Perfectly Charming (A Morning Glory Novel Book 2) (17 page)

“And this is why I don’t want to go back. I was weird. That’s what people will remember.”

Rosemary’s eyes traveled over him. “Uh, dude. That’s not what people are going to be thinking about when they see you. You’re the quintessential nerd grown into a successful, gorgeous man. You can totally thumb your nose, give the bullies the comeuppance they deserve, and, bonus, you get to see your mom and dad.”

“They don’t want to see me.” That much was obvious. They’d made a halfhearted plea for him to come home for the annual Easter egg hunt, which they rarely attended on account of it being a pagan ritual. Sometimes he wished his parents were just normal. That they insisted he come home or bundled up their practical holiday gifts and drove to see him. That they didn’t make a point to be so . . . clinical.

Jess made a frowny face. “Uh, yeah, they do. All parents want to see their children. Well, most. Your parents may not understand your decision, but you’re their child. Do you think they don’t love you?”

Ryan felt something shut down inside him. He didn’t want to talk about his parents and the way they made him feel. Which was pretty much like he was a freak of nature. They’d emphasized his exceptional abilities rather than helping him assimilate in a town that appreciated sameness. His father had hailed from Massachusetts, from a liberal family of researchers and educators, and thus wasn’t versed in being southern. As such, Emilio pushed broader thinking and the exploration of intellectual capacity and experimented with alternative child rearing. Ryan had felt like something in a petri dish his entire life. Had his parents loved him when he was a child? He thought they had, but it had never been in the way the other kids had been loved, with their crustless sandwiches and T-ball shirts emblazoned with “Hunter’s Mom.”

“Of course they love me, but I’m not interested in going back to show off my abs and play nice with people who viewed me as an oddity. It’s hard to explain how daunting that sounds. You wouldn’t understand.”

“I do. I know things were tough on you, but you’ve changed. You’re a confident man. Please consider it,” she said, not in a teasing way. But with quiet desperation in her voice. Her pretty tiger eyes deepened, and he could see exactly what she felt. Such a longing for him to be beside her, and that moved him a few inches toward agreeing. But not far enough.

“Jess,” he said, sliding his hand across the table to capture hers. “I really, really would rather have my testicles waxed. I’d make the appointment right now if it meant I didn’t have to go to a wedding with you in Morning Glory. It would be torturous for me.”

“No. People won’t even remember you. Not really. We all grow up and change.”

“You didn’t change. You’re still the same. Beautiful.”

“I changed. Or maybe I didn’t, and that was the problem. But I feel different now,” she said, caressing his hand. In her face he could see the honesty in her words.

“I’m glad you feel different, but I don’t feel like I have anything to prove, and I have no good reason to go back there.”

“Not even me?” she said softly.

Damn. She didn’t pull punches. His heart or something inside him moved another few inches toward caving. “I’m sorry, Jess.”

Jess curled her fingers around his. “It’s okay. I respect the way you feel.”

“Thank you.” Relief flooded him. She understood how hard it was for him to go back to a place where he felt so diminished. This was what he loved—no, liked—about Jess. She was sensible and kind and—

“I’ll go alone. I mean, I shouldn’t be so insecure, right? It’s pretty weak to feel like it would be easier to face Benton and whatever date he brings with you beside me.”

“Is that what this is about? Benton?”

Jess set her fork down and looked out the double glass doors where the bay awaited twilight. “Maybe a little. For the past year I lived afraid to run into him around every corner. But even worse than running into him was running into the woman he left me for at places like the salon or at the grocery store. And you know what’s the absolute worst? The pity in her eyes. She felt sorry for me even as she scurried away like a guilty rat. At times I felt like I couldn’t breathe. So, yeah, taking you with me would help me feel less like a loser. You’re pretty damn hot.”

“So you want to use me?” he teased even as part of him wondered if that’s all he was to her—just a good-looking guy to have sex with and prove to Benton and everyone else she was doing fine. Something inside him wanted to be more than arm candy. Didn’t she feel anything for him other than desire?

