Beauty and the Mustache (Knitting in the City #4)(39)
Author: Penny Reid

That was just not healthy.

As soon as I was within three steps of the entrance, Beau reached out and grabbed my wrist, pulling me into the kitchen.

“Ashley Austen Winston.” His voice was a harsh whisper. “Do you know Nico Moretti? I demand you answer me now.”

I assumed Beau meant Nico, Elizabeth’s husband, because Nicoletta and Nico Moretti were in fact the same person.

I gave my brother a look that I hoped conveyed the extreme nature of my irritation. “Beauford Fitzgerald Winston, you do not make demands of me. Not ever. You apologize for this appalling behavior.”

Roscoe darted forward, his eyes wide and accusatory. “Ashley Austen Winston! How could you not tell us?”

“It was none of your business, Roscoe Orwell Winston.”

“You know Nico Moretti, Ashley Austen Winston. You know him. And he’s hilarious.” Roscoe threw his hands up.

“Do either of you know if we have any wine?”

“Wine…? Wine? You want to talk about wine right now, Ashley Austen?” Beau shook his head at me and huffed. “I feel like I can’t trust you anymore.”

“Beauford Fitzgerald Winston, you are being silly.” Then, a thought occurred to me. My eyes narrowed as I surveyed them both. “Listen, if you can find me or go get me some red wine, I’ll introduce you to Nico Moretti. Do we have a deal?”

They both nodded in unison. “Deal.”

“Good.” I spun on my heel and walked out to the family room, intent on getting back to knit night. I could hear the group’s chatter coming from the small speakers of my laptop.

Just then, however, the front door opened revealing my brother Duane and my childhood friend / ex-boyfriend / now hottie police officer, Jackson James. Duane looked anxious and was pushing his fingers through his hair. Jackson was dressed in his police uniform, appearing much like he had a few weeks ago when I’d seen him briefly at the ranger cabin.

“No harm, no foul, Duane,” Jackson was saying, and I faltered a step, glancing between the two of them.

Jackson’s eyes lit up when he saw me. “Ashley!”

“Jackson….” I blinked at him then looked to Duane for a clue regarding what was going on. Duane sighed and rolled his eyes.

Duane was not being helpful.

Police Officer Jackson stepped forward, a giant grin on his face, and reached for my hands. “It’s good to see you, Ash.” His grin faded into an earnest expression of concern. “How are you holding up?”

I blinked at him some more, frankly startled by the sight of him. He was Jackson, but he wasn’t Jackson, and I hadn’t thought about him in years.

“Uh, fine. I mean, things are fine. Well, you know, they’re as fine as can be expected.” I stuttered and my eyes flickered to the laptop perched on the coffee table. The group in Chicago could probably see and hear everything that was happening right now in my family room.

“I’m so sorry…about everything.” Jackson said these words sincerely, gaining another step forward before reaching out and clasping my hands. His brown eyes held mine with such fixated concentration that I got the feeling he was apologizing for more than what was currently going on with my mother.

“Thank you for your concern, Jack. But Ashley’s got her family to support her. And I don’t think now is a good time. So….” Duane came up next to me, real close next to me, and crossed his arms, sticking his ginger beard in Jackson’s handsome beardless face.

“Duane Faulkner, I am perfectly capable of speaking for myself.” I nudged my brother’s shoulder and tugged at my hands.

Jackson didn’t release me straightaway, hesitating for about a half second before loosening his grip. He gave me his crooked grin, and his eyes were every brown shade of hopeful.

“Jackson….” I gave him a reassuring smile. “What’s your availability look like this week? I’d prefer not to leave the house, but I could make sandwiches. If Momma is up to it, I’m sure she’d enjoy a visit.”

“Oh sure, I’d like to see her too. Let me give you my cell phone number.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pen and paper.

I took advantage of the brief lull in conversation to glance at my computer screen and had to fight against an eye roll when I found my entire knitting group huddled in front of the webcam watching what was going on in my Tennessee family room with avid interest.

“I found the wine!” Beau came charging out of the kitchen grinning from ear to ear in triumph and holding a small bottle in front of him.

