and I are giving each other some space, but we might see each other tonight.”
“Okay, but if you need to talk, I’m here,” Scarlett said.
“Thank you. How’s things going with the new house?” The quickest way to move her to a new subject was to get her to talk about all the excitement of the wedding or her new home.
“Since the loan has been approved, now it’s just a matter of paperwork. The previous owner gave us permission to repaint the walls and put down that plank flooring. It’s like a dream come true that we get to start off in our own home and not a rental.”
I must have frowned, because she quickly said, “The Mendoza family all pitched in, and we had the painting and flooring finished yesterday. We close on Friday afternoon when I get off work, and we’ll start moving in on Saturday.” She checked the dining room to see where Tressa and Rosie were, then whispered, “We are only going up to Cloudcroft for a couple of nights, but we don’t want anyone to know that we’re coming back to our own home on Monday.”
“Why is it a secret?” I asked.
“We want to spend a couple of days together in our new home before we both go back to work. If the family would stay away, wewould probably even forget the nights in Cloudcroft. We just want some mornings to wake up late, have mind-blowing sex, and then start all over again.”
We had gone back to work when Tressa came from the kitchen with a broom in her hands. “Rosie invited me to go to Mass with her this evening,” she said as she started sweeping. “I haven’t been to church or to confession in ten years.”
On Thursday, I got a text from Jackson:Are you still mad?
I sent back one that said:Workin’ on it.
The next one from him asked:Can we try for pizza and beers again on Saturday night?
I’ll let you know, and added a smiley face blowing a kiss to him.
On Friday, Ada Lou came in that morning and ordered her regular late breakfast—or brunch, as she liked to call it. Then she narrowed her eyes into slits and stared at me.
“You look like warmed-over crap. What is going on?” she asked. “Are you and Jackson still arguing? What was that fight about, anyway? Girl, you need to wake up and smell the bacon.”