William H. Macy, he was turning into a girl, wondering about feelings. He and Jess were exactly as advertised—they had fun in the sack. And they had fun out of it. They were friends and lovers. End of story. No complications need apply.

“No, I’m not using you. I
want
to use you, but you said no.” She tried to smile, but the warmness didn’t reach her eyes. They remained cloudy. Uncertain. Full of something he didn’t want to see.

He watched her as she pushed the food around on her plate. For the past few days she’d been eating like a horse. She’d remarked once that she’d lost the taste for food after she and Benton split, but with Ryan she’d been making up for lost time devouring a couple of pints of ice cream, pizza, and homemade waffles. He’d had to cut back on indulging because he didn’t want to spend extra time in the gym when going daily was already such a chore. Still, he’d noted the hollows of her hip bones and the outline of her bottom ribs. Jess needed to eat and not worry about silly things like what folks in Morning Glory thought of her. “Fine. I’ll think about it.”

Her gaze jerked up. “You will?”

“
Think
about it. I’m not saying yes.”

“But you’re not saying no.”

“I am saying no, but I’m willing to play around with the idea of withdrawing my no and replacing it with an okay. A full-force yes is not an option.”

“Thank you. Seriously, thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he warned.

“Don’t worry. Going home for a few days will be easier than you think. You don’t have to attend anything you don’t want to. Just the wedding and the reception,” she said, picking up her fork again. Jess’s eyes reflected relief and excitement. Damn it. She could probably talk him into hula-dancing lessons or getting a pedicure. Jess possessed remarkable power of persuasion in those expressive eyes . . . and in her delicious body.

“Wait, what else is there?” he asked.

“Let’s see. I’m sure there’ll be a bachelorette party, bridal tea, and rehearsal dinner. I, of course, will probably have to get my hair and makeup done, but you don’t have to worry about all that. Do you have a suit?”

“Uh, no.” He’d owned exactly one sports coat for interviews. It was brown corduroy with patches on the sleeves. His mother had picked it out. The day he’d cut off all his khaki pants and ordered a bunch of Hawaiian shirts, he’d bundled it and his striped dress shirts off to Goodwill, swearing he wouldn’t wear a suit until he got married. In like ten or twenty years.

“That’s okay. I saw an ad for an end-of-season clearance at Dillard’s. They always have suits on sale. Oh, you know, you’d look amazing in seersucker . . . with a bow tie. Have you ever worn suspenders?” Now her eyes had an almost manic look. It reminded him of the way her friend Rosemary had been all those years ago as the yearbook editor. Very managing. “It will be so much fun to dress you, Ryan.”

“Suspenders and a bow tie?” He tried to hide his repulsion. “You do realize I’m trying to shed the nerd image, so please tell me you’re joking.”

“Oh no. I was thinking southern gentleman, not Urkel.”

Dear God. He hadn’t even agreed to accompany her, and she was planning his wardrobe for the weekend. The whole idea made him itchy, like he needed to loosen a collar even though he was wearing a V-neck T-shirt.

He knew what he felt, because he’d read several books about relationships. Smothering was a common complaint for a lot of guys. The number-one reason most relationships failed was financial issues. The second was an imbalance of power and lack of communication. A man could take a bossy woman for only so long, and since Ryan wasn’t officially in a relationship with Jess, he certainly didn’t need her trying to take over his life. “I don’t need you to dress me, Jess.”

She stopped the mental shopping in her head. “What?”

“I’m not your husband.”

She looked stricken. “Oh God. I know that. I wasn’t trying to . . . I mean, I thought I could make it easier for you to come with me. You know, ’cause guys don’t like shopping.”

“I’m grateful you’re excited about helping me pick out a suit for a wedding I might not attend, but I am capable of shopping for myself. I spend a good deal of time reading
GQ
.” Which he secretly didn’t care for, but if he wanted to keep up with current trends, it was a go-to guide.

