Page 30 of No Room in the Inn

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Page 30 of No Room in the Inn

“How long have you been standing there?” I say.

He shrugs, folding his arms across his chest and leaning against the doorframe. “Not long.” There’s a pause, and for a second it seems like he’s debating with himself. Then he says, “I talk to her too sometimes.”

“Do you really?” I say, feeling a wave of relief.

He nods. Then he says, “Why did you fight with your parents?”

I sigh, sitting back down on the bed.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” he says, still watching me carefully.

“Let’s go bake,” I say instead of answering.

***

Baking is not my strong suit, but it turns out Nixon really isn’t too bad at it.

“Be nicer to the dough,” he says, looking disapprovingly at the way I’m mixing the dry ingredients into the wet. “It didn’t do anything to you.”

“Right,” I say, relaxing my stirring a bit.

When the dough is mixed and placed in the fridge to chill for a few hours, I look at Nixon. “So who are we taking these to?” I say.

“Edna James, Mildred Moore, and Gerty Nixon,” he says. “All widows or divorced.”

“Ah, Gerty,” I say, and even though my interaction with her the other day was a little frustrating, I smile. “She offered to set me up with a nice young man at the parade.”

Nixon grins, leaning back against the counter and folding his arms over his chest, which does lovely things for his biceps. “Do tell.”

I look away so that he doesn’t catch me ogling him. “Well, I didn’t get all the details, but apparently even though he’s a little rough around the edges, he’s a good boy at heart—and his parole officer thinks he shows real promise.”

Nixon throws his head back and laughs, and I swear the sound is golden. It’s a full, rich sound that reverberates through the kitchen and does funny things to my insides.

“Well, how could you say no to that?” he says when his laughter has subsided.

I grin. “I told her I just got out of a relationship and wasn’t ready to date.”

“Didyou just get out of a relationship?” he says, looking interested.

“Yep,” I say, more casually than I feel. In truth, I’m still a little hurt by the Chauncey thing. It sort of got overshadowed by Granny’s death, but the feeling is there. I’m not heartbroken, but being dumped just doesn’t feel great. “I thought Chauncey Reginald Watkins III wanted me to be his wife, but he dumped me instead.”

Nixon makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a snort. “That’s his actual name?”

My lips twitch. “Yeah.”

He nods slowly. “And did you want to be Mrs. Chauncey Reginald Watkins III?” His eyes are curious now.

I can’t quite maintain eye contact when I’m talking to him about relationships, so I focus on his left ear instead, at the diamond stud he wears. I shrug. “Probably not. We wouldn’t have been happy together. But he was…safe,” I say when I find the word I’m looking for. “Predictable.” I pause. “Except for when he broke up with me instead of proposing.”

Nixon nods again, still looking at me. “You’re right. You wouldn’t have been happy. You’d have gotten bored.”

“I would have,” I acknowledge, because he’s right. “I need more from life than comfort zones.” I hesitate, and then—because I guess I’m the kind of girl who spills her life story to near strangers now—I say, “That was the problem with my parents.”

I glance at Nixon. He doesn’t say anything; he just waits for me to go on.

So I do. “They wanted me to go to college here. But I got into a really good school in Missouri, and when I told them, they freaked out. They refused to help with tuition, and they wouldn’t let Granny help, either. The plan was always for them to do tuition; that was what they said all through high school. But I guess that only applied if I went to the school they chose.” I shrug, keeping my voice light. “My mom thought I was choosing an education and career over them.”

Nixon still remains silent. Somehow it makes me want to talk more, and I realize that strangely enough, Iliketalking to him about this. I barely know him or anything about him, but there’s no pretense with him, no pretending to be anything I’m not. He already doesn’t like me; I don’t need to worry about impressing him.