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 JONAS
Home Wreckers Construction
Book 8
By Piper Cook
 Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are
used fictitiously.
Copyright © Piper Cook – All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or
introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by
any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or
otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright
owner.

***

Editing and proofreading by Violet Rae

Cover by Piper Cook

***

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Table of Contents
Title Page

Copyright Page

JONAS

DELICATE FLOWERS

CHUNKY MONKEY

BOSSY

CONSPIRING

TRUST ISSUES

WARDROBE MALFUNCTION

GIRL POWER

BIGGER THAN A BREAD BOX

DIRTY SECRETS

HARD-HEADED

LEATHER

WHO NEEDS A MAN?

WHAT FAMILY’S FOR

FIVE MORE MINUTES

MORE BY PIPER COOK

LUCA
 JONAS
***
This bad boy from the wrong side of the tracks is about to steal her
generous heart, but is her trust fund at risk also?

***

Jonas Knowles
Hard work and a hand up got me where I am today. I’m dedicated
to paying my good fortune forward, but my focus gets knocked for a
loop when Jenna Nichols crosses my path. She’s beautiful, caring,
and a breath of fresh air. Most of all, she brings joy to my stagnant
heart.
We couldn’t be more opposite, yet she fills my soul with the hope of
a future I don’t deserve.
I want her smile, her heart, her soul. But she’s off-limits to a man
like me.

***

Jenna Nichols
A winning lottery ticket changed the course of my life forever. My
future’s secure and I want for nothing. But material things can’t
make up for what I long for most.
True love.
When Jonas Knowles pops up on my radar, he’s a blip I can’t ignore.
He’s handsome, hardworking, and makes my heart lighter. I want to
trust him with all my secrets, but I’ve been burned by greedy rogues
in the past. I’ve learned my lesson, and I won’t let my guard down
again.
Can I trust Jonas with something bigger than my bank account? Can
I trust him with my heart?

***
Warning: If you love cheering for the hard-working underdog, then
you’ll love Jonas. He’s ready to put his heart on the line for the
woman he loves, even if that means risking his future.

***

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***

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***

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 DELICATE FLOWERS
CHAPTER 1

***

Jenna
“I thought you were going to change?” Lola flits past me on the
way to the kitchen. “We’re supposed to be at Gabby’s in ten
minutes.”
“I am changed.” I’m in my standard issue nightly attire, snuggled
inside a Winnie the Pooh onesie with my hand hovering above the
remote, ready to hit play on the sappiest love story of them all. “I’m
not going.”
Cabinet doors click as Lola opens and closes them. A drawer
scrapes against bare wood, singing its broken displeasure with a
sharp pitch. A chill scurries up my spine. We’ve got handymen out
the wazoo at our beck and call, yet we still haven’t managed to fix a
kitchen drawer.
“Where are the cookies? And what do you mean you’re not
going? We always go.” Lola peeks around the corner. She hangs on
the doorframe with only her head and shoulder visible. “It’s tradition.
What we do every Friday.”
“On top of the fridge behind the bag of potato chips. I hid them
so Darby wouldn’t find them.”
Lola retreats to the kitchen. “Where else can we ogle hot men
without getting hit on?” Her snicker carries into the living room.
It’d be nice to be hit on occasionally.
A half-empty bag of potato chips rustles in the background as
Lola rattles around. I sink lower into the chair, comforted by the
pillows hugging my body.
How will we ever meet an available hot guy if we’re always
traipsing to Gabby and Justice’s house on the weekend? Half of the
guys are already taken, and those who aren’t are off-limits. Justice
nixed that little party favor in the bud when he made the silly no-
fraternizing rule.
Justice’s rule is meant to protect us, Gabby’s delicate flower
friends, from heartbreak. We’re all adults. What’s the worst that
could happen? Two adults have a good time and then find out
they’re incompatible. Fine. Deal with it and move on. We aren’t
preteen girls navigating raging hormones.
But I know Justice’s rule is about more than heartbreak and
ruining friendships. It’s about the greedy son of a biscuit who used
me like a tool. He didn’t want me. He wanted a chunk of my trust
fund. Justice and Gabby are being overprotective. I learned my
lesson. I won’t let my guard down again. I don’t trust anyone
outside my circle of friends with the big money secret.
Mom winning a lottery windfall was and still is a double-edged
sword. I want to use the money for good, but there are too many
rascals who wouldn’t think twice about running a scam on me. The
trust funds Mom set up for my brother, sister, and I are enough to
allow us to do anything we want, but not enough to do nothing. My
future’s secure, and I want for nothing materially. But things can’t
buy happiness or what I long for most.
True love and a purpose in life.
There’s no use ruminating over something I can’t change
overnight. I hit the remote power button, queueing up the Blu-ray
player. My roommates will be gone by the time previews are over. I’ll
watch the movie in peace and quiet. At least the cast of characters
on the big screen will meet their soulmate and live happily ever after.
“Oh, come on, Pooh Bear. You don’t even have to change,” Lola
calls from the other room.
“I’m not feeling sociable tonight.” Saying it aloud makes me
grumpier still.
I’m grouchy and in no mood to watch all the happy couples
mingle while a do not touch bubble follows my every move. I’m out
of sorts with a serious case of the blahs. There’s got to be more
fulfilling things in life than the same old weekend routine and the
same old meaningless nine-to-five job.
 “Too bad.” Lola saunters into the living room as she packs the flat
of double-stuffed cookies into a fabric shopping bag full of snacks.
She wiggles her brows. “Gabby said Justice hired some new guys
and invited them tonight.”
“Big deal.” The idea of fresh man meat should cause at least a
twinge of interest, but it doesn’t. “It isn’t like they’re playing
matchmaker over there. We can’t all be as lucky as Gabby. We
should plan a night at MatchMakers Inc. again.”
My suggestion falls on deaf ears. Lola frowns. I’m not serious
about it anyway. Gabby and Justice meeting at a singles event was a
fluke. They’d seen each other a hundred times across the street, but
it took several rounds of speed dating to get them together. I’m
happy for them, but maybe a smidge jealous, too.
I want someone to fawn over me like Justice does over Gabby,
and Vance over Rumer. Geez, and the way Sloane and Madison set
the air around them on fire is hot as Hades. But they’d been
percolating for a long time. River should’ve known stamping his
sister with a big ole do not disturb sign was a bad idea. Madison
doesn’t play ball that way.
I should take a page out of Madison’s playbook and quit playing
ball, too. I’m not a preteen, but my hormones are out of whack. I
want a man.

***

Jonas
I pull onto Shady Lane and scan house numbers. Twinkling lights
sparkle in the empty tree branches canopying the street. It’s an old
neighborhood with a few renovated houses sprinkled in with those in
varying degrees of disrepair. Each home tells a story through its
mismatched architecture. But all have a common theme. Sprawling
front porches where families once gathered with lemonade and iced
tea. I imagine kids playing stickball and bikes lying in grassy yards
without fear someone would steal them in the night.
Things looked a lot different in my childhood neighborhood. We
kept doors closed with multiple locks. We played occasional pickup
basketball games in the street. Those games dwindled when thugs
moved in and started stirring up problems. I had my share of run-ins
with those looking for a fight and learned quickly not to look anyone
in the eye.
I find the house number Justice gave me and a spot to park. A
burly guy with a buzz cut ushers a petite woman across the
driveway. They disappear behind the back gate as a few women
cross the street, giggling and jabbering a mean streak. They follow
the same path as the couple ahead of them, disappearing through
the same gate.
Justice mentioned it’d be a full house. The Home Wreckers
Construction crew gets together every weekend to unwind.
Technically, I’m not part of the crew, but Justice insisted I come
since I’ll be working directly with his men. I’ve worked with previous
outfits, learning the physical skills the job requires. But my lack of
degree or formal training leaves me feeling like an imposter when I
meet a new crew.
When Ezra asked me to oversee Langford Enterprises’ community
outreach program, I assumed I’d be working in the city instead of
relocating beyond the burbs. I like sleepy little towns but didn’t think
Langford Enterprises would direct its focus outside the city. Urban
areas have a disproportionately higher percentage of concentrated
poverty than small towns and rural areas. People tend to take care
of their own when they know their neighbors.
It wasn’t like that for my family. When my dad split, he left us
with nothing. Alexander and I were too young to get real jobs. My
sister, Harper, helped with babysitting jobs and nannying even
though Mom insisted our only job was to get good grades and pick
up after ourselves.
Harper isn’t a wait-and-see kind of girl, though. She’s a go-getter.
She helped with bills, kept her nose to the grindstone, and managed
a college degree. It didn’t come cheap or easy, but she never
complained. Not even a peep. Harper shouldered our family burden
with a heaping dose of positivity. She helped Mom keep the family
together as best she could.
 Things looked bad when our rickety part of town went up for
auction. Alexander and I both took odd jobs after school. Mom
worked longer hours, and Harper scouted the city for affordable
housing nearby. But big companies were buying up block after block
and re-zoning for commercial use.
An anonymous donor bought all the property within a six-block
radius of our house. There was nothing left to do but pack and pray,
but eviction notices never came. That donor provided each family
with alternative housing while crews rebuilt the neighborhood one
house at a time. The only thing the donor asked of the residents was
to help in the rebuilding process and learn a trade. The donor
arranged for low-interest-rate loans so any resident who wanted to
stay could buy the property at a fair market value.
I like to think I got this job on my own merit and the hard work I
put in on Mom’s new house and all the neighbors' homes, but I
wouldn’t be where I am now if it weren’t for Harper. She hasn’t
changed much over the years. She’s as much a support system now
as she was back then. She’s never said it outright, but I know she
put in a good word for me with her boss, her fiancée, and our
neighborhood’s saving grace. Ezra Langford’s one hell of a man.
I’m not the kind of man who shows up on Ezra Langford’s radar.
But I do know a thing or two about poverty, food insecurity, and
housing instability. I can’t walk away from my background. It would
be selfish to pursue my dreams while others worry about their next
meal or where they’ll sleep.
It doesn’t go unnoticed that the worksite is on the outskirts of
Cranberry Corner, recently recognized as one of the most festive
holiday stops in the state. It’s also home to my cousin, Parker
Knowles, owner of Nerdy Bookworm and dabbler in gathering
gossip. Harper definitely had a hand in Ezra signing off on this
project. There are too many coincidences to think otherwise.
I won’t let Harper or Ezra down. I have a job to do, and that
starts now.
 CHUNKY MONKEY
CHAPTER 2

