The Broody Brit for Christmas (Holiday Springs #1) - M.J. Fields Page 0,49
“my interview for Monday kind of happened today, and I start a week from Monday.”
“The one in Vail?” Jenny screeches.
“Apparently, Mr. Hawthorne wants me to set up an office close to the Shepard property. He wants to buy it.”
Jenny barks out a laugh. “Good luck finding Shep. No one has heard from him since he joined the military.”
“Well, if I can find him, you and I both know we were very close growing up, so I have a better chance of explaining to him that—”
“How close?” I interrupt, attempting to keep my tone even.
“Their parents were best friends, kind of close.” Jenny’s voice is much different, softer, and full of concern. She’s no longer piss and vinegar as per her norm.
“They were always together.” Nikki smiles, her eyes turning glassy.
“And they left this world together,” Jenny finishes. “But hell, if I go out, I’d definitely want to go out with my bestie.”
“Yeah.” Nikki looks at me. “Shep’s parents and mine died—”
“Understood, Love.” I reach over and grab her hand, squeezing.
“Hold the damn phone! Did he just call you love?”
“It’s a term of endearment, British?” Nikki asks.
“Sure.” I wink.
“So that must mean you two have gotten naked and sweaty together.” And now, the Jenny I've come to know and love is back.
Nikki laughs. “We’ve had two dates. You know I’m a three-rule girl.”
“I need details,” Jenny whispers.
Does she not comprehend how speaker systems work in cars?
“Now that you’re off self-quarantine until after your interview from the Baker crew, how about you and I meet for coffee?” Jenny says with a smile in her voice.
“I’m actually going to a soccer game.” Nikki laughs.
“Raff, are you really going to make her sit through a game surrounded by those soccer sows in the big city?”
“What in the hell is a soccer sow?” I ask, laughing.
Jenny makes an oinking sound. “All those pigs who want you to bend them like Beckham?”
“I haven't a clue as to what you’re talking about, Jenny. It’s an hour and a half on the field, kicking a ball with a bunch of men. There are no women on the field.”
“Oh my God, girl, save me a seat. I will not let you go this alone.”
“Oh. Kay,” Nikki says, confused.
“One last thing before I go get changed. I’m so damn glad you’re going to be sticking around and not headed back to that city, Nikki. Since you’ve been back, I feel like me again. Minus the perky boobs, of course. Thank you, breastfeeding.”
“Jenny,” Nikki grumbles, turning pink.
“Nikki,” Jenny mimics her tone, and we all laugh.
“You know my plan has always been to come back and regroup. There's really nothing for me here.”
“Like hell there isn't. I’m here and always have been. And you happen to be,” she pauses and then says, “cover your ears, Raff.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m driving.”
“Fine, it’s not like you don’t know it already,” she huffs. “Nikki, you’re dating the most eligible bachelor in Holiday Springs.”
I glance over at Nikki, and she looks down.
“We’ll dish later. Save me a seat at the game. Men’s league plays in Vail right?”
“Yes,” I tell her.
“See you there.” Jenny hangs up.
Nothing for her here? The comment stings, but I try not to brood. It’s still early in our relationship. After a few unpleasant minutes of silence, she flexes her hand in mine, and I glance from the road to her.
“My plan was always to go back to the city.”
I nod and look back at the road, “I’m sure when you're ready, you’ll make the right decision.”
“Okay,” she says quietly.
“Nikki, would you rather I say something ridiculous, like I’ve been sitting here debating how suspicious I may look if I begin purchasing duct tape and zip ties long enough to wrap around an adult's wrists to stop them from making what you know would be a huge mistake?” I laugh, making a joke out of exactly what it is I was thinking.
She looks at me curiously.
“Lighten up.” I squeeze her hand, then release it and turn on the radio. “I have a son to raise. Business to run. I—”
“It’s only been one, I mean two dates,” she says, her amused tone as forced as my attempt at making a joke of the situation. “Anything could happen, right?”
It already has.
The advert on the satellite radio station ends, and a song begins. It sounds like country music, which has definitely never been part of my musical palette. When I reach up to turn the station, she grabs my hand, stopping me.