Faithful (3 page)

I’m not a pushover, I’m not easy to get to know, and I’ve been less than friendly with Cooper for the past year. Maybe it’s because I really do think he has a sixth sense about people, about me. Today, he studies me like he knows I have a peach-colored bra and panty set on underneath my green tank top and shorts without ever looking at my ample chest.

The first three things men notice about me are that I have a curvaceous body, which they like; big, brown eyes that stare them down; and wavy, chestnut hair like a 1940s pin up model. I’m average height with a small waist that blooms into real hips and a real ass. It’s all about how you carry your weight, and I carry mine with enough confidence because I discovered a long time ago that boys and men appreciate a curvy, hourglass figure. One boyfriend used to refer to me as
Vavoom
and others liked to compliment me on my boobs and ass. It gets old fast. I’m a little soft and squishy, but I wear it well. I’m also not past using it to my advantage, although lately, I’ve lost interest in the dating game in general. When it comes to Cooper, however, I’ve always been rather self-conscious.

Regardless of my assets, he always stares at my eyes before producing that sly smile of his and turning away. I give him credit for not doing the classic head drop where a guy’s gaze locks on a woman’s cleavage when he’s talking to her. In a way, it’s more disconcerting to wonder what is going through that former G-Man brain of his than if he were outright ogling my body.

He turns back to the display cases against the far wall where we keep our finished pieces ready for sale. I pretend to work, though I can’t concentrate with him in my space. I notice he takes a necklace off a display bust and holds it out, draped across both of his hands. It’s my best piece, the one I’m most proud of and definitely the most expensive because of the components and labor involved in creating it.

“This one,” he says firmly, holding it out to me with an urgent seriousness. “I’ll buy this one.”

“Excuse me? Why do you want to buy one of my necklaces?” I stand quickly and bump the table, jolting my bead tray and the alignment of the loose beads. “Fuck!”

Cooper grins. “Aren’t these for sale?”

“Well, yeah, I want to sell everything, but you can’t buy that.” I walk around the large table to meet him. “I put a lot of work into that necklace and it has some pricey components. That silver locket attached to it is from 1880, and some of those vintage beads are—”

“So I’m not worthy of this necklace?” He raises an eyebrow.

“It retails for seven hundred dollars, Cooper. Who would you buy this for? The Pilates instructor you’re banging?” As that last part comes out before I can stop myself, I cringe inwardly.

It doesn’t faze Cooper one bit. “I thought I’d give it to my sister. She’d really like this.”

“Oh,” I respond awkwardly. I didn’t even know he had a sister … because I haven’t been neighborly in any way. It’s uncharacteristic for Hera residents not to be hospitable and learn everything about new residents. That ship sailed over a year ago when Cooper moved here and I decided he fit into the Wanker Hunks category and must be avoided. “I should give it to you at the wholesale cost. Three fifty.”

“No, I’ll pay retail. If you could put it in one of those gift boxes you have with your card, that would be good.”

He puts the necklace on the table and pulls a wallet out of his back pocket. I put my trembling hand out, palm up, expecting a credit card. Instead, he begins peeling off hundred dollar bills and places them on my palm while I stand there like a statue. I should be thrilled with this sudden monetary injection into our business revenue, which is barley sustaining on life support, yet I feel more like a charity case.

“Did Lauren put this idea in your head? Did she tell you how much the business is struggling, and you thought you’d help the sad, little bead girls?”

Cooper scoffs. “Yes and no. She told me about the problems with the business, but I don’t think of you two as the sad, little bead girls.” He smiles at that. “There’s nothing sad about you, Imogene.”

“Huh,” I reply with suspicion as I look at Cooper. His eyes narrow at me in turn, mocking me as they crease at the edges with a … a fucking twinkle!

I crumple the bills in my fist, take the necklace, whip around, and walk briskly to the area where we keep packaging supplies. Cooper follows and stands close behind me, watching over my shoulder as I wrap the necklace in tissue and a customized Imogene & Lauren box donned with a silk ribbon woven through our pretty business card. It only took us fifty potential attempts after our preliminary L & I Creations to come up with our not-so-clever business name. While Lauren decided my name was too unique not to use as the headliner, I’m egotistical enough to love it.