***

Jonas
It’s brisk, with a cool breeze blowing in from the north. I tuck a
case of beer under my arm and flip my collar up to shield my neck
from the cold. I don’t plan on staying long, but arriving empty-
handed is impolite.
I approach the house and follow the path in the footsteps of
those who arrived ahead of me. Music, laughter, and voices fill the
night air. I push through the unlocked gate and find Justice’s shindig
in full party mode.
When Justice invited me to his home to meet the crew, I
assumed it’d be a quiet affair. This is anything but a run-of-the-mill
gathering of hardened roughnecks. Patio heaters dot the stone patio
surrounding a pool and fire pit. Justice flips burgers on an open grill.
A redhead stands behind the bar smiling as she slings drinks to a
few guests sitting on stools.
The woman catches my eye. Her smile brightens. She wipes her
hands on a towel as she rounds the bar. She nudges Justice with her
hip, and together, they meet me halfway across the pavers.
“Glad you could make it.” Justice shakes my hand. “Jonas, meet
Gabby, my better half.”
“Good to meet you both.” I reach for Gabby’s hand, but she leans
forward, embracing me with a welcoming hug. I’m at a loss for what
to do with my free hand. Number one rule of any job; don’t hug the
boss's wife, girlfriend, sister, lover...basically any female with a
remotely personal connection to the man signing my paycheck.
“Did you find the place all right?” Gabby releases me and steps
back. “I hope driving over tonight wasn’t too much of an
inconvenience. Justice said you’re staying close to the job site.”
 “I don’t mind the drive. Can’t complain when your crew’s driving
the half hour every morning.” I remember the beer tucked beneath
my arm, acutely aware that wine might have been more appropriate.
“I didn’t know what to bring...”
“Perfect. I’ll pop this in the cooler while Gabby gets you settled
with something from the bar.” Justice takes the case, and the three
of us walk a short distance to the bar and grill area.
Gabby returns to her spot behind the bar while introducing me to
the ladies seated on stools. “Meet my besties. This is Lola, Avery,
and...” she glances across the patio and points in the direction of a
group of people. “Darby. She’s the one in the red and white
sweater.”
“Besties until Justice stole her from our sorority den across the
street.” Avery lifts her beer.
“We’re a roomie short tonight.” Gabby pops the top off a beer
and slides it across the bar to me. “Jenna couldn’t make it?”
“Not feeling sociable.” Lola frowns, then twirls her stool toward
Avery. “Something’s eating at her. She suggested we visit
MatchMakers, Inc.”
“Oh, no. Not that again.” Avery shakes her head vehemently.
“That only went well for one of us last time. I’m not interested in a
repeat.”
Gabby shrugs her shoulders with a smile. “Guilty.” She follows her
pleasure with furrowed brows. “Is Jenna having man problems
again?”
Her eyes shift to me briefly. Her lips clamp shut in a tight line as
she averts her eyes past me. A firm hand grabs my shoulder,
relieving me of the personal chatter and the awkward silence.
“Ladies.” Justice steers me away from the bar, but the warning
glance he shoots the group of women is unmistakable. Something’s
awry. “Ready to meet the crew?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be.” I let the odd change in conversation go.
There’s no need to get involved with office politics and idle gossip.
The quicker introductions are out of the way, the faster I can call it a
night and get back to the job site for some after-hours work.
 Justice whistles to get everyone’s attention. It pierces through
the music and din of chatter. A muffled hush falls over the crowd. It’s
easy to pick out the construction crew. They’re physically fit and
brawny from swinging hammers and heavy lifting. I’m physically fit,
but these guys have years of hard labor tattooed on their bodies. I’m
just getting started.
“Listen up. Jonas joins us from Langford Enterprises’
headquarters. Ezra Langford hand-picked him to run the community
outreach aspect of the project. We’ll have rookies on site in the
coming days, so make yourselves available if Jonas has any
questions as we move into phase two.” Justice pauses to glance at
me. “Anything we should know to help your end go smoothly.”
Phase two involves volunteer participation. Community plays a
huge role in rebuilding this type of neighborhood. Participation builds
trust, ownership, and pride for the residents who will occupy the
homes, often as first-time homeowners.
Mayor Stanton hosted a town hall meeting to discuss the project
when Langford Enterprises awarded the grant to Cranberry Corner.
Parker’s been a massive help in getting the word out about our need
for volunteers. She posted flyers at local businesses and shared
information about the project on social media. Harper’s assistant
gathered a roster of potential volunteers from the homeowner
applications. If I keep my nose to the grindstone, the project will be
completed on time and without a hitch.
“Our volunteers arrive with varying levels of skill and ability, but
they’re usually willing to learn. Please be patient with them. They
work hard and strive to be useful.”
“I think we can accommodate all of that. Jonas reports directly to
Langford Enterprises, but you can shoot questions my way or
directly to Jonas as they arise.” Justice slaps my back. “We’ll make a
Home Wrecker out of you soon enough. River, introduce Jonas
around while I serve burgers, will ya?”
I breathe a sigh of relief. That was quick. Not too bad. Justice
returns to the grill, and chatter quickly resumes. A burly, bearded
man disengages from the woman he’s with and stalks toward me. If
River’s the welcome committee, everything that comes after this is a
walk in the park.
“River Wilde. I’m one of the crew supervisors.” He gives my hand
a sturdy shake, not bothering with idle chit-chat. He cuts right to the
chase. “Justice didn’t tell us much about you. Care to fill me in? How
long have you been in construction working for Ezra?”
I skip the personal details and hit the high notes. It doesn’t
matter where I came from or where I’ve picked up skills. The last
thing I need is for anyone to think I’m not qualified or got my
position through nepotism. The job and people are what’s important.
“I’ve worked with the outreach program from its beginning
stages. My construction knowledge stems from hands-on work
specific to the program.” The imposter demon sits on my shoulder,
whispering in my ear. You’re a fraud. “I’m good with a hammer and
paintbrush but better with organizing people and detail work.”
“Keep your focus on work, and you’ll do fine.”
River’s eyes dart over my shoulder where Gabby and the single
ladies sit at the bar. His gruff tone doesn’t sit well with me, but I’ll
reserve judgment until I get a better fix on the situation and who
and what I’m dealing with.
River doesn’t comment or ask anything further about what
qualifies me for the job, and I don’t offer more. He introduces me to
the immediate crew I’ll work with for the next few months. They’re a
tight-knit bunch, welcoming, but they clearly have reservations
about my qualifications for the job. Maybe that’s the imposter
syndrome talking.
I stick around for burgers and linger long enough to be sociable.
I’m talked out and ready to unwind when a newcomer to the yard
catches my eye. A woman with blonde hair slips through the side
gate. She may have gone unnoticed, but the tan and red Winnie the
Pooh onesie is difficult to ignore. The hood shadows her face, but
not enough to disguise her puffy, red eyes.
Vance is regaling our small group with an animated story when
my attention shifts to the pajama-clad woman approaching the bar.
I’ve been itching to get out of here all night, but the rush to leave
doesn’t seem as urgent now. What circumstances lead a woman to
arrive at a party dressed as a big teddy bear?
She reaches the bar and slumps between Lola and Avery. They
rally around her, pulling her in for hugs.
The woman beside me brushes against my shoulder, too close for
comfort. My eyes immediately flash to Vance. It’s clear she’s with
him, but he doesn’t seem to mind her friendly nature. He continues
his animated story without batting an eye at his girlfriend's proximity
to me.
“That’s Jenna, roommate number four.” Rumer nods her head
toward Winnie the Pooh. “She’s a freak for Pooh Bear.”
What are the odds I’d run across two blondes in my life with an
affinity for the esteemed bear and his Hundred Acre Wood? And
what are the odds they both have the same name? I eye the group
of ladies but can’t get a good look at the woman who could be tied
to my past.
“What’s not to like about a bear who does nothing but eat honey
and make time for friends?” I muse while pondering how to get a
better look at the blonde without being too obvious.
The sight of a grown woman arriving unfazed at a party in teddy
bear pajamas causes a rumbling in my tummy, much like the famed
bear. Only I’m hungry for something other than honey and have no
right to feel such things.
“Oh, Jenna doesn’t do nothing. She’s the first to give her time
and money when she sees a need. She has a big heart with a
tendency to trust the wrong people. Leaps before she thinks, you
know.” Rumer pinches her lips into a frown before continuing. “The
guys are much more protective of her after what happened last year.
I don’t think she’s happy about that.”
“What happened?” I’m prying as my mind races to things that
are none of my business. Did someone hurt her? Is that why she’s
not feeling sociable like Lola mentioned?
“She could’ve lost everything if Justice hadn’t intervened when he
did.” Rumer’s eyes dart to Vance. “The guy was no good. Justice saw
right through him. Fired him on the spot before he could shake
Jenna down.”
 “I don’t follow. Are Justice and Jenna siblings?”
“Oh, no. Nothing like that. Though the Home Wreckers are a
tight bunch. We’re all family, though only a few are related by
blood.” She shifts her attention as Vance wraps up his story to a roar
of laughter. The music gets louder, and a few couples take to
dancing. “This is a safe haven for all the women who come here,
especially Gabby’s girlfriends. Justice doesn’t allow his crew to date
any of the women here. I’m surprised he didn’t mention it.”
“I’m a Langford guy, not a Home Wrecker.” I’ve never been one
to play by someone else’s rules where my private life is concerned.
I’m not inclined to start now, nor am I in the market to ruffle
feathers. “But I’m sure I’ll get wind of all the rules before I have a
chance to break any.”
“I’m sure you’ll do just fine.” Rumer smiles as she pats my arm,
then grabs Vance by the elbow to lead him to the open patio for a
dance.
Rumer’s warning piques my interest. I’ve always been inclined to
test the rules, but this is one rule I should abide by to the letter. I
have no business looking twice at a woman right now. I’m in no
position to pursue romantic relationships, no matter how fleeting.
Maybe in a few years, when I’ve proven myself worthy of the risk
Harper and Ezra are taking on me.
When I’ve proven to myself that I’m more than a kid from the
wrong side of the tracks.

