The Belle and the Beard by Kate Canterbary (carter reed TXT) 📗

while I clutched his shirt, and this was what I meant by all the tension in the world. This was why my bosom was heaving. This was it. Right here.

"I should get started." I pushed back in my chair though that meant I gave him a firm, unexpected press with the ball of my foot.

"Jasper," he groaned, both hands wrapped around my ankle now. "Fuck. Jasper."

With as much grace as I could manage, I retrieved my legs and pushed to my feet, grinning at Linden's unmasked distress as I grabbed my tote bag. He didn't move from his seat at the table, his hands cupped over his crotch and his gaze raising a blush to my cheeks. I didn't look away until I had the door closed behind me.

As luck would have it, I ended up needing Linden's shirt. I'd left my robe at home plus the "until I put on my real clothes" top I usually wore. The only article of clothing worth wearing was a fresh pair of leggings, unless I wanted to give yesterday's outfit another spin—which I didn't.

So, while I twisted my hair into a knot, I stepped out of the bathroom in leggings and his shirt, which fell to my mid-thigh. "Thanks for the—"

The front door swept open and in came a tornado of a woman, moving and talking and dropping packages in a loud, colorful blur. I stood frozen while I watched this tornado blow through.

"Linden, be a good boy and get the box of preserves from my car. I didn't mean to can so much, I got carried away with the fruit. It's just so good and I have so much fun and—oh, hello dear." She stopped, grinned at me with a deep pink lipstick smile, and without taking her eyes off me, called to Linden, "You didn't tell me you were having guests today."

Her purple ankle jeans and pink pullover with a crisp white blouse underneath reminded me of a Talbots catalog, though the dark hazel eyes, just like her son's, sized me up right away. It was the middle of the workday and I was fresh from the shower, and that meant only one thing as far as mothers were concerned.

"Just the one guest, Mom." He stood up, gave me a sorry about this shrug. "Jasper, this is my mother, Diana, who has forgotten how to knock. Mom, this is Jasper-Anne Cleary."

I held out my hand to her. "How do you do?"

Her curious grin melted into a comically gleeful smile as she pressed both hands to her chest and squealed. She squealed. "Linden! You should've told me you had such a beautiful guest!" She shot him a wink that said she was in on the joke. "Oh my goodness, you are just gorgeous!"

Then she flung herself at me, gathering me into a crushing hug that stole my breath and seemed unnaturally strong for such a petite woman. Since I was a guest of Linden's but not a wink-wink guest, I wasn't sure how to respond, but after a beat passed, it didn't matter. I had no choice but to return her hug. "That's so kind of you."

She pulled back, holding tight to my shoulders. "Good gracious. Is that a touch of the South I'm hearing from you?"

I laughed because she asked with the most Steel Magnolias accent I'd ever heard, and everyone mimicked my accent when they met me. What was left of it.

"Oh my god," Linden murmured. "Mom. Stop. You're being ridiculous."

"Quiet, Linden," she replied, smoothing a hand over the arms of my shirt. Which was her son's. Which she knew. "I'm having a chat with Jasper-Anne."

"Jasper will do, thank you."

"Jasper," she drawled. "So lovely."

He shot me a look that seemed to say are you good? and I nodded. I wanted to scoff and say of course I'm good. I could handle far stickier situations than a pop-in from Mom.

He dipped his chin, arched his brows up. Are you sure?

I gave him a nod, a quick smirk. Oh yeah. I got this.

"I'm going to grab that box from the car," he said, pointing to Diana. "Behave yourself."

She blinked. "Whatever could you be implying?"

"That I know your tricks. Behave," he repeated.

The door closed and I was alone with Linden's mother. Wet hair, bare feet, borrowed shirt. Obviously not my ideal look for any introductory situation but I wasn't in the business of getting my ideals anymore.

"I am just so happy to meet you," Diana said, gripping both of my hands and leading me into the kitchen. "Where are you from, sweetheart?"

"Originally, Georgia," I said, allowing her to steer me into a seat. "Then Washington, D.C., and now I'm here."

She gave me a subtle up-and-down glance as she smiled but it was clear she wanted to know what I did, why I was here, and how wonderful her son was to me. "This quaint town must be quite the change of pace for you."

I was prepared to joke about the culture shock but instead answered, "I'm enjoying it."

"As you should." She patted my arm with so much maternal reassurance, I felt tears prickling behind my eyes. "Now, before my son returns and tells me to keep quiet, I just want to apologize for walking in on you. If you're anything like me, you don't meet company until after your hair is set for the day." She touched gel manicured fingers to her dark, silver-streaked bob. "Not because you aren't perfect just like this—because you are just gorgeous—but that's how I'd feel. I'd also want plenty of warning before meeting my significant other's family"—oh, wow, she was going there—"and I should've called ahead. I am learning this, slowly but surely, as my children keep growing up and leading their own lives. I'm sorry for popping in unannounced. I just came from my daughter's house and, because of her aversions to certain foods during this pregnancy, she didn't want to see a jar of preserves. Since my canning closet is full and