I sighed. “Beau, that’s red wine vinegar. That’s not red wine.”

“It says red wine on it.” He glanced between it and me. “What’s the difference?”

“I told you so, dummy!” This shout came from Roscoe in the kitchen. “She isn’t going to drink that. It’s for salad dressing and marinating.”

“We can’t all go to college and drink fancy wine, Roscoe Orwell. Some of us work for a living!” Beau shouted back, then frowned at Jackson as he handed me a folded piece of paper. “What’s this? What are you doing here, Jack? What’s this paper?”

Beau and Duane stood on either side of me, red topped and bearded columns of suspicion and displeasure.

Duane snatched the paper from my fingers and handed it to Beau. I squeaked a shocked protest, but Duane cut me off. “Jackson, what is your middle name?” he demanded.

Jackson frowned at Duane and said, “Uh…John.”

“Give me that,” I said, reaching over Beau’s broad chest to snatch the paper back.

“Well, Jackson John James, I don’t appreciate you pulling me over tonight—for no reason—just so you could weasel yourself into this house.”

“Duane Faulkner!” I scolded. “Quit being ugly—that is quite enough!” As I said this, the front door opened and in walked Jethro, Billy, and—of course—Drew.

I groaned and closed my eyes. Paired with my frustration was also a galvanizing restlessness, because Drew was here. He was in the room with me, breathing the same air. I took a deep breath and opened my eyes. As much as I wanted to keep them focused on my oldest brother, they instinctively searched and found Drew.

His face was devoid of expression, which meant he looked annoyed. His eyes flickered over my body once as though checking me for injury. It took all my power of sanity to extract my gaze from Drew and pay attention to my brothers.

“What’s going on?” Jethro spoke first.

“Jackson is giving Ashley his phone number, that’s what.” Beau said this like Jackson was giving me a body to hide.

“And they’re making plans to have sandwiches,” Duane added, crossing his arms over his chest.

I groaned again, “Oh brother…”

“Yes?” Jethro, Billy, Duane, and Beau all said in unison.

“Listen to me, you all need to back off and mind your manners. Jackson is an old friend. It is normal for two friends to engage in discourse!”

“Just as long as it isn’t intercourse,” Billy muttered under his breath.

I sucked in a sharp gasp. “William Shakespeare Winston!”

He gave me a scowl. “Don’t look at me like that. We were all doing just fine before you showed up. Now that you’re back, we suddenly have the attention of local law enforcement? We all know why Jackson John James is here, and it’s not for sandwiches.”

I heard some commotion coming from the speakers of my laptop and glanced at the screen.

Everyone in my knitting group was huddled together, obviously in front of the screen on their side. At some point, one of them must have made popcorn, because all seven of them were eating it, their eyes glued to the action going on in Tennessee.

All the bearded men in the room—and the only not bearded man—followed my gaze.

“Don’t mind us!” Marie waved at the camera on her side—so, essentially, at my entire family room. “Keep going. This is more entertaining than Nicoletta’s jello wrestling.”

“I agree,” Nico added, stuffing popcorn in his mouth.

“Wait a minute. Is that…?” Jethro tugged on my arm and with his other hand pointed toward my laptop. “Is that Nico Moretti? The comedian with that show on Comedy Central?”

“Hi,” Nico said cheerily through a mouthful of popcorn. “Nice to meet you.”

The room plunged into three seconds of silence as everyone in my family room stared at my computer screen and everyone on my computer screen smiled back.

I don’t know how long this would have continued if Roscoe hadn’t rushed out of the kitchen with a big toothy grin on his face, holding a bottle over his head and yelling, “Wine! I found the wine!”

CHAPTER 17

“We were not a hugging people. In terms of emotional comfort it was our belief that no amount of physical contact could match the healing powers of a well-made cocktail.”

― David Sedaris, Naked

After introductions were made, my plans for knit night were derailed, but in no way ruined.

All the seats in the family room were quickly taken, and I felt Drew’s eyes follow me as I claimed my seat on the couch. Jackson sat on my right for about ten seconds before Billy told him to move. Then, Billy sat on my right.