The sound of him running his hand over his jaw, the scruff of the rough, short hair acted as a calming tether as his mind drifted far away. Once his shift was over, he walked to his truck, answered the text and left the station.
"I feel like everything is going to be okay," Eloise said behind the bar at The Black Cat Coffee. She, Ursula and Bess were drinking earl grey iced teas with sugared honey suckle as Jenson and Graham Bledsoe were varnishing the remaining tables.
"Good," Ursula replied. "Because I am in the unsure camp right now. What I am also in the unsure camp about is this Graham Bledsoe who is very cute, very nice, and an odd wrench in your story." She turned fully to look at Eloise who rolled her eyes.
"He is cute and nice and we had a great date. But," she paused. "I don't know. When he asked me for a second date I told himI would get back to him. I feel like that's an answer in its own way."
A snort drew their attention to Bess who said, "Men are idiots." To which both women gave her a look. "What? I have yet to experience their delightful side like you two have."
"You really need to tone back the 'men are evil' megaphone," Eloise said. "There are good men you're going to hurt who don't deserve that."
"I know," Bess ceded, her hard tone softening. She could do that, be straight as a stick and then fold in on herself like a curling willow branch. "I just, guys can be so mean," she said in a tender voice showing her vulnerable side.
Eloise cursed and pulled her into a tight hug that made Bess give Ursula a look. Eloise pulled back looking at Bess with a serious expression. "Those guys at your school, those aren't men. Please remember that. You didn't deserve any of that. Or my help in that area," she added.
"I forgave you for that," Bess said softly.
"I know. And I'm grateful." She pulled back and hoisted herself up onto the bar. "There's still something about that interaction at the club that is bothering me."
"You're an amicable person, but even that seemed out of character for you," Ursula said.
"Maybe you were hexed," Bess suggested.
All three of them paused, frowned, chewed on that thought for a moment and then looked at each other.
"Do you think that woman in the bathroom is the one hexing everyone around town?"
"If so, why does she have a vendetta against us? Who is she?"
"Oh, you should ask Taylor to help figure out who she is."
The mention of the detective brought a rush of pictures to her mind of the heat-inducing sort.
She hadn't told anyone, even Ursula, what had happened on this exact bar the other night. Why she hadn't told Ursula was simple; if she told her it would make it real. And then she would have to deal with the after.
A woman telling her person anything of value was like putting something in a vault; it said something about both the value of it and the trust they had in the receiver.
It can take many years, and much trial and error for people to learn that friendship, at its core, involves a form of collateral—offering parts of your heart and mind that hold great value. When this trust is mutually honored, it creates a bond of exceptional depth. However, if you choose unwisely, what you treasure may be disregarded or traded away without care.
This withholding of tender information was not a lack of trust in her dear friend; it was the fear of giving it so much value.
What would she lose then?
"Yeah, maybe," she finally said.
"Is something going on with the handsome detective we should know about?" Ursula asked with a conspiratorial tone. "He looked at the time on his phone more than usual while playing cards while you were on your date."
"How do you know it was more than usual? Maybe he loves keeping time."
"Or maybe hedidn'tlove you being on a date with someone else," Bess said with a wiggle of her eyebrows. "He was rather distracted. We crushed them at cards."
Ursula held up her hand and the two high-fived without taking their eyes from Eloise who smirked.
Oh, how these two would react if she told themexactlyhow much he hadn't liked it. Not Bess. She was too young for that conversation. But Ursula would smile in that female-friend way and hunker down for the details.
Like how his hands had felt, rough and possessive on her skin.
The way his low voice rumbled when he tasted her, spreading her out for him to see and savor on top of the coffee bar.
