Save Me, Sinners

Every bone in my body tells me not to trust Jake Ferry when he approaches me from across the lounge, where he’s just talked down and then put down an armed robber, but all I can think about is that if anything had happened to Chester, or if someone in my restaurant was shot, it would be the end of everything.

So when he comes close, his dark eyes filled with what looks like genuine concern, all I can think to say is, “Thank you.”

Jake shakes his head. “I don’t think he was serious. Are you okay?”

“Not really,” I tell him honestly. “If someone had been hurt… I’m going to have to do something about my security detail. I thought a couple of bouncers were enough, but it never occurred to me that someone could come in and rob the place during business hours. I mean what was he possibly thinking?”

Jake shrugs, sympathetic and just as confused as I am. “I don’t know. Desperate, I guess. People do strange things when they’re pushed hard enough. Things they might not normally do. Who knows what his story is?”

“Well, hopefully the police catch him,” I say. “It’s dangerous to have someone like that running around out there. Plenty of people got that on video. I think you’ll be immortalized forever, or at least for the next few weeks.” A thought occurs to me—a nasty one—and I blurt it out before I realize I’m speaking. “It’ll probably be great for your father’s restaurant, right?”

Jake blinks, his lips parted, and then starts to turn away. “I guess we’ll see.”

I should let him go. I don’t like him. I mean he’s gorgeous, and there’s something about a man who will face down danger that is objectively, undeniably sexy, but Jake Ferry is the enemy. Nonetheless, I find myself reaching out to stop him. “Jake, wait.”

He does, and for a moment I’m searching for the words. That’s about the time the police arrive.

Jake waits for me while I give my statement to the police along with everyone else. I have Chester show one of the officers the security footage from the night, and avoid being a bitch about how long it took for them to arrive. Chester hit the silent alarm behind the bar just a few seconds after he realized what was happening. Next time, someone could be dead.

But that’s the last kind of talk I want to have with the police, especially right now. So instead it’s all humility and profuse gratitude while they gather everything they can—which isn’t much. They take the gun, at least, and hope to get prints off of it. Since Jake touched it too, they have to print him just in case the robber isn’t on file. Jake is gracious about that, but people are taking pictures and I do wonder if maybe this won’t look bad for the Ferrys when it gets online.

And that’s a vicious thought, not the kind I’m used to having. Guilt worms into my stomach—this is the man that just saved my bar, my bartender, and if things had gone really badly, who knows—maybe even my life. I shouldn’t be thinking about whether the PR for this is going to hurt him. That’s not who I am. Is it?

When everything is done, and the police are on their way out, Jake comes back to me, looking embarrassed, his hands in his pockets. “Kind of a fiasco I guess.”

“Armed robbery usually is,” I say.

He laughs quietly, and shrugs. “I guess you’re probably right.”

“Noncommittal. Is that like a thing with you?” I wince at my own tone, and put a hand lightly on his arm. “I’m sorry. I’m just… my nerves are shot and I get sarcastic when that happens. It’s a defense mechanism, that’s all.”

“No, you’re… you’re not wrong,” he says. He puts his large, warm hand over mine. His hands are soft. Not that I should expect anything else—he isn’t a field worker, after all. I’m not certain Jake Ferry has worked a hard day in his life.

Just behind him, several yards away, Gloria is practically on her tiptoes, trying to peek past him to see what we’re about.

As if reading Gloria’s thoughts, or mine, Jake glances over his shoulder and then back at me. “Would you… like me to take you home? We can leave out the back so no one can see us. I’m not parked far.”

I want to laugh. People have already “seen us.” But it’s a sweet thought. I did drive my own car but… “Sure,” my mouth says before I can get ahead of it. “That would be good.”

When he smiles, I almost want to kiss him, and that’s the most ridiculous thought I’ve had in recent memory. So I take my hand off his arm, out from under his hand, and go to retrieve my purse instead. I’m not kissing Jake Ferry. Not yet, anyway.

I probably look as nervous as I feel on the way back to my place. Every time I try to start up a conversation, the words get stuck in my throat. Maybe I just don’t want to pop whatever illusory bubble I’m actually in right now. Maybe I’m worried I’ll say the wrong thing. This isn’t one of my talents—making nice with someone I very recently would have had killed if I thought I could get away with it.

I probably could have gotten a two-for-one deal on him and Gloria both.

So instead I drum my fingers on my knee and stare out the passenger-side window. We slow down at one point, well before we get to my building, and I realize that Jake is pulling up to a drive-thro

ugh juice bar.

“I know just the thing,” he says. “This place makes a great herbal bubble tea for stress and anxiety. They’ve been here for a few years. Nothing gross, either—you’ll like it.”

“Oh, okay,” I say, like an idiot. “Um… thanks.”

A few minutes later he hands me a drink, and I give it a taste test. Herbal hoodoo isn’t really my bag. Western medicine for me, thanks—I’ve seen Mama go through everything from Reiki to acupuncture to six-hour chakra realignment workshops, and that’s not even including the laundry list of “miraculous” herbal supplements she’s tried.

I don’t know if this herbal thing is going to do anything for my nerves or not, but it’s delicious and that right there is medication enough for me. “Thank you,” I tell Jake. “It’s really good.”

“Glad you like it.”