Read Online The Dixie Belle's Guide to Love by Luanne Jones - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Luanne Jones
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Rita’s chair now so close to his. “Unless Rita here gets after you now and again.”
“Don’t involve me in this.” She could feel his hand there— right there —just a hairbreadth away from her back, and it made her jumpy.
He strummed his fingers once along the wood, so close she felt the vibrations on her back.
She would get up but what would she do? Pace? Pretend to polish the lunch counter? The one they planned to rip out and destroy as soon as they could? She might as well twist around in her seat and blurt out to the man, “You make me so nervous I can’t think straight.”
Great. Now that idea was in her head. What was it Cozette said about “self” talk? She rubbed her eyes. “What we tell ourselves we are, that’s what we become.”
“Hmm?”
She blinked, suddenly aware she’d spoken aloud. “Nothing, just an approach Cozie tries to get me to use.”
Wham . The door slamming at the back of the kitchen cut her off. An odd cadence of footsteps clack-a-clacking toward them rivaled the skipping beat of her heart.
Rita braced herself. “Cozie says that what we tell ourselves we are—”
“I am here, and I am fit to be tied,” Pernel’s cry echoed through the vacant building.
“That’s what we become.” She followed Will’s gaze to her ex-husband stopped in the doorway.
Pernel aimed his fiercest glare at her, then flung the scarf around his throat over one shoulder so that the end swirled downward to accent his backless sundress perfectly.
“I guess not every bit of gossip around Hellon is a gross exaggeration of the truth.” Will narrowed his eyes.
Pernel smoothed back his auburn pageboy wig. He anchored his substantial pumps shoulder width apart and proceeded to wrestle with something inside the top of his dress. Pernel shifted his shoulder and one of the lumps in his bodice slipped lower than the other. He set about correcting the problem.
“Of course that depends on your definition of gross.” Will shook his head.
“He hasn’t decided which is the best cup size for his frame, and I’m sure that halter bra is giving him fits.” Why Rita felt compelled to offer that tidbit was beyond her.
“Are they evened up now?” Pernel held his arms out and offered himself for their inspection.
“Not quite.” She motioned to him. “Come over here and let me help you out.”
“Wait. Hell’s hobnobs, one of my press-on nails has come off inside here.” He pulled the front of his dress out and began to shimmy and shake.
She thought of reminding him he might have some impediment that would keep the fake fingernail from falling clean through to the floor but stopped herself. She did not know how or if he had alleviated that problem and did not want to give him the opportunity to tell her. She might have come to accept the man’s eccentricities, but there are some things an ex-wife just doesn’t want to know. Whether the father of her child tucks or tapes to create a…streamlined silhouette falls in that category.
“Does he have to do that here?” Will winced.
“You don’t have to be afraid of him, you know.” Again she had no idea why she responded the way she did. That dang nerves thing, she suspected, or maybe her need to keep everything on an even keel. Whatever the reason, she went on trying to make lemonade out of…who was she kidding? Good old loyal Rita was actually trying to make lemonade out of those oversize grapefruits strapped to Pernel’s chest. “Dressing like that doesn’t mean he’s an unfit father.”
“Did I say I thought he was?”
“It obviously bothers you. And he’s not gay; even if he were, he won’t hit on you and as far as his taste in clothes—well, it’s not contagious.”
“That’s twice now you’ve made a reference to me having some kind of gender hang-up.” He held up two fingers, then raised his eyebrows at her. “It isn’t because you think I’m intimidated by my mama is it?”
“I never said anything
“Don’t involve me in this.” She could feel his hand there— right there —just a hairbreadth away from her back, and it made her jumpy.
He strummed his fingers once along the wood, so close she felt the vibrations on her back.
She would get up but what would she do? Pace? Pretend to polish the lunch counter? The one they planned to rip out and destroy as soon as they could? She might as well twist around in her seat and blurt out to the man, “You make me so nervous I can’t think straight.”
Great. Now that idea was in her head. What was it Cozette said about “self” talk? She rubbed her eyes. “What we tell ourselves we are, that’s what we become.”
“Hmm?”
She blinked, suddenly aware she’d spoken aloud. “Nothing, just an approach Cozie tries to get me to use.”
Wham . The door slamming at the back of the kitchen cut her off. An odd cadence of footsteps clack-a-clacking toward them rivaled the skipping beat of her heart.
Rita braced herself. “Cozie says that what we tell ourselves we are—”
“I am here, and I am fit to be tied,” Pernel’s cry echoed through the vacant building.
“That’s what we become.” She followed Will’s gaze to her ex-husband stopped in the doorway.
Pernel aimed his fiercest glare at her, then flung the scarf around his throat over one shoulder so that the end swirled downward to accent his backless sundress perfectly.
“I guess not every bit of gossip around Hellon is a gross exaggeration of the truth.” Will narrowed his eyes.
Pernel smoothed back his auburn pageboy wig. He anchored his substantial pumps shoulder width apart and proceeded to wrestle with something inside the top of his dress. Pernel shifted his shoulder and one of the lumps in his bodice slipped lower than the other. He set about correcting the problem.
“Of course that depends on your definition of gross.” Will shook his head.
“He hasn’t decided which is the best cup size for his frame, and I’m sure that halter bra is giving him fits.” Why Rita felt compelled to offer that tidbit was beyond her.
“Are they evened up now?” Pernel held his arms out and offered himself for their inspection.
“Not quite.” She motioned to him. “Come over here and let me help you out.”
“Wait. Hell’s hobnobs, one of my press-on nails has come off inside here.” He pulled the front of his dress out and began to shimmy and shake.
She thought of reminding him he might have some impediment that would keep the fake fingernail from falling clean through to the floor but stopped herself. She did not know how or if he had alleviated that problem and did not want to give him the opportunity to tell her. She might have come to accept the man’s eccentricities, but there are some things an ex-wife just doesn’t want to know. Whether the father of her child tucks or tapes to create a…streamlined silhouette falls in that category.
“Does he have to do that here?” Will winced.
“You don’t have to be afraid of him, you know.” Again she had no idea why she responded the way she did. That dang nerves thing, she suspected, or maybe her need to keep everything on an even keel. Whatever the reason, she went on trying to make lemonade out of…who was she kidding? Good old loyal Rita was actually trying to make lemonade out of those oversize grapefruits strapped to Pernel’s chest. “Dressing like that doesn’t mean he’s an unfit father.”
“Did I say I thought he was?”
“It obviously bothers you. And he’s not gay; even if he were, he won’t hit on you and as far as his taste in clothes—well, it’s not contagious.”
“That’s twice now you’ve made a reference to me having some kind of gender hang-up.” He held up two fingers, then raised his eyebrows at her. “It isn’t because you think I’m intimidated by my mama is it?”
“I never said anything
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