The Nice Guy Next Door (When In Waverly 1)

I’m so busy laughing at my ideas that I don’t notice the 6’2” giant standing in front of me until he peeks over the top of my computer screen. I snap the laptop shut so fast that I’m worried I may have cracked the screen.

“Jameson, what are you doing here?” I ask with a nervous chuckle.

He narrows his eyes at me and watches my nervous fiddling. “I think the better question is, what are you doing?” He pulls out the chair across from me and sits down with a cup of steaming coffee in his hand. I grab my iced latte—much more preferable when it’s eighty degrees outside—and take a long drink to avoid answering his question.

“Keeping secrets?” he asks before taking a sip of coffee. He’s prepared to stare me down until I crack and tell him what I’m doing. Well, he better prepare himself to sit here for a long time, because I’m a locked vault. An impenetrable fortress.

I shrug my shoulders. “It’s nothing. You’re not working?” I ask, desperate to change the subject. He laughs because the lack of uniform makes it obvious he’s not working, but he takes the bait willingly.

“Nope. I’m off today,” he says and spreads his arms wide to show me that he is, in fact, here in the flesh and not a figment of my imagination.

“You have a horrible work schedule,” I say, feeling a bit of pity for him.

“You have no idea,” he grumbles. “What are you doing here in the middle of a Thursday?” he adds when he realizes that I should be at the library working. Do I tell him about my embarrassing display of emotion, or do I play it off? He’ll probably hear about it eventually. Might as well get it over with.

I pull my phone out of my purse and find the picture the evil woman posted on social media. Placing my phone in front of him so he can see the picture and all of the rude comments about me, I stand to go to the counter and buy myself another snack. I hear a whistle behind me and know that he has read the comment from that evil Shandi woman. She better be praying that I don’t run into her in a dark alley anytime soon.

I return to the table, and he hands my phone back to me. “So, that’s pretty horrible, but did you see that ol’ Gertie defended you in the comments?” he asks. I hadn’t seen that yet. I scroll through all of the comments until I find Gertrude’s.

I laugh so hard at her scathing retort that I snort. I had no idea that she cared about me so much. Hannah replied, “Way to go, Gertrude!” to her comment. I think I just felt my heart grow two sizes. I have friends here in Waverly. Real friends who have my back.

Sure, I still miss my friends back in Harris, and they’ll always be my friends. A two-hour drive won’t change that. But they can’t drop what they’re doing and be with me in a matter of minutes like Jameson, Hannah, Tess—or I guess even Gertrude—can.

“Why did you try to go to work today?” he asks.

“I thought I would be okay, and I do think I would have been if I hadn’t read that book,” I answer, but I know it’s a lie. Something would have eventually set me off. I’m feeling fine now, no different than I feel any other day, but I’m more aware of things that remind me of my dad.

I wonder how Lo is doing at school. Has she been a crying mess all morning? I should have listened to her and let her stay home. Maybe she is feeling more sad than usual. I put my laptop in its case and turn to Jameson. “What are you doing for the rest of the day?” I ask him with a raised brow. He’s about to be my accomplice in busting Lo out of school for the rest of the day.

“Uh, I was going to play baseball with some guys this evening, but I can bail.”

Lo has been checked out of school, and now the three of us—Jameson, Lo, and I—are driving through Harris on our way to visit my dad’s grave. We stop at the local grocery store to get a bouquet of flowers. Lo wants the most obnoxious one they have. It’s every shade of bright orange and yellow imaginable, and I can’t help but think that Daddy would hate it. I want the pale-peach roses. They’re pretty and elegant, but Lo says they’re boring.

“You two buy those,” Jameson says, pointing to the bouquet in Lo’s hand, and he grabs the roses from me. “And I will buy these.” Lo smiles and twirls around toward the registers.

“Thank you,” I tell him. “You’re a good friend.” He visibly flinches, and I wonder if it’s a sore spot for him. Has he been in spats recently with his friends? What are their names? Seth and Colby, I think.

If he has, I don’t see how it could be his fault. It’s probably Seth. He seems obnoxious.

Jameson has been nothing but kind and helpful to me. I don’t deserve a friend like him. I’ll never be able to repay him for everything he has done for me and Lo.

I honestly can’t believe he’s not married yet. He’ll make a great husband for some lucky woman someday. You’d think a woman would have snatched him up by now. Men like him don’t usually make it this long without getting hitched.

I know it’s wrong of me, but I hope he never gets married. If he were to meet the woman of his dreams, I wouldn’t get to hang out with him like this. She’d take up all of his time and energy. The twinge of jealousy in my gut is just because it wouldn’t be fair to lose my friend. It has nothing to do with any potential feelings of attraction. There are no feelings…none at all.

Lo skips up beside me as we walk to Jameson’s truck and sings, “Millie and Jameson sitting in a tree…”

I cover her mouth with my hand before she can finish and say in a hushed voice, “No one is sitting in a tree, and there will be no k-i-s-s-i-n-g.” I look at Jameson walking in front of us to see if he heard us. Judging by the way his shoulders are shaking with laughter, it’s safe to say that he heard everything.

“Riiiight, okay,” she drawls and winks dramatically at me. I’ve done nothing to make her think I have feelings for him. Sure, I stare at him sometimes and then have to wipe the drool from my chin, but I’m assuming that’s something most women do around him. And yeah, yeah, yeah, I laugh hysterically at all of his jokes—even the ones that aren’t that funny. He’s hilariously dorky, and his face is so cute when he’s telling a joke. And of course, I do want to be around him any chance I get, but that’s only because he’s so fun and he doesn’t judge me for being such a mess. None of that means anything.

I let Lo sit up front this time in an effort to put some distance between me and Jameson. I can’t have either of them thinking Lo’s right. I can’t let them see how flustered her comments have made me.

I look into the rearview mirror as we’re going down the road, and my eyes meet Jameson’s. It feels like he’s staring straight down into my soul. Shouldn’t he be watching the road? I shift around in my seat and look out the window, but I can still feel his eyes watching me. I take a quick glance at the mirror, and the corner of his mouth tilts up into a half smile, causing that dimple on his right cheek to pop. This was a bad idea. At least sitting up front he can’t blatantly stare at me.

“Do you remember the time he tried to make fried chicken and Mrs. Herschel, next door, called the fire department because the smoke was so bad?” Lo says, reminding me of my eighteenth birthday while sitting in front of Daddy’s grave. I had just wanted fried chicken for dinner, and Daddy insisted that his mama’s recipe was better than any chicken place could make. He tried. He failed. He almost burnt the house down. We had to leave the windows open for days for it to finally smell normal in the house again.

“Do you remember that Christmas he couldn’t afford to get us presents, so he took us hiking the whole day, and we ended up getting lost for half of it because he tried to follow that baby deer?” I ask, laughing as I remember all of my father’s hare-brained plans. I was about Lo’s age now that Christmas. Money was really tight that year after home and car repairs, and Daddy’s eyes constantly wandered to the tree with no presents underneath.