Right now, Jasper was waiting to see my next move.
“Sugar, why didn’t you tell me how good you look when you blush?”
I reached down, put my palm next to his, and entwined our fingers. Then I pulled our hands out from under the table and laid them on top. Anyone walking by would know exactly what was going on in the back booth.
Let ’em talk.
“Y’all need anything else?” Selena asked, swinging by to clear my empty pie plate and the two forks we’d been sharing like we weren’t already the talk of DeeDee’s.
I shook my head. She pulled a couple of slips from her pocket, set them on the table, and said to Jasper, “Just pay upfront at the register.”
“What are you doing?” I asked when Jasper reached for the checks. Our fingers collided, and we had a small, awkward struggle as we both tried to grab them.
“I’m paying for us,” Jasper said mulishly. I liked the way he pursed his lips when he pouted. He’d probably kick me if I told him he looked cute when he was annoyed.
“I’m the one who crashed your lunch—that means I should pay.” My logic was airtight. He’d been trying to have a quiet lunch when I forced myself into the booth. Sure, Selena set the wheel in motion, but I’d stayed.
“But I ate most of your pie.”
“Yeah, but you made breakfast this morning.”
“And you made dinner last night.”
“Both times with your food. Pretty sure I win this round.”
Jasper huffed and leaned back, eyeing me. “Fine. But next time, I get it.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone argue about buying me lunch or dinner.”
“I think things should be fair. Fair means taking turns.”
“All right, fine—but this one’s on me.”
“Deal.”
Our first argument settled, I slid out of the booth and waited for him to follow. As he started toward the door, I caught his hand. He glanced down at our joined fingers and kept his gaze concentrated there. When he finally looked up, the confusion was clear, but the insecurity was hidden in a flash, and he returned to his standard sass.
“If you were trying to avoid gossip, you’re failing hard.”
“They’re gonna talk either way,” I said. “Might as well get something out of it.”
“And what exactly do you get?”
“I get to hold your hand,” I said with a wink.
From the corner of my eye, I caught Mrs. Brody at the counter, nudging her friend and tilting her head in our direction. A couple of teenagers in the far booth pretended not to watch us, but failed miserably.
“It’s nice to see you out and about these days,” Deanna called as we passed her booth. She gave our joined hands a pointed look. “I don’t think I’ve met your friend…”
“Jasper, this is Deanna and her husband Earl. They run the mechanic shop out on 27 toward Centerpoint—and Deanna likes to swap ‘neighborhood updates’ with Faust.”
Earl snorted into his coffee. “Updates, huh?”
“For the record,” Deanna said with a twittering laugh, “Faust and I are not gossiping. We’re keeping each other informed on local events. It’s like a bulletin board for ourselves.”
“That’s a load of bullshit,” Earl muttered.
“Earl, no one asked you.” She shooed him back to his scrambled eggs.
