Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Tallula

I 'm in a high-speed chase, trying to recover my sparkly license plate frame. The police are on my tail. Only, when Deputy Lawson catches up to me, I go willingly into his arms, forgetting about the stolen item I intended to recover.

Our eyes meet and we shift closer together. He smells like French toast. My stomach flutters as I anticipate the kiss that's coming. However, instead of placing his lips on mine, he shoves his finger into my nose.

I yelp and my eyes fly open. Two small children scurry away, giggling. Yesterday, they perched on the top of the air mattress showering me with torn-up tissues. I pray they weren't already used. The day before that, I woke up with them rubbing my polished toenails like I was a genie in a bottle.

Some of the hotels I stayed at while driving here from LA had me living on the edge. I'm afraid I've tipped over— splat , flat on the floor. The air mattress deflated again. Mara's house is under construction, including the spare bedroom. Meanwhile, she, her husband when he's home, and the three kids are camping out in the garage. I'm on what amounts to a rubber mat in the hallway by the bathroom because the rest of the space is closed off.

"Rise. And. Shine," Jedidiah shouts, each word getting louder as if he's on the approach again.

I pretend to go back to sleep. Movie watchers have no idea how hard it is to fake sleeping or being dead. I have hours of footage on my phone from practicing.

I adore my nieces and nephews, but they have a lot of energy at this early hour. How can anyone expect me to function without even a proper bed?

"Up. And. Atom." Jedediah marches closer.

"It's at them ," my sister's voice says.

Margaret, the second of Mara's kids, joins in chanting, "Rise and shine."

"Alright, alright. I'll rise, but I can't shine right away." I fold up the blankets.

"Dad says that Mom doesn't work on all of her cylinders until she gets brain juice," Margaret says.

"Booger juice," Jedidiah whispers.

The two siblings break down with laughter.

It's probably time to find another place to stay.

Mara claps her hands. "Chop, chop. The contractors are going to be here in five minutes, and I'm sure they'd love nothing more than to see you in your pajamas."

I rush to the bathroom, and the whole crew follows me because there's nowhere else to go other than the garage .

The kids fool with the basket of toys in the tub until I apply my makeup. This gets Margaret's attention. Jedidiah studies me like he's a Renaissance painter. The kids are smart—except for the booger juice thing.

With Julip strapped to her chest in a sling, my sister tosses laundry in a basket.

While I line my eyelids with black, lifting my hand with a flourish for a little wing on the outside edge, I ask, "By any chance, do you know of any rentals in town or even a SkyBnB?"

"Trust me, if there were one within a twenty-minute drive, we'd be in it. But it's not worth it to travel much farther since I have to be in Hogwash every day. Plus, Jed's homeschool group is nearby." My sister watches me for a long moment. "Don't tell me you're considering staying at Mother and Father's."

"Not even in the guest house. That's a big fat no way."

Jedidiah chuckles.

Margaret says, "Grandmother makes us wear those little blue booties over our shoes when we visit."

Jed adds, "And we have to sit on the edge of the sofa with our hands in our laps where she can see them."

"She hasn't changed at all."

"I was hoping she'd become one of those sweet grandmas who bakes cookies and always has glasses of milk ready."

"She gave us Saltines once." Margaret wrinkles her nose.

"They were stale," Jed grumbles .

My heart pinches, and it takes me a moment to realize why. Our mother was as cold to Mara and me as she is to her grandkids. It's sad, really. She's missing out. But I don't want to. I turn to give them each a tickle and that sends them scurrying out of the cramped bathroom with laughter.

Mara says, "Actually, there might be a room available at the Pigs in a Blanket B&B."

"Interesting name. Never heard of it. Is it new?"

"Not exactly."

"Why aren't you staying there?"

"The owner is very selective with her guests. It's kind of like a boarding house. She only allows locals. Doesn't trust outsiders."

"What else would I expect from Hogwash?" This town is quirkier than Sabrina Barnes who came to school one day in tenth grade dressed in a yellow vinyl suit and only quacked like a duck. Never saw her again after that.

But maybe she was going through a rough time and it was a cry for help. I wish I had talked to her. Quacked with her? Right now, I'm staring down the hardest part of my life. While I'd enjoy a relaxing bath filled with bubbles and rubber ducks, I can't blame her for behaving, well, ducky.