“But
GQ
isn’t exactly southern couture,” she said her voice trailing off. “Oh crap, you’re right. It’s a fault of mine, getting super-focused on something. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

He waved his hand and stared down at his beef and broccoli. He felt like an asshole and didn’t know how to fix the sudden tension. “No worries.”

She set her fork down and pushed her chair back. “I made brownies. You want one?”

Ryan felt the air thicken even more and wished he could erase the last few things he’d said. Why had he said he wasn’t her husband? The words had flown past his lips before he could think better of it. Absolute wrong thing to say. Damn it. Relationships were hard. Caring about someone tossed a whole new ball into the game . . . a game he’d never played. This was why he had engaged in casual sex. No strings. No effing shopping for a suit for a wedding. He pushed back his chair and stood, meeting her as she headed toward the kitchen. “Look, I’m sorry.”

She brushed his hands away. “No, you’re right. I shouldn’t have—”

“No, you were trying to help me out. I get it. And I shouldn’t have read something into it. I’m not used to being in a relationship.”

“Is that what we’re doing?” she asked, lifting her eyes to meet his gaze.

God, that was what they were doing. Temporarily, but, yeah, what they had was the definition of being in a relationship.

“I think so.” No way he could deny it. In a relationship. Perhaps he could put that on his Facebook status. If he ever checked it again. The only social media he bothered with was Instagram, ’cause that was as easy as taking a picture.

“I’m sorry for allowing my control issues to jump out of the gate with the suit thing, but I can’t be sorry for wanting you to go with me. I need you there. This is me being vulnerable, something I’ve been too much of lately, but at least I’m honest. I don’t want you to go with me merely because you’re gorgeous and will get more than a few second looks. I want you beside me because even though I’m starting to feel more myself again, I’m still not the Jess I want to be. But something about you makes me steady.” Jess caught his hands and held them firm. Maybe she hadn’t meant it as coercion, but those last words and the way she squeezed his fingers in an innocuous plea worked.

He pulled her into his arms, recognizing as he did every time how nicely she fit him. “I like you the way you are.”

She shook her head. “I still feel so . . . weak. Before that asshole pulled the rug from beneath me and sent me sprawling, I was secure in exactly who I was. I rolled my eyes at sad women who couldn’t suck it up and move on. But now I’m one of them. Or at least I was. Coming to Florida and helping a drunk up the stairs opened a window in my life. But still—”

“I’ll go.”

“You haven’t had a brownie yet. Or dessert,” she said, looking up at him and fluttering her eyelids. “Don’t leave yet.”

“No. I mean I’ll go to the wedding with you.”

Her eyes filled with gratitude before she held up a hand. “No. I made you feel sorry for me. The thing is, I should have enough gumption to go home and not worry about what people think. No crutches allowed.” She pressed a kiss on his chin. “No matter how gorgeous the crutch is.”

“That’s true. You could go back, and you’d be fine. But I want to be your crutch even if I have to sit through a wedding and drink kava tea with my mother.” He stifled his inner cringe at the thought of both things, clinging to the way her eyes had looked when he’d surrendered. He could do it for her.

“Are you sure? Because kava tea sounds gross.”

“It’s horrible, but I’m going with you.” He gave her a squeeze, finding satisfaction in being a good boyfriend. Wait . . . was he her boyfriend? No titles yet. “But I draw the line at wearing seersucker. Or a bow tie.”

“Of course,” she said, pulling back and giving him a tremulous smile. “But only if you’re sure?”

“Yes. I’ve read that when women feel supported by the men in their lives, it makes for a stronger relationship. Makes sense to me. I think.”

Jess issued a soft laugh then laid her head against his shoulder. “This thing between us is new for me, too, but thank you for sacrificing your abhorrence of Morning Glory and weddings for me.”

He rested his head against the softness of her hair. “You’re welcome. I guess it won’t be too bad, right? I can do anything for two days.”

“Three.”

Sighing, he repeated, “Three.”