***

Jenna
I should have gone with the girls to Gabby’s instead of watching
sappy romance movies alone. They do more harm than good when
I’m alone with my thoughts. It’s always the same. I bawl my eyes
out when the couple gives in to the love that’s so obvious to
everyone else.
Happy ever after, my ass. The movie couple gets a lifetime of
fictional happiness, and I’m left with a gaping hole in my heart
wanting the same, only not fictional. Where’s my happy ever after?
 At the bottom of a pint of Chunky Monkey, apparently.
I crowd in between Avery and Lola and flop my arms over their
shoulders. They surround me with welcoming, affectionate hugs. I’ve
done my share of moping lately. They’ve been more than patient
with me, doling out hugs while wrangling in the I told you so’s.
“Aw, Pooh Bear. I’m glad you came out.” Lola strokes her hand
over my forehead, removing the hood that hides my tear-stained
face. “He got the girl again, didn’t he?”
I nod, frowning. “Gets me every time.”
It’s silly, but I get invested in the characters’ happiness to the
point of choking back tears. I want to find love like in the movies. A
passion that burns so deep it brands me for another. But that’s kind
of the problem. I fall too quickly and get blindsided when feelings
aren’t reciprocated.
My sister, Eleanor, found love. Mom got a second chance with the
love of her life after twenty-something years of marriage. Why do I
attract all the loser douchebags who use me like a tool? I’m a
homing pigeon for jackoffs and jerks.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Avery strokes my back.
I don’t know what I’d do without my positivity posse.
Gabby grabs the special bottle of tequila from under the bar and
lines up a row of shot glasses. Avery slides to the next seat, and I
slump onto her stool, ready to drown my sorrows with a shot of
warm tequila.
“Whoa, wait for me.” Darby hightails it to the bar as Gabby slides
another shot glass onto the counter. “Did you get a load of the new
guy?” She fans herself as she mouths, hot hot hot.
“Darby.” Gabby chastises her with a sharp tone. She widens her
eyes as she nods toward me. “We’re toasting here.”
“Yes, right.” Darby nudges Avery, giggling, unable to control
herself. “But he is H O T.”
Gabby shoots her another warning glare as she raises her glass.
We follow suit, reciting the toast I’ve heard far too many times in the
last several months, words of wisdom from Christopher Robin, aka
A. A. Milne.
 “You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and
smarter than you think. Cheers.”
We clink glasses and throw back our shots. I shudder as the
liquid burns my throat with fire, then slicks my belly with warmth. I
slide my glass across the bar for Gabby to pour another round. I
sling it back and shiver as it glides down easier this time.
“Take that, douchebags and jerks.” Lola wipes her lips with the
back of her hand. “May a colony of fire ants march through their
drawers and bite them in the balls.”
We crumple into a pile of giddy laughter. Being with friends gives
me an instant adrenaline pick-me-up. The tequila buzz helps, too.
“Pardon me for interrupting.” A thick, rich voice cuts through our
laughter. Darby stifles a snort. The man taps thick, long fingers on
the bar, and all eyes focus on him. At least, I try to focus. He’s a bit
bleary, and my head’s a little fuzzy. “I’m headed out. Thank you for
inviting me to your home, Gabby.”
Darby wasn’t kidding. Even in a fog, he’s hot, and I’m feverish.
Tequila slips into my bloodstream, crowding the out-of-order radar
that should be dinging inside my head. It clangs against my heart,
beating out an SOS to save me from a lifetime of loneliness and
heartbreak.
“It’s a pleasure having you here, Jonas.” Gabby throws a bar
towel over her shoulder. “Don’t make yourself scarce. We do this
every weekend.”
“Jonas?” It’s been ages, a million years ago. I blink rapidly,
moistening my dry, scratchy eyes. “Jonas...Knowles? From The
Heights, the old neighborhood?”
His deep brown eyes meet mine. His brow creases, and he cocks
his head. The corners of his mouth give way to a sexy, magnetic
smile. Tequila thrums through my veins and spreads across my
chest, tingling and tickling my fingertips and toes.
“Jenna Nichols.” My name rolls off his tongue smooth and
decadent.
My heart races like I’m ten again, with him chasing me and me
wanting to be caught. I catch a glimpse of years past in his smile.
His eyes glisten with crinkled time playing at the corners. My skin
flushes hot, and I’m caught off balance, light-headed and woozy, the
same as when we were kids and teenagers.
Jonas chased me around the neighborhood as if it were his job.
But it was always more than the chase for me. I wanted to be
caught, but only by him. He’d chase me until I was breathless.
That’s when he’d finally lay his hands on me and tackle me to the
ground. My heart would race and I’d double over, hiding my
pleasures at being caught.
Things got more complicated as we navigated puberty, but Jonas
only had friendship in mind. He kept me close but at arm’s length.
I slip off the stool and steady myself with a hand on Avery’s
shoulder. Jonas’ face softens, blurring the lines of time with a
filtered, hazy lens. I step toward him, and the ground moves
beneath me, shaking and trembling.
“Jenna?” Gabby’s voice echoes in my ears, deafened by the
ringing buzz that filters through my brain. “You, okay?”
The scrape of metal on pavers sends a shiver up my spine. My
palms sweat and my onesie sticks to my clammy skin. My vision
narrows as a dark figure rushes toward me.
A fuzzy dark aura blinds me to the light. My knees buckle, and
strong hands grip beneath my arms as I crumple. My stomach
lurches as acid coats my throat. I temporarily lose control of my
faculties and hurl, unable to stop the liquid my body rejects. And
then darkness envelops me in its safety net.
 BOSSY
CHAPTER 3

***

Jenna
The warm glow of the morning sun stretches across the
landscape in a beautiful array of pink, red, and yellow hues. The
drive to Cranberry Corner is filled with equal parts anticipation and
dread. I shudder at the ridiculous scene I caused at Gabby’s when I
lost my cookies. On Jonas, no less. I’ve been itching to apologize
and catch up with him. Hopefully, he’s not one to hold a grudge.
I pull into the developing neighborhood earmarked for low-
income families. When Langford Enterprises expanded its urban
development grant program, Cranberry Corner was one of the first
small communities to receive funding. It couldn’t have come at a
better time.
A commercial developer had an eye on the property with plans to
build a luxury high-rise timeshare, shopping center, and dining
establishments. That kind of commercialism would wreck the quiet,
small-town vibe we’ve come to know and love. This neighborhood is
a much better option. The Home Wreckers have been working on
the housing addition for months now.
A converted school bus sits at the far end of the street where the
houses are mostly finished. The RV resembles a vintage Blue Bird All
American school bus, repainted in two-tone teal and cool gray. It’s
flanked by a black Jeep. It must be Jonas’ place. It’s exactly as
Justice described when I picked up Jonas’ laundered clothes last
night.
Jonas always talked about traveling around the country. It makes
sense he’d be living in something resembling an RV. At least one of
us followed our dream.
 I check the review mirror, not liking what I see. No amount of
makeup can cover the dark circles under my eyes. I should have
known better than to drown my sorrows in a pint of ice cream and
follow it up with tequila shots. Especially since I hadn’t eaten all day.
Ugh.
My gaze shifts to the freshly washed and neatly folded jeans and
shirt nestled in the passenger seat. Clean laundry won’t make
amends, but it’s a start. I gather the clothes in my arms and wish I’d
brought coffee, donuts, or something breakfasty. Maybe I shouldn’t
have come by so early and without notice.
What if Jonas never wants to see me again?
Gravel crunches beneath my feet as I approach the bus. A
healthy dose of anxiety settles in my bones, causing my stomach to
flip-flop. It’s nerves, that’s all. There won’t be a repeat of Friday
night in my future if it means never touching a shot of tequila again.
Chunky Monkey ice cream? Eh. I’ll keep that.
I rap at the glass door, holding my breath as I shift from one foot
to the other, and gnaw at my lip. Anything to calm the nerves
churning in my gut. I listen intently with an ear close to the glass
but am greeted with silence. Maybe he’s checking homes and getting
work sorted for Monday. I knock again with waning confidence.
What if he’s ignoring me, hoping I’ll give up and go away?
I back away from the door, unsure if I should bolt or continue
knocking. I clutch his clothes to my chest as I plan my getaway.
Jonas might not want to see me, but at least he’ll have his clothes
back. I trudge across the gravel, heat climbing to my cheeks.
Coming here was such a bad idea. I tug on the Jeep’s door, but I’m
met with resistance there, too.
“It’s locked.” A husky voice splits through the quiet morning like a
hot knife through butter. “Here to rob me?”
I spin on my heel and find Jonas standing in the bus’s doorway,
shirtless and barefoot, wearing nothing but a partially zipped pair of
jeans with the button undone. My heart thuds against my chest like
a racehorse on the home stretch. My throat tightens as I struggle to
rein in the wayward beat.
Jonas is eye candy for my sweet tooth.
 “I...um...no. I brought your clothes.” My voice wavers, breathless
and way too fan girlish. I take a few steps toward the bus door,
unable to take my eyes off his bedhead, tousled hair, and bubble-
gum pink lips. “I thought you might want them before work on
Monday.”
He folds his arms over his bare chest, cradling his torso. His
nipples pebble into tight buds, reminding me of the chilly air. He
steps off the landing onto the cold, hard gravel.
“Thanks for going to the trouble.” He takes a teetering step and
winces as his toes clench the rocks.
“Oh, I didn’t. I mean...Gabby washed them right away. I wasn’t
in any shape to stand, let alone run heavy machinery.” I laugh off
the embarrassing debacle from Friday night and hurry to meet him,
acutely aware of the blood rushing through my veins to my body’s
more sensitive regions. “It’s chilly, and you’re shoeless. You should
go back in before you catch a cold.”
I reach him before he takes another step.
“You sound like my mother.” A boyish grin streaks across his lips.
It warms me from the inside out, causing me to blush.
“Moms are smart that way.” I press the clothing to his chest. He
unfolds his arms and grabs them. His large hands rake across mine,
slow and sure. A needy shiver scurries up my spine, causing me to
shake in my boots. I cover my recently awakened crush with a
churlish grin and push against him to gain a bit of distance. “In you
go. I don’t want to catch myself on Justice’s bad side for getting the
new guy sick.”
“You always were bossy.” Jonas chuckles.
He grabs the doorframe and steps onto the landing. He leans his
head back, peering into the bus. His brow furrows. It occurs to me
that Jonas’ lack of clothing is a sure sign he isn’t alone. Why would
he be? He’s good-looking and new to the area, a sure catch for any
woman looking for a new face.
“I should get going...leave you to” –I gesture toward his home
on wheels– “whatever you were doing.”
I back up, stammering over my words. It’s none of my business
what he’s doing half-naked on a Sunday morning. It’s obvious he
threw his jeans on in a hurry. My eyes follow the line of his chest to
the happy trail that disappears beneath the zipper. I catch my
breath, imagining what Jonas Knowles might look like fully naked.
My eyes dart back to his, and my cheeks flush hot for the
umpteenth time. I take another step backward, swallowing my pride
and what’s left of my dignity.
“It’s good seeing you...I mean, not seeing, seeing you.” I fluster,
gulping back embarrassment. Good grief, it isn’t like I’ve never seen
a man’s bare chest before. I take another step toward my car before
I lose my composure. “I’ll leave it at that and bid you good day.”
I spin on the ball of my foot and the crunch of gravel grates on
my antsy nerves like sandpaper. I’m itchy and hot, flustered with
regret and raging hormones. It’s been forever since I’ve seen Jonas,
but after all these years, the wild, silly, toe-tingling attraction
bubbles to the surface as if time stood still.
“Would you like to get some coffee or something?” I spin to face
him, nearly losing my balance. His wrinkled brow softens, and I’m
right back in fourth grade, caught in the trap of his smile. “It’s a
shame for you to come all this way and not catch up.”
I should say no, but my body screams...YES!
“Sure, if I’m not keeping you from anything,” I hedge, tamping
down eagerness and the desire to peek inside his...bus.
“Give me a second to get dressed.” He grins without offering a
clue about what or who’s inside waiting for him.
He slips inside the bus, disappearing behind the closed double
doors without inviting me in. It’s all the answer I need.
He’s keeping me at a distance. I’m still in the friend zone.

