Folk Around and Find Out (Good Folk: Modern Folktales #2)(94)

Jackson’s eyes narrowed, equal parts suspicion and self-doubt freezing his features.

I pressed on, seeing that he needed one or two more shoves in the right direction. “You don’t even ask, do you? Oh, wait a minute.” I snapped my fingers. “I suppose I see your point, there. Asking might put Charlotte in an even more difficult position. You don’t want to put her on the spot. That’s good of you. But you have to see how this looks, how you’ve put her in a hard situation, however unintentionally.”

He now looked lost, and that was good enough for me. I didn’t need him to buy the bullshit I was selling, I just wanted him confused enough to ignore the price tag.

“You know what? How about this.” I reached for his basket. “I’ll take the stuff over to Charlotte’s and patch the hole in the wall.”

Jackson released the basket easily but stepped forward as I backed up. “Wait a minute—”

“I’ll tell her that we ran into each other at the hardware store. You were here looking at paint and you told me about how Frankie made the hole—an amusing anecdote, right?—and I happened to be here picking up drywall supplies anyway for the club, so I might as well grab enough to fix her wall as well. No one needs to know you were planning to do it first, least of all Charlotte. We can spare her that discomfort, don’t you think?”

Jackson’s glare was full-on suspicious now and he grabbed for the handle of the basket, effectively stopping me. “What’s your angle?”

I put on a performance of looking offended and innocent, neither of which were expressions I wore often. Or ever. “What? I can’t help you out?”

He said nothing, but his unimpressed glare spoke volumes.

“Fine.” I made a short grunting sound, rolling my eyes and thinking fast. “I don’t like being in your debt, okay?”

This explanation made him release the basket again, but he didn’t budge otherwise. “In my debt? How are you in my debt?”

“Come on. The car wash? You brought over all those police cars for my dancers to wash? It really helped us out. Me patching one little hole won’t come close to paying you back, so how about this: I’ll help Charlotte with her house stuff from now on. I’ll take that over. If she calls you, you call me. Only then will I feel as though my debt to you has been paid.” As an afterthought, I added, “And be sure to let folks know—if anyone asks—how I’m helping her out as a favor to you.”

Jackson lifted his chin, inspecting me. “Taking over as Charlotte’s handyman is payback for helping y’all back in August?”

I worked to wipe the threatening smile from my face and nodded. “Absolutely. I don’t think you understand how helpful you were.”

His disbelief and suspicion persisted, and his lips parted—perhaps to argue, possibly to question me further, maybe to sneeze. Whatever it was, I’d reached the limit on my patience.

Lowering my voice, I gritted out, “Just go with it, Jackson. Fucking hell, just follow my lead. Please.” I glanced meaningfully toward the front of the store, hoping he’d take the hint. To be sure, I added, “Trust me, she wants to see me. Charlotte will thank you later.”

Mouth snapping closed, the sheriff’s deputy inspected me for a long, long moment. Something like dawning comprehension cleared away his confusion.

That’s right, Jack. I’m her man.

I didn’t care if Jackson knew the truth. He might’ve been a beige asshole, but no one would ever accuse him of being a gossip.

Eventually, he drawled, “All right. I suppose helping Charlotte with her place for a bit would settle our, uh, debt.”

“Good. Glad to hear it.” I lifted my voice and clapped a hand on his shoulder, relief soaring through me. “Now, you go home. Take tomorrow off. Spend some time with that lady of yours. I’ll patch things up at Charlotte’s today, no use in waiting. And—remember—if you find out she needs anything else, you let me know and I’ll make sure it gets done.” Hopeful we’d be overheard, I added, “Helping Charlotte with a few handyman tasks is the least I can do to pay you back.”





CHAPTER 25





HANK





“By contrast, the grime of her journey, the outré inappropriateness of the state of her, it felt like armor.

I earned this dirt.

Respect. The dirt.”

LAINI TAYLOR, DREAMS OF GODS & MONSTERS





As I exited the hardware store with my purchases, I also texted Charlotte that I’d be coming over and—not using a single text emoji—I asked if she needed me to grab anything on my way.

That done, I stopped by my house and showered, shaved, trimmed my beard, and dug out a never-opened bottle of cologne from beneath my bathroom sink. Looking good, smelling good, and determined to make every second at her house count, I checked my phone. She hadn’t responded yet. The lack of a reply didn’t deter me.

For a time, and once the gossipmongers spread the word, me stopping by Charlotte’s house periodically as a favor to Jackson wouldn’t raise any suspicions. But this excuse wouldn’t buy me forever, nor would I be able to stay for very long. We needed a new strategy, a new plan, one that allowed me to visit for a whole day instead of an hour.