Chapter Thirteen

Morning Glory, Mississippi, was a quintessential southern town. Fast food restaurants nestled beside places that had once hosted women in pillbox hats. The Ford car dealership sported a group of old men around the coffeepot every day while the Chevrolet dealership offered free doughnuts to the older ladies who came every Wednesday to do Bible study in the back room. One out of every two people on the street might be related to you . . . or have taught you in elementary school, Sunday school, or art class at the rec center. Parades left the Greater Galilee Baptist Church and wound around the square to celebrate the county fair, homecoming, Christmas, or the rodeo before ending in front of the First United Methodist Church. The favored pastimes were gossiping, talking high school football, and bass fishing.

When she and Ryan passed the Welcome to Morning Glory sign, Jess got a warm glow. Ryan looked more like he had indigestion.

“Congrats, you did it,” she teased, glancing toward where he sat in the passenger’s seat. He’d been quiet most of the way, content to listen to the Doobie Brothers and Slim Pickens, which was a weird combination, in her opinion. But whatever made him happy. She wanted him to be as comfortable as possible.

The past few weeks had been very good. She’d moved into a condo that was newer than the Dirty Heron but smaller and not so close to the beach. She didn’t spend much time there, because she liked sleeping next to Ryan and he needed his orthopedic mattress for his back. They settled into a nice pattern of working, making love, and getting to know each other better. Like she learned he hated oatmeal, reggae, and spiders. She taught him how to make her mother’s famous spaghetti and meatballs, one of the few dishes she’d mastered, and he taught her how to skim board. Well, sorta. She wasn’t good at it. He took her fishing, which she didn’t like so much because the smell of the bait paired with the bobbing boat equaled extreme nausea. She loaned him her Lee Child book collection. They talked about pop culture, how nicely the begonia thrived, and the upcoming football season. They did not talk about definitions of their relationship or the future.

Or going back to Morning Glory.

“My mom said she’d leave a key beneath the turtle planter in case my dad isn’t home yet,” he said as she wound around the town square, soaking in her hometown, enjoying a Thursday afternoon.

“Look, there’s Sal’s pizza place,” Jess said, pointing to Sal’s New York Pizza, with its red awning. Rosemary had done a good job of helping her fiancé select lettering that was both welcoming and somewhat upscale. Once it was complete, it would give the town something nicer than Dean’s Diner for a date night.

“There are some new places since I was last here. Turn on Market Street then take a right on Cedar.” He pointed toward the small park that held a swing set and several metal slides. “I loved that little park. Sometimes my father took me for free play.”

“Free play?”

“He read the paper while I was free to play whatever I wanted. Would have been easier to join in with the other kids if I hadn’t been wearing the play clothes my mother made for me. She got the fabric from a discount store. I looked like a van of hippies had decorated me. My parents went through a phase requiring specific clothing to signify social situations. That was the year I had to wear a dinner jacket at the dining table.”

Okay, she’d known Ryan’s parents were a bit odd, but good Lord. “Interesting.”

“Isn’t it?” he drawled, softening the sarcasm with a smile.

“Are you really upset at having to stay with your parents? I couldn’t ask Sal to vacate my place, especially since his parents are staying in the guest room. And my parents feel terrible about not being able to host us. They weren’t expecting me home, and the painters already started last week.”

“I know all this.”

“I know you do. Makes me feel better to repeat it, though. Like it’s more legit. I called the owner, but Sal’s brothers and Rosemary’s cousins still have all the rooms reserved at Polk House. She said she’d call if there’s a cancellation. If I had—”

“Jess, I can deal. They’re my parents, not prisons guards. We’ll be fine.”

She quieted and focused on remembering which house was Ryan’s parents’. Cedar Street was lined with beautiful Craftsman houses with lush lawns and sculpted flower beds . . . except for one. She headed for that driveway.

Ryan’s parents, Emilio and Martha Reyes, owned a house that could only be described as neglected. The yard was a tangle of grasses and sad, spindly bushes, and the eaves on the Craftsman had been painted a strange olive green while the door was lavender. Jess pulled her car next to the covered parking area and killed the engine. Ryan looked over at her. “Why did you pull into the McGuires’ drive? My parents live across the street.”

