Jenna felt her throat close, her eyes ping-ponging to each speaker as they talked over each other. Small towns were wonderful for the sense of community they offered. Small towns were also crushingly invasive for that same reason. Everyone felt entitled to know everyone else’s business, even when they really weren’t. Her chest tightened as she fought to maintain her calm and try to think of a way to extricate herself from the situation.
“Hey, ‘s it true you’ve closed up shop, Jenna?” someone from the kitchen shouted.
The conversational din of the diner lowered as more interest swung her way.
It’d been barely twelve hours and rumor was already circulating that she had closed. Already she was disappointing customers, people she would see while she was out living her life. And she didn’t have a damn thing to tell them.
Mrs. Bell gave her hands a squeeze. “Is that true? You’re closed? Were you forced to close?”
I might be.But Jenna couldn’t bring herself to say the words. She didn’t want to say them.
She didn’t process the movement of air at her back until a warm, strong hand settled at her nape, fingers curling into her skin. Heat rushed to her face and her heart jump-started.
“The closure is temporary,” Jon said, not quietly. “Jenna will be back on her feet in no time. But I imagine she’d appreciate it if her neighbors would give her a little space to breathe and figure herself out in the meanwhile.”
Mrs. Bell blinked, gawking up at him, and the murmurs slowly rose back to their semi-deafening norm. She dropped Jenna’s hands. “I … do I know you, young man?”
Jenna drew a deep breath.
“I’m not so young anymore, Mrs. Bell.”
Jenna watched the older woman struggle with herself for a moment, then looked past her to the hostess who was gaping at them. “I actually would like a booth today.”
It felt like the murmurs followed them—like if she looked, the eyes of everyone in the diner would be following them—as they were led to a corner booth in the back. Jon’s hand had fallen away as they walked, but not his presence. Their hostess was unusually flushed when she asked them about drink preferences, and Jenna told herself to let it go.
When they were effectively alone, Jenna finally allowed herself to look at him.Reallylook at him. His dark hair was cut short, of course, but not actually as much as was generally depicted of military-types in movies—which was the extent of her knowledge. Was he of a rank or position where he was allowed to let it grow a bit? Whatever the answer, the style suited his face. He’d lost whatever baby fat he’d had as a teen and now his features were strong and angular and too damn perfect. He liftedhis dark eyes up from the menu as she studied him and one side of his lips kicked up at the corner.
Those lips. She tried very hard not to think about all the experiences those lips held. The ones sheknewthey held, the ones held between them, as well as the ones she presumed. She wasn’t an idiot, and they’d never promised each other anything. Least of all endless celibacy. She hadn’t been, and there was no way he had.
Not that it mattered. They weren’t on a date.
Jenna cleared her throat at the stupid thought and ripped her gaze away before she could try to identify the tattoo peeking out beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt. It looked like writing, maybe, but too much was covered for her to be sure. “So, um, how—”
“How’re you holding up?”
I’m probably not.But she didn’t feel right saying that. Sure, her business was in a weird limbo state and no one was willing to bend first on giving her answers, as if somehow their pride would be wounded if they did. But saying that to a man who’d been shot protecting her, whose friend might never walk properly again because of her, was the most insensitive thing. So, she tried for a smile. “I’m just frustrated. One minute things are doing okay, the next some jerk is shooting up people in my parking lot and even the sheriffs are treating me like it’s unreasonable to want answers.”
Jon frowned. “You can’t move forward until they release the scene, I’m assuming?”
“That’s right,” Jenna said as their drinks were set on the table. A flavored iced tea for her and a hot, black coffee as well as an iced water for him.
Their waitress shifted backward on her feet. “You two know what you want?” Her gaze rolled over Jon before she tilted her head and raised a brow at Jenna, but Jenna couldn’t tell exactlywhat the gesture was supposed to mean. Was it disbelief? Was it some type of approval?
“Jen?”
She blinked and realized he was waiting for her answer. “Oh, yeah. If you’re ready?”
He inclined his head and proceeded to order, and pointedly instructed the waitress to make sure everything was put on his tab at the end.
Jenna scowled at him after the waitress shuffled off. “I can pay for my own food.”
“I assume so,” he replied, immediately reaching for his coffee. “But not with me.”
Her mouth dropped open. What even was that supposed to mean?
“There might be some strings I can pull,” Jon said after a moment. “Parker and his pal really fucked that up yesterday. The sheriff’s office should be kissing your ass, not doubling down on behaving like one.”
Jenna snorted into her drink, nudged it aside, and gave him her best curious look. “While I agree with that assessment, I don’t actually know what you mean.” She shrugged. “We both know Drew’s hated meforever, and he was basically handed his position on a silver platter, so his attitude is about what one could expect.”
