Page 60 of Sweet and Salty

I shrug. “Cree likes showtunes. Don’t be judgy.”

“I’m not being judgy. I’m irritated that my donkey likes you more than me.”

The donkey in question, begrudgingly turns her head to acknowledge us and walks as slowly as she possibly can until she busses my hand, looking for the carrots. But I’ve already slipped them into the pocket of Laura’s chef pants. Cree huffs with indignation, then turns and nuzzles Laura’s pocket.

I nudge Laura’s hip with mine. “You sure she likes me more? You’re the one who saved her. Don’t think for a second that she forgets that. Animals always have a sense of who will care about them. Who is sweet and loving and kind.”

I don’t think she hears me, since she’s so wrapped in Cree’s attention. An expression of delighted surprise flares across Laura's face, but she keeps her energy neutral as she drapes the rope across the donkey’s withers. Then she removes the carrotfrom her pocket and feeds it to Cree as she slips the halter up and over the donkey’s wide, velvety ears.

“I did it!” she exclaims softly. She leads Lucretia Borgia around the paddock before unhitching her and then turning to me and throwing her arms around my neck. “Thank you! You’re like a donkey whisperer.”

“That’s definitely going to be my new nickname. We’re the Donkey Whisperer and the Frosting Monkey.” I bend down and kiss her, light and soft, happy to share in the warmth of her proximity.

And that’s the moment I know. Unequivocally, unassailably.

This woman is the only one I will ever need or ever want. Whatever I thought I called love in the past, it pales in comparison to everything I feel for Laura Marshall.

But I can’t tell her. I can’t make this permanent. I’m shocked that no one has called me out on my lies by now, and it’s only going to get worse. The odds of us winning at trial are lower than escaping the pits of Hades, so I’ll never get my life back. I’ll be stuck lying about who I am here forever. I won’t be a veterinarian. I won’t be worthy of Laura.

Even worse, what if the Macks come after me? Or Esme? I’d rather die than put Laura in danger. I’m fucked.

With her body snuggled against me, she says softly, “I love you, Jesse.”

My body goes numb and rigid and somehow elated all at once. I’m only going to hurt her. This is wrong. The only kind thing is to let her go, gently, now, before things go any further. Because I can’t even tell her my real name, and Laura has been let down enough times. Because I’m not going to stay, and Laura is a hometown girl, through and through. I could never deserve her trust if I can’t open up to her.

“Jesse?” she asks, and I hear the soft plea in her voice. I hear it, and I hate it about myself. Because if I tell her the truth, whoI am, what I’ve done, or that I love her so much, she’ll want a promise from me that I can’t give.

Yes, I am most definitely headed straight for that special hell. On a bullet train, like the one from the Brad Pitt movie where everyone dies in dramatic fashion.

I cup her face between my palms and focus my gaze on her. I know I can’t telepathically transmit anything to her that will make this better, but I have to try. “Laura—”

Einstein barks loudly, his tail alert and snout pointed toward my cabin. Laura’s nose wrinkles, like she’s going to sneeze. “Do you smell smoke?”

We turn toward the tree line to see the flames rising into the sky.

CHAPTER FORTY

Laura

“I told you,Rory. I got home from work. I was in the paddock with the animals and Jesse, and we smelled smoke. I don’t know what happened. I was at the café all day.” I wrap my arms around my chest and squeeze, but even with the remains of the fire lingering in the air, I can’t get warm.

I told Jesse I loved him, and he called the police.

Okay, legitimately, he called 911 and they sent both the fire department and the police. And he is completely justified because his cabin is on fire. Still.

I told him I loved him. I bared a little bit of my soul, and he didn’t say anything in response.

It’s been hours now, and even though he’s present and attentive as always, we haven’t been alone together. What is he thinking? Probably that his house is on fire. If that isn’t a sign from the gods, I don’t know what is, but I desperately want to talk to him alone.

My brother is harshing the vibe. Typical Rory.

“And Jesse? When was the last time you were at the cabin?” Rory asks, notebook at the ready, all imperious in his sheriff’s uniform. I wonder if he loves Davey or that uniform more.

“You already asked him that,” I grumble.

Rory turns to me, hands on his utility belt. “And I’ll ask again if I need the information. Who’s the detective here?”

“There is no detective here,Lawrence.” I sound like Frannie, and I do not give a hoot. He deserves the rare use of his real name. “This isn’tLaw and Order.You’re a town sheriff. You couldn’t even figure out who spray-painted your baseball glove neon blue in the tenth grade. You think you can handle an arson investigation? And it’s not even arson. That cabin was falling down. The electricity was probably held together with kindling and matchsticks.”