Jess started laughing. “Oh, thank God. This place is a mess.”

“I’m joking. This is it.”

“Oh.”

Ryan smiled. “You wanted to bring me. You could have stayed with Rosemary.”

Way to remind her. “I know. But maybe you can be a good son and mow your parents’ lawn while you’re here.”

“Why? My father will let it go back to its natural state. He refuses to use pesticides or herbicides because they poison us slowly. That’s why it’s hard for him to accept that his genius son runs a fishing charter. What I’m supposed to be I should be. And according to him I’m supposed to be discovering new elements or curing cancer.” Ryan gave a snort and then opened the car door.

Jess followed suit, wincing at the heat that greeted her. September held on to summer with both hands . . . and wore a cloak of humidity. Cool fronts always seemed to stall as they crossed the plains, leaving Mississippi nice and toasty for most of the month.

Jess sighed and pulled the keys from the ignition.
Okay, you’re sleeping here. That’s it. And these are Ryan’s parents, and you lo—

No. She didn’t love Ryan. She liked him a lot, but this wasn’t love. Couldn’t be, because Ryan was her rebound guy. She knew the rules about jumping back in with both feet when a gal got her heart broken. Of course, playing by the rules and having a game plan hadn’t worked out too well for her with Benton.

Don’t think. Uh, coast on the high windy current, like Lacy suggested.

“Found the key,” Ryan said, dangling it from his fingers.

Jess hoped his mother didn’t believe in not cleaning the house, because she could overlook a jungle outside her window as long as she could actually see out the window. She sighed in relief when she walked through the purple door to find the house clean, tidy, and smelling of lemons. The furniture looked functional and the parquet floors original. Decorating wasn’t a priority in the Reyes house. Jess’s mother would have hyperventilated over the ceramic chandelier with parrot heads on it and the . . . zero-gravity pool recliners in front of a really old TV?

“Ryan,” someone said over her shoulder, making her jump with fright. She turned to find Ryan’s father standing in what looked to be the kitchen doorway.

Emilio Reyes was a spare man of Hispanic descent who had dark skin and a high brow with bushy eyebrows. Neither handsome nor homely, he looked like the comedian from
Saturday Night Live
and
Portlandia
. . . uh, Fred Armisen. He wore tan trousers, a cream button-down short-sleeve shirt, and square tortoiseshell glasses. He wasn’t nerdy chic in the least. Just nerdy.

“Hello, Father,” Ryan said, donning a neutral expression. Gone was his boyish charm. In its place emerged a dutiful son.

“You’re here early. I didn’t expect you until after dinner sometime. Figured you get in some work this morning. I believe most fishing is done early. Oh, and is this your lover?” Emilio asked, turning his eyes on her.

Ryan’s mouth twitched. She wanted to kick him for finding amusement in the situation.

“Hello, Mr. Reyes. I’m Ryan’s
girlfriend
, Jess. You probably know my parents—the Culpeppers. My daddy’s a dentist?”

“Oh, you’re from here? Ryan didn’t say that,” his father said, blinking myopically at Ryan. “We use Dr. Hiedel.”

“Well, he’s a nice man, too.” Not nearly as smart, pleasant, or accommodating as her father, but she’d try not to hold the Reyeses’ choice in dentistry against them.

Ryan’s father cleared his throat. “So you know, Ryan, your mother turned your room into a yoga studio last summer. Something about the position of the sun. Of course, she didn’t stop paying for yoga classes over at the Church of Christ. The home yoga studio was supposed to save us money. You’ll have to stay in the guest room. Or the use the old pullout in the den.”

“Wait. A yoga studio? What did you do with all my stuff?” Ryan asked, his face growing panicked. “There were things in there I wanted to keep.”

“In the attic, I guess. Or your mother donated them to the high school for their rummage sale. There seemed to be a lot of toys and things you’ve outgrown.”

