things, and I chew my lip waiting on her answer to my invitation.
“Sure,” Rita says. She shrugs and squints back at the house. “Why not?” Her casual response has that fist in my belly unclenching a little bit, but a new tightness fills me instead.
“Meet you on the couch,” she teases, implying our spot at the Busy Bean.
“Actually, I was wondering if you could ride with me. I have somewhere I’d like to show you first.”
28
Rita
Never let ’em see you sweat, my dad used to say when he’d coach me on how to handle a courtroom if I had to enter one. So, I was trying my best not to let Jake sense the hesitation rolling off me as I climbed into his truck. We’d been together in his pickup plenty of times, and maybe that was the first part of my fear. The memories of making out with Jake in this front seat were overwhelming.
The harder part of being in his truck, though, was the confinement with him. His scent of sawdust and cinnamon overpowered everything in the cab, and my thighs clenched like the fragrance was an aphrodisiac. My attraction to Jake had not waned despite his exit from my bedroom or even his anger in that courthouse. If anything, over the past week, his attention on me working with his brother only doubled the magnetism. I felt him watching. And sometimes, I thought it might be apprehension. He didn’t believe in my intentions to help his brother, which made me better understand his desire for another person’s faith.
I wanted him to have faith in me.
I consider myself a decent person, but that confidence has been tested, and I wanted to prove to Jake I believed in his brother. Good people make bad decisions all the time. I’d had to come to terms with Jake’s decision not to turn in his brother because it was his decision, not mine. And then I had to agree to help Nolan when parts of me screamed he didn’t deserve it. I went to an AA meeting every night that week to remind myself we all deserve a second chance. Each person has moments of poor decision-making and the consequences that follow. If forgiveness isn’t an option, we’d all be damned.
“Where are we going?” I question as we bypass the turn-off for Colebury and head in the direction of Hampshire.
“As I said, I’d like to show you somewhere first.”
To my surprise, we pull up before the old fire station. Jake pauses, and I turn my head to stare out the window.
“Do you trust me?” Jake asks, and I swivel in my seat to face him.
“I never doubted you.” Once I got over that initial hurdle of Jake’s sentence and then learning what happened from his perspective, I never felt a moment of distrust in him. I believed in him. I’d even wanted to believe in an us, but that seems like a lifetime ago.
Jake nods before opening his door. “Wait a second?”
I remain in my seat until he comes to open my door. A small thrill rumbles up my middle. Then he takes my hand, and a tsunami of apprehension fills me. Anticipation mixes with hesitation, and for a moment, I feel sick. I don’t want to read too much into him touching me.
Jake leads me to a smaller door in the larger garage opening. Quickly unlocking it with a key, we enter the vast space where dust dances in the dim sunlight streaming through the windows, and a few items are scattered in the once empty truck space. Jake releases my hand and steps to the side, flipping a switch.
Miniature Edison bulbs on strings illuminate the dark space. The crisscross effect is almost romantic until I lower my gaze for the large workstation covered in scraps of industrial items and light bulbs.
“What’s this?” I question stepping forward to admire a collection of lamps Jake has designed using old pipes and wires. Examining each piece, I lower to one in particular. It’s man-made entirely out of copper conduit with that abstract cylinder head becoming a signature of Jake’s work. On the chest is the smallest of bulbs shaped like a heart. He looks like the Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz only he’s copper and missing a funnel for a hat.
“I’m calling him Man Enlightened.”
I stand upright and stare at the creation. “He’s beautiful.” The piece is solid but looks delicate, and still, my fingers itch to touch it.