“Quetzal Ybarra,” the man replied. “Q is fine, most people find it easier.” When he spoke his name, his generally subtle accent flared into something that gained an indefinable depth. It was similar to Spanish as she was used to it, but not the same.
Jenna gave herself a shake. “Unfortunately, the sheriff’s office won’t give me a timeline, and I can’t move forward without one. So, my most optimistic guess is a couple of weeks.” She wanted to stress that that felt much too hopeful, but she also didn’t want to lose a reliable customer.
Come to think of it, maybe she ought to start keeping some kind of diary or record of all the customers who approached her, inquiring about re-opening and implying or outright declaring they may move elsewhere. Just in case she ended up having to empty her bank account on a lawyer.
“Did you need help renting a temporary kitchen?”
Jenna almost didn’t register the question. “I beg your pardon?”
“Working off-site, selling even small batches of goods, would be better than sitting and losing money for the next several weeks while the legal crap holds you up, right? Pardon my language.”
She shuffled forward and dropped heavily back into her chair at the dining table.Why hadn’t I thought of that?Because it had only been one day, which she’d spent half of making ridiculous phone calls and the other half of … distracted. Not entirely Jon’s fault. Possibly not at all Jon’s fault.
Still, the notion had been presented and she couldn’t not see the genius of it. If she had the right kitchen she could reacquire at least adequate versions of the right tools, charge them to whatever insurance claim because shewasusing them to recoupsome of the loss, and not turn into a lump. Someone had asked her in the diner about making cupcakes for a birthday that weekend, hadn’t they? That would be a great way to let the town know she wasn’t down and out. She could charge him half what she might have if he’d promise to talk up her work ethic or something.
Jenna nodded to herself, already seeing it come together in her mind. “I’ll bite,” she said, “do you know of an industrial kitchen in the area that might rent at a reasonable rate?” Because all great plans had roadblocks, and those were her first three, lined up in a row. Location, availability, and affordability.
“As a matter of fact, I do.”
Chapter ten
Bomb Drop
Jenna stared at Jon’stext, guilt and something uncomfortably similar to longing paralyzing her forward momentum.
Good morning. How was your night? Sleep well?
She couldn’t possibly tell him it had taken her forever to fall asleep because he wouldn’t leave her thoughts. That she’dagonized over the way they’d parted—again—and spent literal hours fighting some stupid desire to pick up her phone and call him back. Never mind that she didn’t even know where he’d ended up. The Misty Glades Inn? It was the closest their town had to a hotel and usually more vacant than not. But she imagined a man like Jon would not appreciate the atmosphere of the place. So, most likely, he’d driven all the way back to Klamath Falls or somewhere reasonably close, to be able to check on his hospitalized friend.
For all she knew, he wouldn’t even be back in town that day. Hell, maybe she’d offended him so thoroughly that he wouldn’t come back at all.
The thought made her heart ache even as it spiked her anger.This is exactly what I was trying to avoid.
Finally, Jenna found the strength to latch on that self-preserving anger and typed out the most neutral-honest response she could think of.
No problems at all, thank you for asking.
Adding any form of ‘good morning’ response felt like emotional encouragement, and she may have been the one to reach out the day before, but that only meant it behooved her to be the one to draw boundaries, too. Jon was defaulting to her because she was familiar on some psychological level and he was still shaking off his sea-legs. Or however that worked. Whatever he thought he felt for her was nostalgic at best. She was basically his rebound, except he was rebounding from a breakup with his dream career rather than another woman.
Jenna blew out a breath and shoved her phone into a pocket before snatching her purse off the hook. Maybe, someday, they’d find a way to balance the line as friends. Though honestly, she doubted it. But she was not going to be any man’s fallback girl.
She stepped outside and twisted around to lock the door.I probably just didn’t do that yesterday.It made sense. She’d been so frazzled with worry for Steph. It was the same reason Jon hadn’t let her drive. Once she had all the locks secured, she turned again to start forward—and made it about two feet.
Some kind of eco-friendly hydro-death trap car buzzed up to her curb, half blocking her driveway, and in the seconds it took Jenna to process the strange sight of the thing she’d never seen without the filter of an LED screen a blonde popped out. It wasn’t unlike watching a Barbie eject from a remote-controlled toy, except the car was a respectable shade of blue, not hot pink. The blonde rounded her vehicle in easy strides, rushing straight toward Jenna with an unmistakable glimmer in her somehow glowing blue eyes.
Discomfort twisted in Jenna’s gut.Retreat.She did not want to be cornered by who- or whatever this was. But it was already too late.
“Jenna Carr? You’re Jenna Carr, right?”
Jenna went ramrod stiff even as the discomfort doubled and converted to anger that was probably disproportionate to the actual offense. She narrowed her eyes at the approaching stranger. “Hodge,” she said firmly. “It’s Jenna Hodge. I haven’t gone by that name in years.”
The woman came to a perfectly balanced immediate stop just outside arm’s reach and lifted the tablet she’d held tucked beneath her arm. Her delicately trimmed brow of equally golden hair furrowed for a heartbeat. “Oh, my apologies. The information I found has you listed under your married—”
“I took back my maiden name as soon as the divorce was final. Who the hell are you?” Nice? Hardly. But then, neither was ambushing her on her doorstep, quite literally blocking her in, and addressing her by her abuser’s name. She’d changed her name in all the legal and proper channels, even endured theDMV just to scrub the asshole off her record. Using that name had not been a simple researching snafu.
The unfamiliar woman seemed undeterred. Up close, she was obviously a few inches taller than Jenna—and notably skinnier, of course. Her long, golden blonde hair was pulled back into a pillowy looking braid that, combined with her blue eyes, perfectly contradicted the Goth-chic fashion style she wore. Even her boots fit the aesthetic. She held out a hand. “I’m Ella, with thePlanet Bugle.”
Jenna blinked.The what?Why did that sound like she ought to recognize it, when she was so sure she’d never heard of it before? She gave herself a shake. More importantly, why in the hell was a damn reporter standing in her driveway—on purpose?