***

Jonas
Running into Jenna at Justice and Gabby’s was a fluke at best.
She and I grew up together, but in the summer between middle and
high school, she and her family packed up and moved away from the
neighborhood. I don’t blame her parents for wanting a better life for
their family. The old neighborhood wasn’t the best place for a
growing family, especially one with young daughters.
Even at a young age, Jenna drew me in with her playful nature
and tough-as-nails attitude. She could handle herself, but something
about her brought out the protector in me. Mom raised me to look
out for those who needed help and protection. Though Jenna was
never in any real-world danger back then, I took it upon myself to
look after her.
I didn’t realize how much I needed Jenna until she was gone. I
started mixing with the wrong crowd. It wasn’t cool to hang with
girls for friendship. Things shifted as soon as boys’ voices grew
deeper, and girls developed curvy. Girls were considered
commodities on the street, goods for consumption, not friendship. If
it hadn’t been for Mom and Harper preaching the truth about
women’s worth and value, I might still be stuck living life like a two-
bit thug.
I want to be a man people look to for comfort and help rather
than contribute to the world’s problems. The way things unfolded
with Jenna the other night leads me to believe she’s already got
enough weight on her shoulders. Rumer’s warning about Justice’s
rule regarding rubbing shoulders with Jenna and the rest of Gabby’s
friends is another glaring reminder of who I am and where I came
from. No matter how close Jenna and I were as kids, I can’t screw
this job up by going rogue.
I shrug off the dirty jeans I worked most of the night in and pull
on the clean ones Jenna returned. I sift through a pile of discarded
clothes and find a thermal shirt and long sleeve flannel. The place is
a wreck, much like my life has been. But the old Skoolie’s beginning
to look more like a home. It isn’t much, but it’s mine, something I’m
proud of, even if it means I’m still a drifter finding my way.
Jenna’s leaning against the hood of her car when I emerge from
the Skoolie. Her face has barely aged, though it’s been years. Her
Winnie the Pooh pajamas didn’t do her generous curves justice. It’s
damn lucky she hadn’t filled out like she has while in the old
neighborhood. Keeping the goons away from her would have been
much more difficult.
 “You ready?” She glances up from her phone. Her eyes and nose
crinkle from the sun rising overhead. A smile widens her lips, and
she appears tickled with a spark in her eye. She tips her camera,
and a flash of light catches me off guard. “Might want to do
something about that bedhead you’ve got going.”
I run my fingers through my hair and groan. The knock on the
door jolted me from sleep. My mind was on pulling on pants, not my
hair.
“My cap’s in the Jeep. Coffee’s my treat. C’mon.” Jenna jogs to
my side, and we amble the short distance to the Jeep. I bump
against her shoulder. “Since when are you the fashion police, miss
Winnie the Pooh?”
“Hey, Pooh Bear’s the bomb.” She whacks my arm with the back
of her hand. Her rosy cheeks lift with her pouty grin. “Name one life
situation that a Pooh quote can’t fix.”
She bumps against me as we walk, sticking to me like glue, the
same way as when we were kids. Neither of us moves to disconnect.
My heart lightens, and I throw an arm across her shoulders.
“What a surprise.” I pull her closer and squeeze as I tease. Her
warmth radiates through me, and my worries melt away for the
moment. “You haven’t changed a bit, kid.”
“Oh, I’ve changed, Knowles.” She peers up at me with babydoll
eyes, then pulls away as she turns to face me while backing toward
the Jeep’s passenger door. Heat spirals in my belly with the bounce
of her step. “I’m not a kid anymore.”
Indeed she isn’t. I smell trouble on the horizon.
 CONSPIRING
CHAPTER 4

***

Jenna
“So you finally did it.” I lick coffee foam from my upper lip.
Jonas’ eyes drop to my mouth. His gaze tugs at my gut and the
tight ball of string encasing all my worries. I flick my tongue over my
lip again, enjoying his rapt attention.
“Did what exactly?” His deep voice seeps into my pores and picks
at the frayed string in my gut. It tugs at the knot holding my fears in
place, and I’m uncertain if I mind coming undone.
“The bus. You talked about touring the country all the time when
we were kids.” I pick at a donut on a plate in the middle of the table.
I’m not hungry, but being this close to Jonas makes me edgy. My
insides tingle and hum as if buzzed from too much kombucha or–my
stomach churns–tequila. “What’s it like picking up stakes and just
taking off?”
“You’re the expert at that, not me.” He shakes his head, laughing
off the curt remark. A tinge of hurt or longing laces through his
voice. His dark steely eyes pierce through me, soft yet commanding.
I lean back and warm my hands on the hot mug. “How do you
figure?”
“It isn’t important.” He deflects my question, but the inflection in
his voice makes me believe it does matter. “The Skoolie is a work in
progress, but I haven’t traveled much with it yet. This is its maiden
voyage.”
“Skoolie?”
“It’s slang for a renovated school bus. You know, Ken Kesey?” I
shake my head. “He wrote One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, and
the following year he traveled cross-country in an old school bus
with ‘The Merry Pranksters.’ They were among some of the first and
most famous Skoolie hippies, but there are others like the Road
Hog.”
“Are you a hippie or hipster, Jonas?” I smirk as I tease a smile
from the corners of his mouth. It’s a stunning smile, full of
complexity.
“Neither. I’m a regular guy doing what I can to make a living and
keep my head down.” He slouches in his seat and stretches his legs
under the table. His jeans brush against my ankles, but I don’t shy
away from the closeness. “What do you do around here? Are you a
Home Wrecker groupie?”
“Groupie? Pfft...as if.” I roll my eyes, not bothering to withhold
my sarcasm. “We’re just one big happy family. No fawning or
drooling allowed.”
I run my finger around the rim of my coffee cup, irritation
pooling in my gut. I’m so tired of being treated with kid gloves. My
brother, Samuel, doesn’t question me about who I’m dating or my
life choices. He cares but doesn’t interfere. I’m a capable adult. I
wish everyone would treat me as such.
My mother’s done amazing things with her lottery winnings. I’m
grateful she’s ensured my future with the trust fund, but sometimes
it’s a burden rather than a blessing. Money changes people. It’s
changed me. I used to know what I wanted and where I was going,
but now I’m living in limbo somewhere in the middle.
“Trouble in paradise?” Jonas nudges my leg with his.
He was always easy to talk to. We had a chemistry that went
beyond comfortable. At least for me. I could tell him anything
without fear of rejection. Back then, the only secret I couldn’t share
was how much I adored him. My secrets are different now, and
sharing them comes at a higher cost. How can I trust that someone
can love me for who I am without them being blinded by dollar
signs? Learning to tread carefully and second guess my instincts
have put the zap on my head.
“Life was less complicated when we were kids.” I glance at Jonas.
His sharp eyes penetrate my thoughts. He still carries the same
boyish charm and charismatic smile that drew me to him years ago.
“I only had you and my brother to deal with then. Justice means well
with his rules, but he and Gabby are way too protective.”
“Protective, as in they wouldn’t be too happy with us meeting for
coffee?” Jonas cocks an eyebrow.
“You’ve already been warned, haven’t you?” I lean forward in
disbelief.
“Something like that.” He smirks as he nods.
“Figures.” I shake my head, instantly losing my appetite for
coffee and picking at donuts. “One itty bitty incident.” I pinch my
fingers together and scrunch my nose for emphasis. “I’m a grown
woman. I don’t need anyone running interference for me. Why can’t
they see that?”
Jonas hooks his feet around my ankles and drags my chair
forward as he straightens. He leans over the table conspiratorially,
glancing side to side with shifty eyes. It’s the look he’d don when we
conspired to buck the system, a.k.a. ditch class.
“It’s time to show them who you are, Jenna Nichols.” I lean over
the table, meeting him in the middle. A tickling thrill rolls through me
as he cups his hands around mine. “And I’ve got a plan.”
“Yes!” I giggle.
Jonas presses his forehead against mine, meeting my laugh with
an adorable smile. Before I have time to think, I react.
My lips are on his.

***

Jonas
Jenna stares back at me, filled with glee. She rolls her forehead
and her lashes flutter closed. She captures my lips with hers. The
soft caress throws me off balance. I lean into the kiss, allowing
myself one second to enjoy it before pulling away.
Her eyes pop open, wide-eyed and hungry. I sit quietly still,
wanting to devour her, yet unable to breach the inch of space
between us. No matter how brief the kiss or unprepared for it I am,
Jenna’s lips on mine are a thousand times better than I imagined.
My heart races, wanting more than it should.
 I’ve waited most of my life for this kiss, but why did it have to
happen now? My future depends upon not screwing things up.
Justice isn’t technically my boss, but professional courtesy prompts
me to abide by his rules for the time being. At least until I can
discuss things with him. Jenna and I have a history together. I’m
someone she can trust. At least, I hope she trusts me.
“I’m so sorry.” She stammers as she jerks her head away from
me. I keep her hands firmly in mine, unwilling to let her go. “I didn’t
mean...it was an accident...a reaction. I got carried away in my
excitement...”
“Don’t be sorry, Jenna. You’re allowed to feel excited and any
other damn feeling you want.” I rub my thumb over her hand. “And
don’t say it didn’t mean anything.”
I hope to God there was intention behind her kiss. Something
more than getting carried away with excitement. There sure as hell
was in the little I gave back. I’m not privy to the details of her itty
bitty incident, but whatever happened has thrown her confidence off
balance. That’s not like the Jenna I knew. That Jenna was a free
spirit, daring, and always up for a challenge.
“I’ve totally messed things up.” She sulks back in her chair, eyes
focused on our hands, refusing to look me in the eye.
“You haven’t messed anything up, Jenna. I’m not going
anywhere.” I squeeze her hands, resolute in my decision. “I won’t
allow anyone to dictate how we spend time together.”
A faint smile plays over her lips. Her eyelashes feather beneath
her brow as she looks up sheepishly and nods. God, she’s the angel
I need to save me from a torturously lonely life. After I fight the
demons of my past.
“You said you have a plan.” Her voice squeaks.
“The best way to change people’s perception of who you are is to
show them.” I know this from experience. It takes more than words
to prove who we are. It takes action. Proving my worth is what I’ve
been trying to do my whole life.
Jenna clears the knot in her throat and straightens her shoulders.
Her shy, coy smile brightens. That’s the Jenna I know and love.
“Let’s show them what we’re made of, Jonas.”
 “That’s the spirit.” I admire Jenna’s willingness to put her trust in
me. It’s time I put my trust in someone other than myself, too. “I’m
not proud of some of the choices I made in the past. My life could
have gone in a different direction if it weren’t for Ezra. When he
rebuilt the old neighborhood, he changed the course of my life for
the better. He gave me a chance to choose a better life and make a
difference in the world.”
Jenna listens intently, laser-focused on my eyes. Would she
cringe if she knew how dark my world became when she moved
away?
“I’ve worked on Ezra’s crews for a while, but my sister went out
on a limb for me with this job. I can’t screw this up.” My heart beats
erratically against my ribs as I fight against the demon telling me I’m
not good enough. Not good enough for honest work, friendship, or
love. “I need to prove I’m worth the risk they took believing in me.”
“I believe in you, Jonas.” Jenna slides her hands from between
mine and folds her fingertips into my palms. “I want to help.”
“We’ll help each other.” I squeeze her hands. We were thick as
thieves when we were kids. The true test of friendship is picking
back up where we left off as if time never lapsed. “Do you mind
getting your hands dirty?”
“Are you kidding?” She slides her elbows along the table’s
surface, bringing our linked hands to rest at her chin. Her plump lips
perch atop my knuckle as she studies me with fluttering lashes and a
flirtatious grin. “I’m a huge fan of getting dirty.”
Damn. She’ll be the ruin of me, and I’ll die a happy man.
 TRUST ISSUES
CHAPTER 5