“There.” I turn around and hand the box to him. “Thank you. Come again,” I add without thinking about how it sounds like a sexual innuendo when it’s said outside the diner and between a man and a woman in a quiet, private place. This is the perfect opportunity to say something crude. I usually do, so why am I behaving like a virginal mute?

He merely smiles at my sudden gawkiness. “I’m not banging the Pilates instructor, by the way. I stopped seeing her a couple of months ago.”

“Okeydokey. None of my business.” I scoot him out of the room and then pass him to lead him out of the house.

“I thought you should know since you got a little angry when you mentioned her,” he says softly from behind me as I jog down the stairs to get him out the front door as quickly as possible.

“Nope. Not angry,” I reply as we reach the first floor where I throw open the front door and walk out to the porch with him right on my heels.

“Really? Because your body language says otherwise.”

“How so?” While I internally admit I sound pissed off, I won’t say it to him.

“Obvious signs. Your lips are curled under into a thin line, which is hard to do when you have full lips like yours.” Before I can react to the comment about my lips, he continues, “And your body went rigid, your arms and hands moving directly in front of your torso, which is a defensive reaction. You scrunched your eyebrows at me, and then your chin went out. You probably didn’t notice, but you also took one step back, away from me, at the same time. You were showing anger and distrust towards me. They’re little signs and they happen fast, but I’m very good at reading signals.”

This is such an odd conversation; I’ve never heard Cooper talk like this. “Who are you?” My tone sounds disgusted. I can’t seem to control myself today.

“Cooper MacKenzie,” he laughs. “I’m a regular guy, Imogene. But when I was with the Bureau, doing undercover—NARC, round-the-clock actor, whatever you want to call it—I could profile anyone down to a T. Even though I’ve switched careers, profiling people, reading them, is still a habit.”

“You’ve never told me anything about your FBI work other than what happened with Emma’s father last year.”

“You never asked,” he says in all seriousness this time.

“I did tell you that Lauren is the official one-person welcome wagon in this town. I’m not known for being … welcoming.”

“That’s all right.” He walks towards the porch stairs and then turns back around. “I have something for you. Wait here.”

I watch his perfect butt and bold swagger as he walks to his Harley. He puts the jewelry box in a leather satchel on the side of the bike and then retrieves another object. He walks back to the porch with the same assuredness and smiles as he holds up my lost sandal, letting it dangle from his finger.

“My shoe! I was wondering how I came home with only one. Where did you find it?”

He takes the stairs two at a time, and within seconds, his chest is so close to my face the familiar scent of the laundry detergent on his T-shirt shocks me.
That sexy dream had the same scent.

“It was in Lois’s fountain. After you got tired of chasing Toby through the hedges, I put you in Lauren’s car. That’s when we realized one of your sandals was missing. I went back to the party and found Toby using it as a boat in the fountain.”

Toby, the hedges, the maze … oh, no.

“Did I do anything embarrassing besides needing you to carry me to my bed?” I ask hesitantly, slipping my sandal off his long finger. His hands are large, tan, and rough from working in the factory and on that fixer-upper house of his I’ve heard about through the grapevine.

“No.” He shakes his head.

“Whew, good.” I playfully swipe the back of my hand against my forehead.

“Although, you did maul me. Of course, I didn’t mind that one bit.” He grins, his eyes lighting up as the heat rises in my cheeks.

“Oh, God,” I mutter, bringing my hands along with the smelly, dirty sandal up to cover my face.

When I peek at him over my fisted hands, Cooper smirks. “I have to get back to work,” I say, annoyed.

“So, we’re not going to talk about what happened?” he asks with amusement.

“No. I was drunk. It doesn’t count as anything. But thanks for helping me, and I hope your sister likes the necklace.”

His smile fades as he nods. “She will.”

He stares at me for an extra beat then turns and makes his way back to his bike. Instead of immediately going back inside, I stand there and watch him again because it’s just so damn easy to watch a hunky guy stride to his Harley like he has all the time in the world. He knows I’m watching him, too.

“And the answer is no!” he shouts as he turns around and puts on his sunglasses.

