Chapter 8
EIGHT
NICE CHAT
Knox was at the stove making scrambled eggs that smelled yummy.
Jacques was at Knox’s feet, naturally, because there was a stack of bacon Knox had fried sitting on the counter by the stove, and both my boys thought I didn’t know this, but I saw Knox had already dropped three broken off pieces to my dog.
I was letting them bond and standing in the open fridge.
“Where’s your grape jelly?” I asked, and not only because I was on toast duty for breakfast.
“I don’t eat grape jelly.”
Slowly, my head turned so I could look at him.
He was scooching very fluffy-looking eggs around the skillet. He’d sautéed mushrooms before, added them to the eggs, and it looked so good, I was about to fall face first into the pan.
“You don’t eat it because you have the body of a god and grape jelly messes with your six-pack? Or you don’t eat it because you don’t like it?”
He looked to me. “I don’t like it.”
That was when I feigned having a heart attack, hand pressed to my chest, reeling into the counter, the whole show.
He grinned at me.
“That’s…that’s…un-American,” I declared.
“Not quite,” he replied.
“It so is. How did you get into the army not liking grape jelly?”
He was still grinning.
God, I liked that look on his face.
“They didn’t ask,” he said.
“You’re telling me the United States Army does not have the question, ‘Do you like grape jelly, and if not, please see a member of personnel immediately so we can take you directly to counselling?’ on the application.”
“Stop being a smartass,” he said, humor heavy in his tone. “I’ll grab some when I swing by the store after work.”
You had to love a man who loved the grocery store.
Or at least I was finding this was the case.
I removed myself from my press on the counter, went to him and cozied up to his side.
“Thanks, baby,” I whispered.
“Anything, honey,” he whispered back and dipped in for a kiss.
When his lips hit mine…
I returned it.
* * *
The next morning, Jacques was straining at his lead on Knox’s front walk, proving that animals had very good memories.
Knox’s door opened before we got there, and he was standing in it, sans crutch, something that made me frown. Then he did a squat, something that made me frown harder, but I let go of Jacques’s leash so I could put him out of his misery, and he could run to say hi to his Uncle Knox.
They had a man-and-dog love session complete with face kisses (that was all Jacques) before Knox straightened with Jacques under his good arm.
Fortunately, the other one was still in a sling.
But picking up my dog?
And that squat?
“Are you supposed to be doing squats?” I demanded.
“I see you haven’t gotten over your pathological need to baby me.”
I answered his question by asking, “Where’s the crutch?”
“You get flesh heals, right?”
“You were shot all of five days ago.”
“And my physical therapist knows what I can and cannot do, and I can navigate short distances without it.” His brows rose. “Would you like to contradict her?”
“Ugh. Get out of the way. I need to set up Jacques.”
He got out of the way, but he did it with his lips twitching, something I decided to let slide.
When I made it inside, I was pleased to see he hadn’t overtaxed himself by making me breakfast again.
But I refused to be pleased (though I was) that he’d ordered a dozen Bosa donuts to be delivered, and the box was open on his counter, wafting out that fresh donut smell.
That was the scent I suspected heaven smelled like.
I put Jacques’s backpack on the counter beside the donuts. “If those are for the boys traipsing in and out, and not for me, I’m never speaking to you again.”
“Do you think I’m the kind of guy who would have a vanilla cream filled and a glazed buttermilk on display when you showed just as a cruel tease?” Knox joked.
He was not that type of guy.
And he remembered my favorites.
I set that mentally aside, dug out Jacques’s bowls, food Stasher, treats and toys. I tossed the toys into the living room, and Knox unclipped his leash and bent to put Jacques on the ground so he could run after them.
I filled the water bowl and put out a bit of food (Jacques was a grazer).
I set it on the floor where we used to keep his stuff when we were together (yup, more ignoring things), then I went direct to the donuts.
I had not called Raye last night to tell her about Cheyenne. I was going to discuss it with her at work.
But that was the only decision I’d made.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to ask Knox what we were going to talk about tomorrow, because it might mean we’d start talking about it now, that might upset one, the other, or the both of us, and I’d managed not to flip him off for a solid sixty hours. I didn’t want to break our roll.
I grabbed the glazed buttermilk and chomped off a big bite.
While still chewing, I told him, “I’m having dinner at Mom and Dad’s tonight. Do you want to keep Jacques until after, or do you want me to pick him up before?”
“Your choice.”