***

Jenna
Jonas teases my senses with his magnetic smile. It’s been years
since we’ve seen each other, but he makes it easy to pick up where
we left off. He brings out the playfulness in me that’s been misplaced
for some time.
“There’s something I want to show you.” His smile widens. “If
you don’t mind braving the elements, that is.
I’d like him to show me where that happy trail I spied earlier
leads, but my gut tells me that’s not what he’s offering...for now.
“Is it part of your plan?”
“It is.”
“Then I’m game.” Who am I kidding? I followed Jonas around like
a little lost puppy when we were kids. He’s lucky I’m not handcuffing
myself to his side now. “Where to?”
“Back to the job site.” He tugs my hands when he scoots his chair
away from the table, and I willingly follow his lead.
We grab coffees to go and drive back to the Skoolie. I’m mostly
convinced he isn’t hiding a lover inside, but he doesn’t invite me in
when he grabs a set of keys from inside. I’m curious but tamp down
the urge to pry.
We walk comfortably, side by side, following the street, passing
houses in various stages of completion, from poured cement slabs to
those framed with two-by-fours. Jonas keeps a friendly yet
respectful distance from me. I want to slide my hand into his like we
were at the coffee shop, but I understand his predicament, working
on Justice’s job site. It doesn’t change the fact we’re a team, just
like when we were kids.
Whatever he has planned will fix everything. I know it.
 “What do you want out of life, Jenna?” He fingers through keys
until he finds the one he’s looking for and inserts it into the lock of
the first semi-completed home.
“The same as anyone else, I guess.” His question takes me off
guard. What do I want? Life in limbo is not where I want to be now
or five to ten years from now. “The man, the ring, a house with a
picket fence, and two-point-five kids. Oh, and a dog.”
I’m pleased with myself even though it’s a flippant answer. It’s
generic, funny, and off the cuff. I’ll know what I want when I find it.
Right?
“I’m serious.” He pauses in the doorway. His brows pinch
together when he turns to face me. “What do you want deep down
right here?”
He gently taps my chest with his fingers, prompting my heart to
thump wildly beneath them. Right this second, I’d like Jonas to
breathe for me. My shallow breaths come slow and low with him
touching me, even if it is through layers of thermals.
“I don’t know. Except...I want to make a difference. I don’t want
to grow old and die without a legacy, something people will
remember me for. I don’t want notoriety. I want to build something
that matters.”
I don’t know where the epiphany comes from, but it leaves me
unsettled and sad. I’m empty like before when I tried filling the
gaping hole in my chest with Chunky Monkey and tequila. I want to
do something with my life. Be someone others look up to. But I’m
stuck, unsure of myself. That uncertainty gets reinforced every day
by roommates that care too much and friends that try to keep me in
a cocoon, safe from harm.
“I want to be like my mom. She’s making a difference, doing
work that’s meaningful beyond herself. She funds women’s shelters,
soup kitchens, and homeless shelters. She’s accomplished so many
great things since she won the lottery. No one knows all the ways
she helps people, but I do. And I’ve seen how it makes her happy
and free. I want that, too.”
Jonas stares at me like I’m delusional or have lost my mind. He
pulls me inside the empty, unfinished house and closes the door.
 “Your mom won the lottery?”
This is why my friends rally around me. Because I can’t keep my
mouth shut. But Jonas is different. He isn’t a freeloader or after me
for money. Heck, he might not be after me at all. We’re just two
friends catching up. That’s all.
“A while back. But I shouldn’t have said anything.” I hook my
fingers around Jonas’ arm and beg him with pleading eyes. “Please
don’t tell Justice or anyone else on the crew I told you. I’ll never
hear the end of it.”
“You can trust me, Jenna.”
My heart wants to believe him, but my brain rings the alarm bell.
You can trust me. That’s what the last guy said.

***

Jonas
Jenna’s a puzzle. But the pieces of why her friends and the Home
Wreckers are so protective begin to fall into place. She’s lucky to
have people who care about her as much as they do. But stifling her
isn’t the answer. It’s destroyed her confidence. That’s where we
start.
“Your mom was always a smart lady. Doing things for others gets
us out of our heads, forcing us to focus on someone other than
ourselves.” Jenna’s broken spirit wounds me in a way physical pain
never could. I’d love to kiss away her scars, but there are more
important things to consider. Namely, what’s festering beneath
Jenna’s skin. “Helping others is what this building program is all
about. It’s dirty, hard work, but it builds character and confidence.
You’re a great fit for what we’re doing here.”
“You want me to work on a construction site?” Jenna’s lashes
flutter rapidly as she blinks.
“Not just any construction site.” I grin, hopeful she’ll not shy
away from the opportunity to create real change in people’s lives.
“This one. Here, with me.”
“Jonas. I’m not the handiest hammer in the toolbox. It’s sheer
luck I know a flathead screwdriver from a Phillips-head.” Her eyes
widen as she shakes her head. “Avery suggested I use a level and
stud finder when I hung pictures in the living room. I thought she
meant I should find a studly dude to help hang them.”
“At least you know what a screwdriver is.” I pull her into my arms
and squeeze her as I chuckle.
“Do you know how popular the hardware store would be if that’s
what a stud finder really did?” Her lips spread into a lovely, playful
smile. “It’d be a woman’s superstore playground.”
“Is that what you want, Jenna?” My chest expands as she melts
into my body, warming my chest as she thaws my sinful heart. “A
stud from the hardware store?”
Her lips curl as she slides her hands into my jacket. Her fingers
tickle along my sides and clutch my lower back. I pull her closer,
ignoring the warning in my gut to keep Jenna at a distance.
“I don’t need a shopping trip to find what I’m looking for.” She
rises on her toes, closing the space between us. “I hope money can’t
buy what I’m looking for.”
“Money’s overrated.” I lean into her and capture her lips with
mine.
I don’t hold anything back as I did before at the coffee shop. The
empty house offers protection from prying eyes and personal
judgment. Jenna gives herself wholly to the kiss, arching her neck,
crushing her body into mine, and clinging to me with her fingertips
digging into my back.
Heat liquefies between us as the years spent apart melt away. I
slip my tongue across the seam of her plump lips, and she invites
me into her sweet heat. She tastes of honey and caffeine, a glorious
mix of decadence and promise. Her floral shampoo and fruity lotion
cling to my lungs. I scrape my teeth along her lower lip and savor
her hungry cry as it spills over my tongue.
We’re venturing into forbidden territory, and I’m sucked in with
every lick, nip, and mewling cry she offers me.
She tugs at my shirt, pulling the hem from my jeans. Her fingers
slip up my back as she crushes into my body. I drag my hands over
her hips and grip her ass, pulling her into my bulge that aches with
insatiable need. She matches my craving with her own, grinding
against me. My legs tingle as hair prickles against the rough denim.
The friction between us drives our course.
The faint slam of a car door draws my attention, and I’m hyper-
aware of where this encounter is headed. I pull away from Jenna,
stilling her hips as she claws at my back.
“We can’t do this, Jenna. Not here.” I’m breathless as my heart
pounds against my bones, brutal and unforgiving. “Not like this.”
When I claim her body, it’ll be in a bed shrouded in privacy. Not
in some filthy, gutted house that someone could barge in
unannounced. Jenna deserves more than a quick fuck driven by heat
and misguided circumstances. I can give her so much more than
this. I will give her more.
“Don’t stop, Jonas. Please. I need this,” she pleads as she tugs at
my shirt. “I need you.”
“Someone’s out there.” She stills as I take her hands, removing
them from my body. “I won’t let anyone catch us like this.”
“You mean, you don’t want anyone we know to catch us like
this.” She straightens her shirt, clearly miffed.
“That isn’t what I mean.” I reach for her arm and pull her to me.
Her sad eyes betray the hurt that lingers beneath the surface. I lay a
possessive kiss on her lips, conveying how much I want her, then
seal the exchange with a promise. “What’s between us isn’t a
spectator sport. When you come undone, it’ll be a show for only
me.”
“We’ll do things your way.” She nods in agreement while softly
stroking her palm over my jaw. Her glossy swollen lips curl into a shy
smile. “But patience isn’t my strong suit.”
She’s feisty and tempting, but I can’t afford to be foolish. I need
a few weeks on the job under my belt before ruffling feathers.
 WARDROBE MALFUNCTION
CHAPTER 6

***

Jenna
I pull on a pair of stained, ripped jeans, a Winnie the Pooh long-
sleeved thermal, and an old flannel shirt with a tear in the breast
pocket. I pull my hair into a high ponytail and slip on the Pooh Bear
winter beanie Lola gave me for Christmas last year. A pair of wool
socks and weather-worn boots later, and I’m ready to go for a day of
hard labor.
I peek at my ensemble in the full-length mirror hanging on the
closet door. It isn’t bad, but it won’t hurt to add a few finishing
touches, so I’m not a total train wreck coming in hot. I loosen a few
strands of hair around my face and quickly curl them with a flat iron,
then dab on mascara and a thin coat of lightly tinted lip balm. I stop
mid-swipe and pucker my lips.
The kiss Jonas and I shared at the coffee shop was fleeting. But
he set my soul on fire when we kissed in the empty house. My heart
raced, my toes curled, and the earth shifted beneath my feet. He
devoured me like a hungry man without sustenance for days, and I
ate up every bit of it.
I’ve carried happiness in my heart for the last couple of days. No
one can rob me of it.
“Whoa. Get a load of you.” Lola stuffs a bite of cereal into her
mouth, slurping as she chews. “Is it casual Wednesday?”
I prepped lunch last night, anticipating an audience in the kitchen
this morning. The less time I spend explaining where I’m going and
why, the better.
“I’m not going in to work today. I asked for a few days off.” I
grab an ice pack from the freezer and nudge the door closed with
Another random document with
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apotheosis of womanhood, sketched by Guido Guinizelli, is
developed with mystical fullness, and there is even perhaps a hint of
some future work in honour of Beatrice that will deal with the world
beyond the grave. The two sonnets that follow are a kind of
supplement; the first:

Amore e ’l cor gentil sono una cosa,

“Love and the gentle heart are one same thing,” gives a definition of
love, elaborating the Guinizellian doctrine; the second:

Ne li occhi porta la mia donna Amore,

“Within her eyes my lady carries Love,” pursues the conception

further, to represent Beatrice herself as the creatrix of the divine gift
of gentilezza by which the heart is capable of noble love. Two
sonnets on the death of Beatrice’s father lead up to a veritable lyrical
masterpiece, the canzone:

Donna pietosa e di novella etate,

“A lady pitiful and of tender age,” the anticipatory vision of Beatrice’s

death—the “Dante’s Dream” of Rossetti’s famous picture. The
following sonnet, in which Beatrice and Cavalcanti’s lady, Primavera
or Giovanna, appear together, is the only place in the Vita Nuova
where Dante calls her whom he loved by the name by which she
was actually known—“Bice.” Love now no longer appears weeping,
but speaks joyfully in the poet’s heart. All that was personal in
Dante’s worship seems to have passed away with his earlier
lamentations; his love has become a transcendental rapture, an
ecstasy of self-annihilation. This part of the book culminates in the
two sonnets:
 Tanto gentile e tanto onesta pare,