“Oh God. My comic books and Pokémon cards.” Ryan lurched toward the dim hallway to their right, disappearing into the darkness and leaving her with his father. Mr. Reyes smiled at her and lifted his eyebrows in an
I don’t know what’s going on
gesture. Jess gave him an awkward smile and prayed for rescue from the uncomfortable situation.

“While Ryan’s checking out his mother’s studio, can I get you something to drink? Or if you want a sandwich, we have Vegemite. The lavatory’s right over there if you need to make use of the facilities.”

Jess shook her head and prayed Ryan would come back to save her. Instead her cell phone rang. She riffled through her bag and pulled it out. Eden.

Thank you, sweet merciful Jesus.

“Excuse me, Mr. Reyes, I need to take this,” Jess said before stepping back toward the very brown foyer. “Hi, E.”

“Oh my God, are you home yet?”

“Indeed I am,” Jess said, pulling open the purple door and stepping out onto a porch that could have been stinkin’ cute but instead held a pile of leaves in the corner and a few tenacious weeds creeping through the solid planking. “Where are you?”

“At work, but I’m about to get off. Want to meet me at the Lazy Frog?”

“A million times yes.”

“You think your boy toy will want to come, too?”

Jess started at Eden’s name for him, wondering if that’s what everyone would think. She didn’t want Ryan to feel like that’s what he was. She glanced back at the front door. “Uh, I’ll ask him, but I think he’ll be too busy here.” Finding his collectibles. You can take the boy out of nerddom, but you can’t take the nerddom out of the boy. She’d found his Dr. Who collection, gamer magazines, and odd spreadsheets on sexual positions, pool shots, and volume of fish per square mile in the Gulf of Mexico hidden in his apartment. If she were a high-stakes gambler, she’d put a hundred on Ryan climbing into the attic within the hour.

“I can’t wait to see you,” Eden said with such warmth in her voice. “I mean, I love Rose, but it’s been wedding this, Sal that. I’ve had enough pizza for a lifetime. She brings me a slice every time Sal tries a new specialty pie. I’ve gained five pounds.”

“Pizza sounds good.”

“No. We’re not eating pizza tonight. For the love of God. I just can’t.”

Jess laughed. “I’ll meet you in thirty minutes. Will that work?”

“Make it an hour. I have to close the register and run to the bank before it closes.”

“See you soon.”

Jess hung up and with a soft knock pushed back into the Reyes home. Emilio had settled onto the velvet couch with the
Morning Glory Herald
and the
Clarion-Ledger
. Ryan sat in an ancient green tweed chair, hands clasped between his knees. He didn’t look happy. “There you are.”

Jess held up her phone. “Eden. She wants to meet me at the Lazy Frog in about an hour. I haven’t seen her in a month, so I told her I would. You’re welcome to come with me.”

His brow furrowed. “What’s the Lazy Frog?”

“You don’t know where the Lazy Frog is? It’s been here since we were in elementary school. You didn’t ever go for ice cream when you were a kid?”

“Too much sugar,” Emilio Reyes said, licking his finger and turning the page. He didn’t look up.

Jess mouthed, “Seriously?” to Ryan. He nodded. She shrugged and said, “You should come.”

At that he wiggled his eyebrows and gave her a half-lidded stare. To which she mouthed, “Pervert.” That made him smile and look like the sexy Ryan she knew, not the one who’d shit a brick when he found out his mother might have sold his collectibles in a rummage sale. His crocodile smile soothed her. It would be okay. He was the same guy who alphabetized his canned goods and made love to her under the walkway to the beach. Nothing was different. “I’ll go, but my mother will be home soon. She always comes in the door at—”

“Four fifteen,” his father finished, lowering the paper to smile at Ryan. “You can set the clock by that woman.”

It was the first sense of easing Jess had. In the conspiratorial smile shared with his son, Jess saw all she needed to see regarding Emilio’s affection for his son and wife. No matter how kooky and dysfunctional the Reyeses were, they loved each other . . . and they loved their son. Ryan might have hang-ups about their parenting style and overall oddness, but Jess hadn’t missed the happiness in Emilio’s eyes when he first saw Ryan.