Naked Love(12)

I don’t know where this is going, but I have an uneasy feeling slithering across my skin.

He returns his attention to the blender, filling it with fruit, greens, and protein powder. “Buy a new car.”

“She can’t afford one.”

I feel like I’m on trial, and Bethanne is my lawyer.

He purses his lips to the side and hums. “Looks like she better get a job and save up for one.”

“She probably has one. In L.A.”

That’s not an accurate statement, but I keep that to myself.

“Well, sorry. I’m a chef, not a fixer.” He dismisses Bethanne by starting the blender.

She plants her hands on her hips, waiting for him to finish blending. I cup my coffee mug with both my good hand and my gimpy one, attempting to hide behind the steam.

“Jake Matthews…” she pipes up the second he shuts off the blender “…you know exactly what I’m suggesting.”

Oh god. I cringe. He has an extra car and she’s suggesting he loan it to me. Then what? He flies out to L.A. to drive it home. Well … that might work. If he owns this cafe, then he must own the one out there. Surely he visits that location. But that doesn’t solve the issue of my dad not wanting me to drive home alone.

“I’m not simply driving out to L.A. I’m taking a trip. Taking my time. Enjoying my time alone to recharge just like I do every summer. It’s kind of a personal trip I take by myself.”

Oh no. No. No. No. She’s not suggesting I go with him.

“Two years ago you took Mo.”

“That was different.” He pours the drink into one of those heirloom mason jars and rinses out the blender.

I don’t know if I should join in on this conversation, insist that I don’t need help, or just stay out of it because I do need help. So I do what I do best when I’m nervous—primp.

Fishing out my makeup bag, I powder my nose, even out my eyeliner, apply more mascara, and pluck a few eyebrows.

They continue to bicker like a married couple and like I’m not right here, half listening to them, half trying to remember the date of my hair appointment.

“Look … does she appear to be a camper?”

When the chattering ceases, I glance up. What were they saying? Bethanne looks constipated like I’m doing something wrong and she’s disappointed in me. Jake has a smug look like I just proved some point for him.

I think back. Does she appear to be a camper?

“Oh…” I shrug “…I’ve camped before. It’s only for what … two, three nights?”

He rests his palms on the counter in front of me. I untie my hair and work it back into a neater bun.

“As long as I want. That’s how long my trip is. No rushing. No schedule. I’ll get there when I get there.”

Shit. I glance at my thumbnail. It’s chipped and rough along the edge, so I look for a file. I know there’s one in my bag, but I can’t find it. After removing most of the contents onto the counter, I find it.

“Hello?”

Filing the rough edge, I look up.

“Did you hear me?” Jake frowns, glaring at the file in my hand.

“Uh … yeah.” I keep filing. “You like to take your time driving to L.A. That’s fine. My job is … flexible.” I bite my lips together so he doesn’t see my I-don’t-have-a-job expression.

Jake chuckles, shaking his head. It’s a wicked chuckle. Why is he giving me a wicked chuckle? What did I miss?

“Jake …” Bethanne says his name like a plea. “Just help her out. You might enjoy the company.” She shoots me a look, a cue of sorts.

Okay, I guess I’m up.

“Yes.” I give him a toothy grin. “I’ll be excellent company.”

He shifts his attention to the dumped-out contents of my purse on the counter. Bethanne takes a step back so he can’t see her. She holds up her hands in a prayer gesture and mouths, “Say please.”

That feels like begging. I’m not good at begging. I’m more of a briber or manipulator.

He sighs. “I don’t think it’s a good idea—”

“Please!” I said that. Whoa! Where did that come from? My need to get home is more desperate than I thought.

Jake inspects me with nervous apprehension wrinkling his face.

I slowly bring my hands to my chest in prayer position, mirroring Bethanne. “Pretty please.” Gah! Another chipped nail. I hold out one hand, inspecting the jagged edge. I’m never going back to that nail salon.

“Two weeks chip-free my ass,” I mumble.

“Avery is Tommy’s daughter … Deedy’s friend.” Bethanne says between clenched teeth.

“Fuck …” he mumbles, rolling his eyes. “Okay, Princess, I’ll take you to L.A., but your crown won’t make it there in one piece.”

My brows jump up as my breath catches on a gasp. Princess? I will myself to bite my tongue and play nice with my driver, but my poor tongue will be swollen by the time I get back to the Deedy’s house.

“Tiara.”

“What?” He squints at me.

I put everything back in my purse, avoiding his scrutinizing gaze. “You implied I’m a princess…” I shrug, keeping my head bowed “…which is cool. What woman wouldn’t want to be a princess? But then you insinuated I have a crown, which would be incorrect because only kings and queens wear crowns. Princesses wear tiaras.”