“So noble and so pure seems my lady,” in which a similar sonnet of

Guinizelli’s is easily surpassed, and

Vede perfettamente onne salute,

“He seeth perfectly all bliss, who beholds my lady among the ladies”;
sonnets which are flawless gems of mediaeval poetry. Then abruptly,
in the composition of a canzone which should have shown how Love
by means of Beatrice regenerated his soul, the pen falls from his
hand: Beatrice has been called by God to Himself, to be glorious
under the banner of Mary, “How doth the city sit solitary that was full
of people!”
Some falling off may be detected here and there in the third part of
the Vita Nuova (xxix. to xli.), which includes the prose and poetry
connected with Beatrice’s death, the love for the lady who takes pity
upon the poet’s grief, his repentance and return to Beatrice’s
memory. A stately canzone:

Li occhi dolenti per pietà del core,

“The eyes that grieve for pity of the heart,” is a companion piece to
the opening canzone of the second part; the poet now speaks of
Beatrice’s death in the same form and to the same love-illumined
ladies to whom he had formerly sung her praises. More beautiful are
the closing lines of the shorter canzone, written for Dante’s second
friend, who was apparently Beatrice’s brother. After the charming
episode of the poet drawing an Angel on her anniversary, the “gentle
lady, young and very fair,” inspires him with four sonnets; and his
incipient love for her is dispelled by a “strong imagination,” a vision of
Beatrice as he had first seen her in her crimson raiment of childhood.
The bitterness of Dante’s repentance is a foretaste of the confession
upon Lethe’s bank in the Purgatorio. The pilgrims pass through the
city on their way to Rome, “in that season when many folk go to see
that blessed likeness which Jesus Christ left us as exemplar of His
most beauteous face, which my lady sees in glory” (V. N. xli.); and
this third part closes with the sonnet in which Dante calls upon the
pilgrims to tarry a little, till they have heard how the city lies desolate
for the loss of Beatrice.
In the epilogue (xlii., xliii.), in answer to the request of two of those
noble ladies who throng the ways of Dante’s mystical city of youth
and love as God’s Angels guard the terraces of the Mount of
Purgation, Dante writes the last sonnet of the book; wherein a “new
intelligence,” born of Love, guides the pilgrim spirit beyond the
spheres into the Empyrean to behold the blessedness of Beatrice. It
is an anticipation of the spiritual ascent of the Divina Commedia,
which is confirmed in the famous passage which closes the “new life”
of Love:
“After this sonnet there appeared unto me a wonderful vision:
wherein I saw things which made me purpose to say no more of this
blessed one, until such time as I could discourse more worthily
concerning her. And to attain to that I labour all I can, even as she
knoweth verily. Wherefore if it shall be His pleasure, through whom is
the life of all things, that my life continue for some years, I hope that I
shall yet utter concerning her what hath never been said of any
woman. And then may it seem good unto Him, who is the Lord of
courtesy, that my soul may go hence to behold the glory of its lady:
to wit, of that blessed Beatrice who gazeth gloriously upon the
countenance of Him who is blessed throughout all ages.”[10]
From the mention of the pilgrimage, and this wonderful vision, it
has been sometimes supposed that the closing chapters of the Vita
Nuova were written in 1300. It seems, however, almost certain that
there is no reference whatever to the year of Jubilee in the first case.
When Dante’s positive statement in the Convivio, that he wrote the
Vita Nuova at the entrance of manhood (gioventute being the twenty
years from twenty-five to forty-five, Conv. iv. 24), is compared with
the internal evidence of the book itself, the most probable date for its
completion would be between 1291 and 1293. It should, however, be
borne in mind that, while there is documentary evidence that some of
the single poems were in circulation before 1300, none of the extant
manuscripts of the whole work can be assigned to a date much
earlier than the middle of the fourteenth century. It is, therefore, not
inconceivable that the reference to the vision may be associated with
the spiritual experience of 1300 and slightly later than the rest of the
book.[11]
The form of the Vita Nuova, the setting of the lyrics in a prose
narrative and commentary, is one that Dante may well have invented
for himself. If he had models before his eyes, they were probably, on
the one hand, the razos or prose explanations which accompanied
the poems of the troubadours, and, on the other, the commentaries
of St. Thomas Aquinas on the works of Aristotle, which Dante
imitates in his divisions and analyses of the various poems. His
quotations show that he had already studied astronomy, and made
some rudimentary acquaintance with Aristotle and with the four chief
Latin poets; the section in which he speaks of the latter, touching
upon the relations between classical and vernacular poetry (xxv.),
suggests the germ of the De Vulgari Eloquentia. The close of the
book implies that he regarded lack of scientific and literary
equipment as keeping him from the immediate fulfilment of the
greater work that he had even then conceived for the glory of
Beatrice.
In the Convivio, where all else is allegorical, Beatrice is still simply
his first love, lo primo amore (ii. 16). Even when allegorically
interpreting the canzone which describes how another lady took her
place in his heart, after her death, as referring to Philosophy, there is
no hint of any allegory about quella viva Beatrice beata, “that
blessed Beatrice, who lives in heaven with the Angels and on earth
with my soul” (Conv. ii. 2). When about to plunge more deeply into
allegorical explanations, he ends what he has to say concerning her
by a digression upon the immortality of the soul (Conv. ii. 9): “I so
believe, so affirm, and so am certain that I shall pass after this to
another better life, there where that glorious lady lives, of whom my
soul was enamoured.”
 Those critics who question the reality of the story of the Vita
Nuova, or find it difficult to accept without an allegorical or idealistic
interpretation, are best answered in Dante’s own words: Questo
dubbio è impossibile a solvere a chi non fosse in simile grado fedele
d’Amore; e a coloro che vi sono è manifesto ciò che solverebbe le
dubitose parole; “This difficulty is impossible to solve for anyone who
is not in similar grade faithful unto Love; and to those who are so,
that is manifest which would solve the dubious words” (V. N. xiv.).

2. The “Rime”
The Rime—for which the more modern title, Canzoniere, has
sometimes been substituted—comprise all Dante’s lyrical poems,
together with others that are more doubtfully attributed to him. In the
Vita Nuova were inserted three canzoni, two shorter poems in the
canzone mould, one ballata, twenty-five sonnets (including two
double sonnets). The “testo critico” of the Rime, edited by Michele
Barbi for the sexcentenary Dante, in addition to these accepts as
authentic sixteen canzoni (the sestina is merely a special form of
canzone), five ballate, thirty-four sonnets, and two stanzas. Dante
himself regards the canzone as the noblest form of poetry (V. E. ii.
3), and he expounded three of his canzoni in the Convivio. From the
middle of the fourteenth century onwards, a large number of MSS.
give these three and twelve others (fifteen in all) as a connected
whole in a certain definite order, frequently with a special rubric in
Latin or Italian prefixed to each; this order and these rubrics are due
to Boccaccio.[12] It has been more difficult to distinguish between the
certainly genuine and the doubtful pieces among the ballate and
sonnets, and the authenticity of some of those now included by Barbi
in the canon is still more or less open to question. The Rime, on the
whole, are the most unequal of Dante’s works; a few of the sonnets,
particularly some of the earlier ones and those in answer to other
poets, have but slight poetic merit, while several of the later canzoni
rank among the world’s noblest lyrics. In the sexcentenary edition
the arrangement of the lyrics is tentatively chronological, with
subsidiary groupings according to subject-matter. While following the
same general scheme, I slightly modify the arrangement, as certain
poems regarded by Barbi as “rime d’amore” appear to me to be
more probably allegorical.
(a) A first group belongs to the epoch of the Vita Nuova.
Conspicuous among them are two canzoni. One:

La dispietata mente che pur mira,

“Pitiless memory that still gazes back at the time gone by,” is
addressed directly to a woman (in this respect differing from Dante’s
other canzoni), who is probably the second lady represented as the
poet’s screen. The other:

E ’m’ incresce di me si duramente,

“I grieve for myself so bitterly,” seems to give fuller expression to the

first part of the Vita Nuova with an alien note—the image of the little
maiden has yielded to that of the woman whose great beauty is the
object of unattainable desire. At times a lighter note is struck; Dante
is apparently simply supplying words for composers to set to music,
or revealing a spirit of playfulness of which there is no trace in the
Vita Nuova.[13] Besides sonnets in honour of Beatrice, we have a
few relating to other women, and in two ballate even their names are
given: Fioretta and Violetta. One delightful sonnet:

Sonar bracchetti e cacciatori aizzare,

“Beagles questing and huntsmen urging on,” reveals the poet taking
part in sport and appreciating a jape at his own expense. A number
of correspondence sonnets belong to this epoch, a small series
addressed to Dante da Maiano (of which no MS. has been
preserved) being probably earlier than the first sonnet of the Vita
Nuova. A note of pure romance is struck in the charming sonnet to
Guido Cavalcanti, in which the younger poet wishes that they two,
with Lapo Gianni and their three ladies (Dante’s being the first lady
who screened his love), might take a voyage over enchanted seas in
Merlin’s magic barque. Several admirable sonnets, now included in
this group, were formerly attributed to Cino da Pistoia.[14]
(b) The tenzone with Forese Donati forms a little group apart. Its
date is uncertain, but may be plausibly taken as between 1290 and
1296. These sonnets, though not free from bitterness which is
perhaps serious, may be regarded as exercises in that style of
burlesque and satirical poetry to which even Guido Guinizelli had
once paid tribute, and which Rustico di Filippo had made
characteristically Florentine.
(c) Next comes a group of poems, connected with the allegory of
the Convivio, in which an intellectual ideal is pursued with the
passion and wooed in the language of the lover who adores an
earthly mistress. “I say and affirm that the lady, of whom I was
enamoured after my first love, was the most beautiful and most pure
daughter of the Emperor of the Universe, to whom Pythagoras gave
the name Philosophy” (Conv. ii. 16). By some, not entirely
reconcilable, process the donna gentile, who appears at the end of
the Vita Nuova, has become a symbol of Philosophy, and the poet’s
love for her a most noble devotion. The canzone:

Voi che ’ntendendo il terzo ciel movete,

“Ye who by understanding move the third heaven” describing the

conflict in Dante’s mind between this new love and the memory of
Beatrice, deals again with the matter of one of the sonnets of the
Vita Nuova; but the allegory is perhaps an after-thought. It is
commented upon in the second treatise of the Convivio and quoted
in Canto viii. of the Paradiso. The other poems of this group seem
purely allegorical: “By love, in this allegory, is always intended that
study which is the application of the enamoured mind to that thing of
which it is enamoured” (Conv. ii. 16). At first this service is painful
and laborious; and the mystical lady seems a cruel and proud
mistress, as she is represented in the “pitiful ballata”:

Voi che savete ragionar d’Amore,

“Ye who know how to discourse of love,” which is referred to in the

third treatise of the Convivio (iii. 9). But the defect is on the lover’s
own part, and in her light the difficulties which sundered him and her
are dispersed like morning clouds before the face of the sun. This
mystical worship culminates in the supreme hymn to his spiritual
mistress, whose body is Wisdom and whose soul is Love:

