Millie
I’ve now been in Waverly for three full weeks, and I feel like Lo and I are getting into a groove. Lo has started working at Rebel Rose, the cute little clothing boutique in the town square. She’s loving it. She gets a 30% discount on all of their items, and she’s made a few more friends.
She went on a bit of an extreme shopping spree with that 30% discount after she got her first paycheck, and I had to lovingly remind her that she won’t be able to get a car if she doesn’t save enough for her car note. She scoffed at me like I was completely unreasonable. I feel like I’m being more than fair since I’ll be paying her insurance—which is outrageously expensive, by the way!
Today is Friday, and it’s also her seventeenth birthday. We’re ditching work and school to celebrate and go get her car. We agreed that we would do what Daddy did for me. He put down half the cost of the car, and I made the payments for the other half. The car won’t be fancy—not even remotely close—but she’s so excited. She turned into an emotional mess last night when I told her we were going to pick out her car today. I’m glad I can do it for her.
First thing’s first, though. Every birthday girl needs some donuts to start her day. She’s still asleep, so I sneak out of the house on tiptoes. I look up at the sky and see gray clouds hanging low in the sky. Not the best weather for a birthday, but she’s getting a car. She can’t complain too much.
Jameson is outside doing yard work, so I take a moment to appreciate the way his arm muscles bulge as he rakes the leaves scattered all over his yard.
It’s not fair for someone to look this good. It’s really very distracting. For example, I can’t remember what I’m supposed to be doing right now. Why am I standing in this driveway holding my keys? What’s my name? Who am I?
Forget whatever plans I had for the day. If anyone needs me, I’ll be right here, drooling over Jameson’s chiseled physique. There are a lot of leaves in his yard. It’ll probably take him a while. I have quite a lot of leaves in my yard. Maybe he’d be willing to rake my leaves too, and I could sit on the front porch and admire him.
He lifts the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face, and I get a glimpse of his glorious abs. I hear a squeak come from somewhere and look around to see if some other crazy person is watching him too. He looks up from his work and stares right at me. It occurs to me that I may have been the weirdo making the absurd squeaking sound.
Act like an adult, Millie. You have seen a man before. Geez. In my own defense, I’ve never seen a man quite like Jameson Lane before.
He’s walking over to me with a huge grin on his face. He so knows that I was checking him out. Act natural, act natural. I run my hand through my hair and walk toward him, trying to look calm and effortless. I trip on a rock and land on my knee. So graceful. He rushes over to me and helps me up. He brushes the tiny pebbles off my knee, and I savor the feel of his callouses brushing over my skin.
I’m a girl who loves cuddles and hugs and physical affection living with a teenage sister who would probably hibernate in her room with only angsty music and YA novels to keep her company. I’m clearly starved for human contact if a man brushing debris from my knee is making me all quivery inside. And it is. There’s that stampede of wild horses in the pit of my stomach again.
“Where are you off to dressed so casually on a work day?” he asks.
I lower my brows and ask, “What?” He gestures to the keys in my hand and my jean shorts, t-shirt, and sandals. “Oh, right. It’s Lo’s birthday, so we’re ditching all responsibilities today. I’m going to buy donuts and coffee before she wakes up.”
“Cool. Tell her happy birthday for me. So, while I have you here, have you seen anyone suspicious around?” he asks.
“Suspicious how?”
“Maybe a car that drives by slowly, sits on the street nearby, or someone other than the mail person putting something in my mailbox?”
“No, I haven’t, but I can watch out for something like that if you want me to,” I say. His questions are making me nervous. Since moving here I’ve liked the idea of living next to a state trooper. It feels safe. I mean, how many criminals are going to choose the house right next to the state trooper to burglarize. Now, I’m wondering if I’ve been trusting in a false sense of security.
“I’ve been receiving some threats,” he says and pulls a folded piece of paper from his pocket and hands it over to me. I read the note and gasp in shock. My heart races in fear.
It’s only a matter of time until I get my revenge. Watch your back, the note says.
“This was in your mailbox?” I whisper and look around our quiet street. This is one of the nicest parts of town. It’s surprising that something like this would happen anywhere in Waverly, especially here in this neighborhood where parents allow their children to run and play freely.
“Yeah, it started a few weeks ago. I found this one in my mailbox last night. It’s the second one I’ve gotten here, but I’ve found some on my car in town too,” he says. He’s trying to stay calm. Probably more for me than any other reason. I wish he knew he didn’t have to do that. He can tell me how he feels. I want to know what’s going through his head. That’s what friends are for.
“Do you know who it is?”
He takes a deep breath and thinks for a minute. “I have a few ideas. It’s probably someone I arrested in the past.” A shudder runs through my whole body. There’s a criminal out there, possibly someone who is angry with Jameson for doing his job—no, not just angry…vengeful. How far is this person willing to go to get their supposed revenge?
“Is this normal? Does this happen a lot?”
“No, definitely not normal. Do you have a security system?” he asks me. I shake my head no. I’ve always wanted a security system, but it never fit into my budget. I’ve looked into it a few times, but once I found out the prices, my bank account ran screaming for the hills.
I was living in a somewhat sketchy apartment complex then. I thought now that I’m living in a nice, quiet neighborhood—where the worst thing to happen is your neighbor leaves their trash can on the curb for too long—that it wouldn’t be a necessary expense. I see now that I was being naive. Criminals are everywhere.
How well do I really know my neighbors? Like that elderly couple across the street who sits out on their porch holding hands and drinking their coffee together every single morning. They’re out there right now, looking all deceitfully cute. For all I know, they’re discussing their next bank heist. I’ll be watching them from now on.
“Would it be okay with you if I pick you up some equipment and install it later today? I know it’s Lo’s birthday, so I’ll try to stay out of the way,” he says. His eyes are pleading with me to allow him to do this. It’s a sweet gesture, and what did I say to his family last week? I’m learning that it’s okay to accept help from people.
“Sure, just put the receipts on the counter, and I’ll pay you back,” I say with a nod. He breathes a sigh of relief. We make a plan, and I head out to get the donuts much later than planned and feeling far less relaxed.