“No, what?” I shout in return.

“After you had your tongue down my throat and before you licked my ear, you asked if I had a tattoo on my ass.”

While, from behind me, I hear Lauren gasp, I’m mortified again, and he’s enjoying this.

Cooper swings a long, muscular leg over his bike and sits back into it like a seasoned pro. That confident posture is amplified with the Harley between his legs. He’s smiling and loving the fact that he’s shocked me.

“The answer is no,” he reiterates as he straps on his helmet.

I stand on the porch, mute and thankful he didn’t shout this in the diner or in some other crowded venue.

“And, Imogene,” he says. “I enjoyed it.”

Fortunately, the roar of the bike’s engine breaks the silence as Cooper peels out of our front yard, leaving a trail of dust in his wake.

“That was exciting,” Lauren exclaims from the doorway.

I turn around and hold up my filthy sandal. “He was just returning my shoe.”

“Oh, he was doing more than that,” she laughs. “It’s like Cinderella.”

“Yeah, it’s just like Cinderella,” I respond with a sneer. “Except there’s no glass slipper and no Prince Charming.”

“Apparently, there was a whole lot of tongue, though,” Lauren responds gleefully.

Four

For the next two weeks, I’m ruthlessly pragmatic in terms of not facing my own humiliation. I decide the best way to save face is to refuse to wait on Cooper during every shift. I astound everyone with my sudden zeal to serve and bus any table that isn’t his, completely breaking character from my usual wisecracking, mopey presence. It all comes down to maintaining a vast distance between myself and Cooper, who keeps a watchful, amused eye on me the whole time.

I pretend to be the most attentive, caring waitress to everyone other than him, and it has got to be some of the best acting I have ever done in my life. When I’m not giving one of my Oscar-worthy performances at the diner, I’m holed up at home with Lauren, working and going over prospective business objectives from Archie.

“Hey, remember Yadira Saldana?” Lauren asks, looking at me over her shoulder. “I just got an email from her. She’s having a party tonight.”

“Yadi?” I put down the necklace I’m working on. “We haven’t seen her in at least two years. I thought she moved to Chicago for a job.”

“The company went under, so she moved back here. She says she’s renting a house with Kimberly Baker.”

“Is Kimberly still a librarian?”

Lauren opens the library website on her monitor and reads from it. “She’s the Director of Stone Hill Public Library, and it looks like she lined up a job for Yadi, something clerical to help her out. Kimberly works with historic preservation … documents and buildings according to her bio. It’s a little library, so I doubt they pay well, but it sure is a nice title.”

“Well, Kimberly was the brainiac in tenth grade English. She was the only one in our class who got an ‘A’ on her essay of
A Separate Peace.
”

Lauren laughs and swivels in her desk chair to face me. “Mr. Enger was so angry at us that day. He said we all turned in sloppy papers. It was June, none of us could think straight. You were the worst, though. You said the characters were elitist, whiny, prep school boys.”

“Enger was so pissed at me. It was his favorite book. He said I had no right to disparage great literature. Then he made me memorize the first ten pages of
The
Catcher in the Rye
and recite it to the class. I got in trouble again for adding a little speech to the end, saying how much I despise whiny Holden Caulfield. That set Enger off again. I couldn’t wait for that school year to end. All I wanted to do was put on a skimpy outfit and head to the Potato Mash to scope out cute guys.”

Lauren giggles. “I can’t believe we raced out to that place every night to meet guys.”

“Nothing says sexy desperation like inappropriately dressed teenage girls at a roadside food stand with giant paper cones of French fries. Gah, we have to go to this party just to see some of the old gang.”

Leo decides to meet some friends at a local biker bar, The Rack, where the pool games have the celebrity status of
The Voice
. Clean-cut Leo looks out of place with the hairy, tattooed clientele, but he’s earned a lot of respect for his skills in billiards and a spot on the hotshot roster posted on the wall. Honestly, when Leo wears his wire-rimmed glasses, sometimes it’s like watching
Harry Potter
go up against the
Sons of Anarchy
. As long as he doesn’t come home with a painful wedgie or a broken leg, Lauren lets him put money down on his games.