Amor che ne la mente mi ragiona,

“Love that in my mind discourses to me of my lady desirously,” which

is the second canzone of the Convivio (quoted in V. E. ii. 6), the
amorous song that Casella was to sing “met in the milder shades of
Purgatory.” It is one of Dante’s lyrical masterpieces. Hardly less
beautiful is the canzone, likewise cited in the De Vulgari Eloquentia
(V. E. ii. 5, II):

Amor, che movi tua vertù dal cielo,

“Love that movest thy power from heaven”; with a mystical

comparison of the workings of love to those of the sun and striking
lines on the supernatural power of the illumined imagination. This
allegorical group may be regarded as closed by the canzone:

Io sento si d’Amor la gran possanza,

“I feel so the great power of love,” in which Dante represents himself
as too young to obtain his lady’s grace, but is content to serve on,
finding the quest of philosophic truth its own reward. This poem has
two commiati (the commiato, or tornata, being the stanza or part of a
stanza, or a few independent lines, added as an address or farewell
at the end of a canzone); both seem to imply that philosophic verse
may be the instrument of political or social reform.[15]
(d) Dante originally held that Italian poetry should only be used for
writing upon love, and therefore, in his younger days, a philosophical
poem would naturally take the form of a love ode. In the Vita Nuova,
he argues “against those who rhyme upon any matter other than
amorous; seeing that such mode of speech was originally found for
speaking of love” (V. N. xxv). His views naturally widened before he
wrote his later canzoni (cf. V. E. ii. 2); but when, lacking inspiration
for a higher lyrical flight or baffled by some metaphysical problem, he
turns to set erring men right in didactic canzoni on some humbler
ethical subject, he represents himself as so doing because out of
favour with his lady or deserted by love. Thus, “The sweet rhymes of
love, which I was wont to seek in my thoughts, needs must I leave”—

Le dolci rime d’amor, ch’i’ solia

—opens the canzone on the spiritual nature of true gentilezza

(inspired in part by Guinizelli), which is expounded in the fourth
treatise of the Convivio, and, although somewhat unequal, contains
one ineffable stanza upon the noble soul in life’s four stages. A
companion poem:

Poscia ch’Amor del tutto m’ ha lasciato,

“Since love has left me utterly,” deals with leggiadria, the outward
expression of a chivalrous soul, and shows the influence of the
Tesoretto of Brunetto Latini. These two canzoni, which contain
transcripts from the Aristotelian Ethics, only here and there become
poetry. In the larger proportion of short lines in the stanza, Dante
seems feeling his way to a more popular metrical form and a freer
treatment, as well as a wider range of subject. The second has
satirical sketches of vicious or offensive types of men, with whom he
will deal more severely in the Commedia.
(e) There are certain lyrics of Dante’s which can hardly admit of an
allegorical interpretation, but are almost certainly the expression of
passionate love for real women. Most notable among these are a
group of four canzoni, known as the rime per la donna pietra, which
are characterised by a peculiar incessant playing upon the word
pietra, or “stone,” which has led to the hypothesis that they were
inspired by a lady named Pietra, or at least by one who had been as
cold and rigid as Beatrice had been the giver of blessing. The
canzone of the aspro parlare:

Così nel mio parlar voglio esser aspro,

“So in my speech would I be harsh, as this fair stone is in her acts,”

shows that Dante could be as terrible in his love as in his hate, and
has a suggestion of sensuality which we hardly find elsewhere in his
poetry. It is indirectly referred to in the Convivio, and quoted by
Petrarch. The other three canzoni of this “stony” group show very
strongly the influence of the Provençal Arnaut Daniel in their form,
and all their imagery is drawn from nature in winter. The sestina:

Al poco giorno e al gran cerchio d’ombra,

“To the short day and the large circle of shade have I come,” is the
first Italian example of that peculiar variety of the canzone which was
invented by Arnaut (V. E., ii. 10, 13). It gives a most wonderful
picture of this strange green-robed girl, her golden hair crowned with
grass like Botticelli’s Libyan Sibyl, in the meadow “girdled about with
very lofty hills.” Less beautiful and more artificial, the canzone:
 Amor, tu vedi ben che questa donna,

“Love, thou seest well that this lady cares not for thy power,” is
likewise quoted with complacency, for its novelty and metrical
peculiarity, in the De Vulgari Eloquentia (ii. 13). And the passion of
the whole group is summed up in the poem on Love and Winter:

Io son venuto al punto de la rota,

“I am come to the point of the wheel,” where, stanza by stanza, the

external phenomena of the world in winter are contrasted with the
state of the poet’s soul, ever burning in the “sweet martyrdom” of
love’s fire. It is the ultimate perfection of a species of poem
employed by Arnaut and other troubadours; another lyrical
masterpiece, anticipating in its degree the treatment of nature which
we find in the Commedia. These four poems were probably
composed shortly before Dante’s banishment, but another canzone
of somewhat similar tone was certainly written in exile—the famous
and much discussed “mountain song”:

Amor, da che convien pur ch’io mi doglia,

“Love, since I needs must make complaint,” apparently describing an

overwhelming passion for the fair lady of the Casentino; its pathetic
close, with its reference to Florence, has been already quoted. The
striking sonnet to Cino da Pistoia about the same time:

Io sono stato con Amore insieme.

“I have been in company with love since the circling of my ninth sun,”
affords further testimony that, at certain epochs of his life, earthly
love took captive Dante’s freewill.
(f) To the earlier years of Dante’s exile belongs the noblest and
most sublime of his lyrics, the canzone:

Tre donne intorno al cor mi son venute,

“Three ladies are come around my heart and are seated without, for
within sits Love who is in lordship of my life.” They are Justice and
her spiritual children; Love prophesies the ultimate triumph of
righteousness, and the poet, with such high companionship in
outward misfortune, declares that he counts his exile as an honour.
While recalling the legend of the apparition of Lady Poverty and her
two companions to St. Francis of Assisi, and a poem of Giraut de
Borneil on the decay of chivalry, the canzone echoes Isaiah (ch. li.).
Its key may be found in the prophet’s words: “Hearken unto me, ye
that know Justice, the people in whose heart is my law; fear ye not
the reproach of men, neither be ye afraid of their revilings.” It was
probably written between 1303 and 1306; its opening lines have
been found transcribed in a document of 1310.[16] To about the
same epoch must be assigned the powerful canzone against vice in
general and avarice in particular:

Doglia mi reca ne lo core ardire,

“Grief brings daring into my heart,” which is cited in the De Vulgari

Eloquentia (associated with another poem of Giraut de Borneil) as a
typical poem on rectitudo, “righteousness,” “the direction of the will”
(V. E. ii. 2). These two canzoni are the connecting link between the
Rime and the Commedia; the first contains the germ of Dante’s
prophecy of the Veltro, his Messianic hope of the Deliverer to come,
who shall make Love’s darts shine with new lustre and renovate the
world; in the second, we already catch the first notes of the saeva
indignatio of the sacred poem. With the exception of the “montanina
canzone” and some sonnets to Cino da Pistoia, Dante wrote few
other lyrics at this period[17]; indeed, one of the sonnets seems to
imply that he had finally turned away from such poetry (da queste
nostre rime) in contemplation of his greater task:

Io mi credea del tutto esser partito,

“I deemed myself to have utterly departed from these our rhymes,

Messer Cino, for henceforth another path befits my ship and further
from the shore.”

