Jessie Belle: The Women of Merryton - Book One by Jennifer Peel

time we had spent an afternoon together.
    “Do
you mind if we head up into the canyon?”
    “Not
at all.” I looked down at my shoes. “Do I need to change?”
    He
looked over at me. “No.” He started the truck and drove off without another
word.
    “How
was your flight?” I asked out into the silence of the cab of the truck.
    “On
time.”
    I
almost laughed at him. He was so cut and dry. I knew once upon a time I had
found it charming. “Blake?”
    “Yeah,”
he said as he looked straight ahead.
    “Can
we pretend I’m your wife?”
    He
looked over, confused. “You are my wife.”
    “Then
maybe I could get more than one or two words out of you at a time.”
    He
looked at me thoughtfully for a second. “How was your day?”
    It
wasn’t exactly what I was looking for, but I would take it. “Interesting.
Easton came in this morning. I think he and Kathryn have split up.”
    He
didn’t respond, but I could see the wheels spinning in his mind.
    “Did
you know about that?”
    “Yes.”
    “And
…?”
    “I
think it’s for the best.”
    I
turned toward the window. This was a nowhere conversation. I wasn’t digging for
dirt; I only wanted some real conversation. The scenery somewhat made up for
the silence. I loved to see the aspens in full bloom and the wildflowers that
dotted the roadside. This was my favorite time of year. The snow had melted, or
at least most of it had, depending on the elevation, and everything seemed
alive. I loved the way the sun glistened through the newly budded trees. It
even had me feeling alive.
    “Jessica,”
Blake said after several silent minutes.
    “Hmm
…” I said toward the window.
    “I
don’t want to talk about the demise of Easton’s marriage right now. Can you
understand that?”
    “Yeah.”
I supposed it wasn’t the best conversation to have when your own marriage
wasn’t rock solid.
    The
rest of the ride was silent. The radio was even turned off. Blake eventually
pulled off onto a little side road that led to a rustic campsite near the
river. We had been there before, but it had been years. When I was growing up,
this was a favorite make-out spot. When Blake moved to town we frequented the
spot—it was an activity that didn’t involve any speaking, so it was perfect for
Blake. And my favorite pastime at the time was making-out with Blake, so it was
a win-win situation.
    I
had a feeling he wasn’t bringing us up here to make-out. We probably could do
with a good session, though. I thought about the little ladies at my café today
and their assumption about what a lunch date entailed. It was sad when
seventy-year-olds were friskier than we were. I was supposed to be in my prime,
according to Ladies Home Journal , but perhaps the fact I read that
magazine said something about me and why I had the sex life of a nun. Or
perhaps it was that I hadn’t felt comfortable with my body, or secure in my
marriage.
    I
was glad to be out of the truck and in the fresh air. It smelled like pine and
faintly of campfire. Soon the canyon and our town would be inundated with
tourists, which meant Jessie Belle’s was about ready to hit its busy season.
Taking an afternoon off like this would get harder. Well, maybe not if I let my
manager do what I hired him to do. Someday , I thought.
    Blake
grabbed a large quilt and our picnic basket from the back. I guess he had gone
home first. I followed him down to the bank of the river where he laid the
blanket and set out the food. I kicked off my shoes and sat down cross-legged
across from him. We both stared at each other awkwardly. It caused a twinge of
sadness. We shouldn’t be uncomfortable around each other.
    I
looked down at the spread of food and popped a strawberry in my mouth. There
was an assortment of raw fruits and vegetables and what looked like some sort
of chicken wrap. I was afraid to test the wrap. Blake wasn’t much on seasoning.
    We
ate in silence, taking turns staring at one another.
    “Thanks
for lunch,” I said