I looked to Jacques, who had his front paws on the back of the couch facing our way, his tongue lolling happily, and he was watching us.
Great.
Now I wasn’t only screwed in the head, it was worse.
I was a bad dog mom.
“After,” I said and chomped another bite out of my donut.
“You okay?” he asked, and I quit concentrating on my dog and my donut and focused on him.
He was watching me closely.
No, I thought, I’m in love with you, and I don’t know how to be friends, but I’m trying.
You’ve been shot, in what essentially is a family dispute, and the former guts me, the latter worries the hell out of me.
And your friends, not to mention my friends, all want to wade into that nightmare.
Your ex is more than likely stalking me, which, if you knew, would make you lose your mind.
You’re not talking to a bud, and haven’t been for months, because of my heartbroken yet idiotic tomfooleries.
And I think I’m breaking through with my sister, but we’ve had thirty years of this emotional estrangement, so I’m hopeful, but pessimistic, and I think it’s great she’s saving for a house, but I also think she’s running herself into the ground to do it.
“Talk to me, baby,” Knox encouraged softly.
Mm-hmm.
He was watching me closely.
And he knew me all too well.
“Tomorrow,” I replied. “I’ll grab some food and come over after work. Think about what you want me to get.”
I then started toward the door.
“Babe, take the vanilla filled. If any of the boys eat that, they’ll go into sugar shock,” Knox called after me. “Only you could down that donut and survive.”
I laughed because he was funny and because this was how we were supposed to be.
But it hurt that he sounded like that achievement was akin to winning a Nobel Peace Prize.
In the beginning, I was certain he liked me because I was me, and his comment was a reminder of that fantasy.
I went back and got the vanilla cream, hefted it his way and said, “Thanks. But you don’t have to feed me in the mornings. I have Lucia and Willow’s pastry case to choose from.”
“And I have fuck all to do all day for at least the next week and a half, when I hope they clear me to drive and I can at least do desk work at the office.”
“That soon?” I asked.
“They’re flesh wounds, babe. And thankfully, I’m fit, so my recovery is going well. But I’m not going to be cleared to go back into the field for at least another five to seven weeks, and that’s gonna blow.”
Well, there was at least that.
“Just as long as you’re not going against orders.”
“I’m not.”
“Great, then, dinner is at six at Mom and Dad’s, that means I’ll be around to pick up my baby at eight thirty, nine. Cool with you?”
One side of his lips lifted up. “Cool with me.”
“Shower and dressing change?” I asked.
“Got it covered,” he muttered.
I didn’t ask.
And I didn’t ask because I knew he found someone else to do it because it upset me so much when I did.
He was looking after me.
Because that was Knox Chambers.
Dammit.
“Right, so…see you later,” I said.
“Yeah, baby.”
I looked to Jacques. “Be good for Uncle Knox.”
Jacques gave a soft woof then panted.
That meant, I will.
I shot Knox a tight smile.
Then I got out of there.
* * *
I was at my locker, tying on my server’s apron, trying to understand how I could be hungry after two donuts (yeah, I ate the second one on the way to work—it was fresh, so it was a moral imperative), at the same time knowing it was because I could smell Willow’s muffins baking (she came in before us to do her thing filling the pastry case).
This was when Raye walked through the back door of The Surf Club.
“Hey,” I greeted.
“Hey,” she replied, heading to her locker while pulling the strap of her cute crossbody bag over her head.
It was a bag I’d seen. A bag that made me lament our long ago promise not to double up on the same awesome fashion selections because we spent so much time together, before doing that, we’d be spending even more time texting so we could be sure we didn’t go out with the same bag, shoes or entire outfit.
“How’d dinner go last night with Brady?” she queried.
“Our game is good and dead.”
She turned from stuffing her bag in her locker to me.
“So is he going to ask Gemma out, finally?” she asked.
“He and I are tight, but not tight enough to talk about whatever is up with him about Gemma,” I shared. “Every time I broach it, he shuts me down.”
“Oh God, not another one who has to get his head straight before he takes it there,” she muttered, perusing her plethora of different colored servers’ aprons to make the selection that would fit her outfit today.
I did not think this was wasteful.
I had my own plethora, and today I was wearing black to go with my red and white boho print, knee-length, long-sleeve, tassel-tie-at-the-waist dress.
And Raye was not wrong.
Cap had no problem making his intentions known for Raye, and they were inseparable within days.
Same with Eric and Jessie.
Javi, though, had some issues to deal with, so that took a while.