3. The “Convivio”
The Convivio, or “Banquet,” bears a somewhat similar relation to
the work of Dante’s second period as the Vita Nuova did to that of
his adolescence. Just as after the death of Beatrice he collected his
earlier lyrics, furnishing them with prose narrative and commentary,
so now in exile he intended to put together fourteen of his later
canzoni and write a prose commentary upon them, to the honour
and glory of his mystical lady, Philosophy. Dante was certainly not
acquainted with Plato’s Symposium. It was from the De Consolatione
Philosophiae of Boëthius that the idea came to him of representing
Philosophy as a woman; but the “woman of ful greet reverence by
semblaunt,” who “was ful of so greet age, that men ne wolde nat
trowen, in no manere, that she were of oure elde” (so Chaucer
renders Boëthius), is transformed to the likeness of a donna gentile,
the idealised human personality of the poetry of the “dolce stil
nuovo”:
“And I imagined her fashioned as a gentle lady; and I could
not imagine her in any bearing save that of compassion;
wherefore so willingly did the sense of truth look upon her,
that scarcely could I turn it from her. And from this imagining I
began to go there where she revealed herself in very sooth, to
wit, in the schools of religious and at the disputations of
 philosophers; so that in a short time, perchance of thirty
months, I began to feel so much of her sweetness, that her
love drove out and destroyed every other thought” (Conv. ii.
13).
The Convivio is an attempt to bring philosophy out of the schools
of religious and away from the disputations of philosophers, to
render her beauty accessible even, to the unlearned. “The Convivio”,
says Dr. Wicksteed, “might very well be described as an attempt to
throw into popular form the matter of the Aristotelian treatises of
Albertus Magnus and Thomas Aquinas.” Dante’s text is the opening
sentence of Aristotle’s Metaphysics: “All men by nature desire to
know”; which he elaborates from the commentary of Aquinas and the
latter’s Summa contra gentiles. He would gather up the crumbs
which fall from the table where the bread of Angels is eaten, and
give a banquet to all who are deprived of this spiritual food. It is the
first important work on philosophy written in Italian—an innovation
which Dante thinks necessary to defend in the chapters of the
introductory treatise, where he explains his reasons for commenting
upon these canzoni in the vernacular instead of Latin, and
incidentally utters an impassioned defence of his mother-tongue,
with noteworthy passages on the vanity of translating poetry into
another language and the potentialities of Italian prose (Conv. i. 7,
10).
In addition to this principal motive for writing the work, the desire of
giving instruction, Dante himself alleges another—the fear of infamy,
timore d’infamia (Conv. i. 2): “I fear the infamy of having followed
such great passion as whoso reads the above-mentioned canzoni
will conceive to have held sway over me; the which infamy ceases
entirely by the present speaking of myself, which shows that not
passion, but virtue, has been the moving cause.” It would seem that
Dante intended to comment upon certain of the canzoni connected
with real women, and to represent them as allegorical; it may be that,
consumed with a more than Shelleyan passion for reforming the
world, he chose this method of getting rid of certain episodes in the
past which he, with too much self-severity, regarded as rendering
him unworthy of the sublime office he had undertaken. And, by a
work of lofty style and authority, he would rehabilitate the man who,
in his exiled wanderings, had “perchance cheapened himself more
than truth wills” (i. 4).
Only the introductory treatise and three of the commentaries were
actually written: those on the canzoni Voi cite ’ntendendo, Amor che
ne la mente mi ragiona, Le dolci rime d’amor. If the whole work had
been completed on the same scale as these four treatises, a great
part of the field of knowledge open to the fourteenth century would
have been traversed in the ardent service of this mystical lady, whom
the poet in the second treatise—not without considerable
inconsistency—represents as the same as the donna gentile who
appeared towards the end of the Vita Nuova (Conv. ii. 2). As it is, the
movements of the celestial bodies, the ministry of the angelic orders,
the nature of the human soul and the grades of psychic life, the
mystical significance and universality of love, are among the subjects
discussed in the second and third treatises. The fourth treatise is
primarily ethical: nobility as inseparable from love and virtue, wealth,
the Aristotelian definition of moral virtue and human felicity, the goal
of human life, the virtues suitable to each age, are among the
themes considered. Under one aspect the Convivio is a vernacular
encyclopaedia (like the Trésor of Brunetto Latini), but distinguished
from previous mediaeval works of the kind by its peculiar form, its
artistic beauty, and its personal note. From the first treatise it is
evident that the whole work had been fully planned; but it is not
possible to reconstruct it with any plausibility, or to decide upon the
question of which of the extant canzoni were to be included, and in
what order. From iv. 26, it may be conjectured that the passionate
canzone, Così nel mio parlar voglio esser aspro (Rime ciii., O. canz.
xii.), was to be allegorised in the seventh treatise; while, from i. 12, ii.
1, iv. 27, it appears fairly certain that the canzone of the three ladies,
Tre donne intorno al cor (Rime civ., O. canz. xx.), would have been
expounded in the fourteenth, where Justice and Allegory were to
have been discussed; and, from i. 8 and iii. 15, that the canzone
against the vices, Doglia mi reca (Rime cvi., O. canz. x.), was
destined for the poetical basis of the last treatise of all. It is thus clear
that the Convivio would have ended with the two canzoni which form
the connecting link between the lyrical poems and the Divina
Commedia. For the rest, it is certain that there would have been no
mention of Beatrice in any of the unwritten treatises. In touching
upon the immortality of the soul (Conv. ii. 9), Dante had seen fit to
end what he wished to say of “that living blessed Beatrice, of whom I
do not intend to speak more in this book.” There seems also good
reason for supposing that the canzone for the beautiful lady of the
Casentino (Rime cxvi., O. canz. xi.), which may be of a slightly later
date than the others, would not have formed part of the completed
work.
Witte and others after him have supposed that the Convivio
represents an alienation from Beatrice; that the Philosophy, which
Dante defines as the amorous use of wisdom, is a presumptuous
human science leading man astray from truth and felicity along the
dangerous and deceptive paths of free speculation. There is,
however, nothing in the book itself to support this interpretation,[18]
and, indeed, a comparison between the second canzone, Amor che
ne la mente mi ragiona, and the first canzone of the Vita Nuova
points to the conclusion that the personification of philosophy is but a
phase in the apotheosis of Beatrice herself. The Convivio is the first
fruit of Dante’s labours to fulfil the promise made at the end of the
book of his youth; his knowledge of literature and philosophy has
immeasurably widened, his speculations on human life and nature
have matured, and his prose style, in its comparative freedom and
variety, its articulation and passages of spontaneous eloquence,
shows a vast progress from that of the Vita Nuova.
There are passages in the Convivio which appear to be
contradicted in the Divina Commedia. One of the most curious is the
treatment of Guido da Montefeltro, who, in Conv. iv. 28, is “our most
noble Italian,” and a type of the noble soul returning to God in the
last stage of life, whereas, in the Inferno (Canto xxvii.), he is found in
the torturing flames of the evil counsellors. Several opinions are
directly or indirectly withdrawn in the Paradiso; but these are to be
rather regarded as mistakes which, in the light of subsequent
knowledge, Dante desired to rectify or repudiate; such as the theory
of the shadow on the moon being caused by rarity and density,
based upon Averroës, and a peculiar arrangement of the celestial
hierarchies, derived from the Moralia of St. Gregory the Great. And,
in the Purgatorio, the poet discards his “dread of infamy,” when he
dares not meet Beatrice’s gaze in the Garden of Eden; he casts
aside the allegorical veil he had tried to draw over a portion of the
past, and makes the full confession which we find in Cantos xxx. and
xxxi. In the fourth treatise, an erroneous sentence attributed to
Frederick II. (in reality a mutilated version of the definition of nobility
given by Aristotle in the Politics) leads Dante to examine the limits
and foundation of the imperial authority, the divine origin of Rome
and the universal dominion of the Roman people, the relation of
philosophy to government; a theme which he will work out more fully
and scientifically in the Monarchia. The result is two singularly
beautiful chapters (iv.-v.); a prose hymn to Rome, an idealised
history of the city and her empire. It is the first indication of the poet’s
conversion from the narrower political creed of the Florentine citizen
to the ideal imperialism which inspires his later works.
It has sometimes been held that portions of the Convivio were
written before exile. Nevertheless, while two of the canzoni were
composed before 1300, it seems most probable that the prose
commentaries took their present shape between Dante’s breaking
with his fellow-exiles and the advent of Henry VII. A passage
concerning Frederick II., “the last emperor of the Romans with
respect to the present time, although Rudolph and Adolph and Albert
were elected after his death and that of his descendants” (Conv. iv.
3), shows that the fourth treatise was written before the election of
Henry VII., in November 1308; while a reference to Gherardo da
Cammino, lord of Treviso (iv. 14), seems to have been written after
his death in March 1306. From the mention of Dante’s wanderings in
exile through so many regions of Italy (i. 3), it has sometimes been
argued that the first is later than the subsequent treatises. It is
tempting to associate the breaking off the work with Boccaccio’s
story of the recovery of the beginning of the Inferno. Be that as it
may, the advent of the new Caesar, Dante’s own return for a while to
political activity, probably interrupted his life of study; and, when the
storm passed away and left the poet disillusioned, his ideals had
changed, another world lay open to his gaze, and the Convivio was
finally abandoned.
 FOOTNOTES:
[10] Io spero di dicer di lei quello che mai non fue detto
d’alcuna: dicer (dire) and detta, have here (as elsewhere in
Dante) the sense of artistic utterance, and more particularly
composition in poetry, whether in Latin or the vernacular. Cf. V. N.
xxv.
[11] Livi has shown that the first documentary evidence of the
existence of the Vita Nuova as a book is found at Bologna in June
1306.
[12] The Sexcentenary Dante admits as authentic one canzone
not included in this series: Lo doloroso amor che mi conduce
(Rime lxviii., O. canz. xvi.*); which is evidently an early
composition.
[13] Cf. Rime xlviii., lvi., lxiii. and the later xcix.; O. son. xlviii.*,
ball. viii., son. I.*, son. xxxvii.*
[14] Note especially Rime lix., lxvi.; O. sonnets lv., xxxviii*.
[15] To this group I would assign the sonnet, Chi guarderà già
mai sanza paura, and the ballata, I’ mi son pargoletta bella e
nova, without attaching any special significance to the fact that
“pargoletta” (“maiden” or “young girl”) occurs also in the canzone,
Io son venuto al punto de la rota, and in Beatrice’s rebuke, Purg.
xxxi. 59.
[16] Cf. G. Livi, Dante suoi primi cultori sua gente in Bologna, p.
24.
[17] Barbi adds to the Rime written in exile the impressive
political sonnet, yearning for justice and peace, Se vedi li docchi
miei di pianger vaghi (of which the attribution to Dante has
sometimes been questioned), and the sonnet on Lisetta, Per
quella via che la bellezza corre, a beautiful piece of
unquestionable authenticity, but which may, perhaps, belong to an
earlier epoch in the poet’s life.
[18] But cf. Wicksteed, From Vita Nuova to Paradiso, pp. 93-
121.
 CHAPTER III
DANTE’S LATIN WORKS
1. The “De Vulgari Eloquentia”
In the first treatise of the Convivio (i. 5), Dante announces his
intention of making a book upon Volgare Eloquenza, artistic
utterance in the vernacular. Like the Convivio, the De Vulgari
Eloquentia remains incomplete; only two books, instead of four, were
written, and of these the second is not finished. In the first book the
poet seeks the highest form of the vernacular, a perfect and imperial
Italian language, to rule in unity and concord over all the dialects, as
the Roman Empire over all the nations; in the second book he was
proceeding to show how this illustrious vulgar tongue should be used
for the art of poetry. Villani’s description of the work applies only to
the first book: “Here, in strong and ornate Latin, and with fair
reasons, he reproves all the dialects of Italy”; Boccaccio’s mainly to
the second: “A little book in Latin prose, in which he intended to give
instruction, to whoso would receive it, concerning composition in
rhyme.”[19]
Book I.—At the outset Dante strikes a slightly different note from
that of the Convivio, by boldly asserting that vernacular in general
(as the natural speech of man) is nobler than “grammar,” literary
languages like Latin or Greek, which he regards as artificially formed
(V. E. i. 1). To discover the noblest form of the Italian vernacular, the
poet starts from the very origin of language itself. To man alone of
creatures has the intercourse of speech been given: speech, the
rational and sensible sign needed for the intercommunication of
ideas. Adam and his descendants spoke Hebrew until the confusion
of Babel (cf. the totally different theory in Par. xxvi. 124), after which
this sacred speech remained only with the children of Heber (i. 2-7).
From this point onwards the work becomes amazingly modern. Of
the threefold language brought to Europe after the dispersion, the
southernmost idiom has varied into three forms of vernacular speech
—the language of those who in affirmation say oc (Spanish and
Provençal), the language of oil (French), the language of sì (Italian).
[20] And this Italian vulgar tongue has itself varied into a number of
dialects, of which Dante distinguishes fourteen groups, none of
which represent the illustrious Italian language which he is seeking.
“He attacks,” wrote Mazzini, “all the Italian dialects, but it is because
he intends to found a language common to all Italy, to create a form
worthy of representing the national idea.” The Roman is worst of all
(i. 11). A certain ideal language was indeed employed by the poets
at the Sicilian court of Frederick and Manfred, but it was not the
Sicilian dialect (i. 12). The Tuscans speak a degraded vernacular,
although Guido Cavalcanti, Lapo Gianni and another Florentine
(Dante himself), and Cino da Pistoia have recognised the excellence
of the ideal vulgar tongue (i. 13). Bologna alone has a “locution
tempered to a laudable suavity”; but which, nevertheless, cannot be
the ideal language, or Guido Guinizelli and other Bolognese poets
would not have written their poems in a form of speech quite
different from the special dialect of their city (i. 15). “The illustrious,
cardinal, courtly, and curial vulgar tongue in Italy is that which
belongs to every Italian city, and yet seems to belong to none, and
by which all the local dialects of the Italians are measured, weighed,
and compared” (i. 16). This is that ideal Italian which has been
artistically developed by Cino and his friend (Dante himself) in their
canzoni, and which makes its familiars so glorious that “in the
sweetness of this glory we cast our exile behind our back” (V. E. i.
17). Such should be the language of the imperial Italian court of
justice, and, although as far as Italy is concerned there is no prince,
and that court is scattered in body, its members are united by the
gracious light of reason (i. 18). This standard language belongs to
the whole of Italy, and is called the Italian vernacular (latinum
vulgare); “for this has been used by the illustrious writers who have
written poetry in the vernacular throughout Italy, as Sicilians,
Apulians, Tuscans, natives of Romagna, and men of both the
Marches” (i. 19).