I'm not sure what I was expecting when I came back. But it's hard not to slip into a role. I tell myself not to go there and to think of this as a trial period of playing the part of the one and only Tallula Judith Swan.

And who is that? Oh, just a woman who dreams about a bad boy who turned into an upright man in uniform.

"I hear Jesse has a room there," my sister says his name like it's loaded—full of what, I'm not sure.

Stubs of crayons? There are a few of those on the edge of the sink.

Rubber duckies? I don't think I'll catch whatever Sabrina came down with.

Questions about my past love life and the future? Maybe.

They say moms have eyes on the backs of their heads, but it's like Mara read my mind.

The afternoon before the grand opening of the Coffee Loft, Moink and I move into Pigs in a Blanket Bed & Breakfast. It's a French colonial that's seen better days—much like my current status.

I wouldn't mind if the little heart-hug emoji lit up with care at the moment.

I imagine the building's pale pink paint was once smooth, the white on the pillars fresh. Big windows back the wrap-around porch, known locally as a galérie . The steeply pitched roof is missing shingles and the landscaping could use some TLC. But it doesn't look haunted. Just lonely.

Relatable.

I imagine a young woman, pining after her fiancé as she leans against the railing of the veranda on the upper floor, gazing into the distance, and praying for his safety.

Thelma leads me to a room upstairs and down the hall. Unlike the knick-knack-filled Hogwash Hairwash, the interior decoration here is minimal.

"Please be sure to close the balcony doors when you leave to keep out the critters." She eyes Moink.

"Thank you, Thelma."

She nods as if she used up the majority of her words while talking with Betsy earlier.

After she exits, I throw open the French doors and let in the crisp fall air then set down my dog. She runs in a circle and her little corkscrew tail wiggles before she starts sniffing everything. And I do mean everything.

I collapse onto the mattress. It's lumpy—this certainly isn't the Mondrian or Montage, but I can't very well play the Princess and the Pea, now can I?

Except Jesse called me Princess . Was that contempt in his voice or something else? We didn't exactly part on bad terms. More like no terms. And that's where my thoughts about him end...for now.

This isn't the worst accommodation I've ever had, but it won't be making it into the Behind the Scenes video of my life. I tell myself it's just a place to stay for now.

Later, I go down to the kitchen to brew a cup of chamomile tea when heavy footfalls rush up the back porch steps.

The screen door swings open and a sweaty man, wearing nothing but running shorts fills the frame. Backlit by the setting sun, it's quite a manly picture.

Jesse shuffles back slightly as if not expecting to see me here. I recall Mara's comment about him having a room at the bed-and-breakfast.

"Hello, neighbor," I say.

"What are you doing here?"

"That's no way to greet the newest guest at Pigs in a Blanket."

Moink scurries over to him and lifts her little brown paws onto Jesse's sneaker, her little tail wagging wildly.

He gives the dog's head a little pet then his gaze lifts to mine. "I thought you said you didn't drink tea."

"It's just herbal. I don't do regular tea."

"I'm going to make you a London Fog tomorrow, and you're going to change your mind about that."

The intensity in Jesse's eyes and the sight of him, all muscly and masculine, makes me fear I'll change my mind about more than that.

The next day, I'm up and "atom" bright and early, ready to shine for the grand opening of the Coffee Loft—and hopefully sneaking out before Jesse can make good on his promise to make me a London Fog. Last night, it was too hot in the kitchen with my boiling tea and him all sweaty after his run.

I escape with zero interaction with the authorities, er, the small-town swoony deputy. But I forget a hair tie, and I think my shirt is inside out. This is so not like me—the casual outfit and forgetfulness. I need caffeine, stat. Last night I didn't get the greatest sleep. I blame the mattress but also wonder if it had something to do with the man down the hall because I just couldn't get him out of my mind.

"Perhaps I should take up a new hobby? Running? Polishing my shoes? What do you think Moink?"

She makes her little piggy bark in reply.

Today, she's staying in the Coffee Loft's office until I figure out when during my shift I'll be able to sneak off to let her outside. In honor of the shop's grand opening, she's wearing a designer dress with an off-white skirt printed in elegant French script and a dark brown top with little bows, including a matching one on her head. She looks like a latte. At least someone around here wears appropriate attire.

My thoughts drift to Jesse in the doorway dressed in his athletic shorts. They stay there a long while, and I seriously consider taking up the sport...and running as far from thoughts about him as I can.