Chapter Six
DEACON
“How was last night?” Mom asked over breakfast. “You got home late.”
“It was good. Winter said he got more done with me than he does with his aunt Ro.” I liked that too. “I met her. She’s very nice, but she left and took the kittens home. I think he gets more done with me, not because of his aunt Ro but because of the kittens.”
“What about the kittens?” Dad asked as he walked into the kitchen. He poured himself a coffee. “Did you see them last night? Are they feeding okay?”
“Yes, I saw them, but not for long,” I answered. “And they are feeding well. They looked brighter already.”
Mom smiled at me. “Amazing what some TLC can do for someone, isn’t it?”
I wasn’t sure the kittens qualified as a someone, given they weren’t a singular person, and I was going to say that but decided against it. My tendency to ruin the flow of conversation was something I tried to work on. Not always successfully either. Learning when not to speak wasn’t easy.
I decided to change the topic. “I told Winter I’d help tonight also. He still has the non-fiction to organize. He would get them all done today if he didn’t have to stop so often because of Merry and Bright.”
“He kept the names, huh?” Dad asked.
I nodded, smiling. “He did. He said Bright is a mean big brother, and Merry needs more time to feed. I liked that he recognized the difference and adjusted to suit them, not himself, even if it took longer. Especially given how busy he is.”
Dad and Mom exchanged a look that I pretended not to see.
“Well, he sounds very nice,” Mom said. “And I’m sure he appreciates you helping.”
“He said he did, yes.”
“Do you think he’ll have the store ready for Saturday?
” she asked. “I think he’ll be busy, given it’ll be the first of December, and Main Street is always busy then.
The Hendersons will put the Christmas trees up and down the sidewalks; the Christmas lights go up.
It’s always so pretty. And of course, the lighting of the Christmas tree in the park.
” She sighed. “Oh, how I love this time of year.”
Dad stood up, kissed the top of her head, and put his plate on the sink. He almost tripped over Mildred, gave her a pat and told her to be good. “Come on, Deac. We’ve got a busy day ahead. Gotta make a house call first to see Col Jenkins’ horses before we get to the clinic.”
Oh, that’s right. I’d forgotten. I shoved the last of the toast into my mouth and stood up. “Thank you for breakfast, Mom.”
“You’re most welcome, darling,” she said. “Don’t forget to take your lunch today.”
“I won’t,” I said, taking Dad’s lunch as well.
A few minutes later, Dad drove the truck out on Cottonwood Road toward the Jenkins’ ranch. He hadn’t said much, as he knew I preferred silence, but he was happy, smiling as he drove.
“Did I miss a good episode last night?” I asked.
“Nah, it was a repeat. I still watched it though.” He grinned at me. “I guessed every price correctly.”
I rolled my eyes. “I think you mean remembered every price correctly.”
He laughed, then he pointed out the windshield, up on the left. “Oh, is that Winter’s car?”
There was a small, blue SUV parked at the side of a house, steam billowing out from the exhaust. “Ah,” Dad said, as if something made sense. “That’s the Morgan’s old place. I did hear that it sold.”
Hmm.
“He said he lived out on Cottonwood Road,” I added as we passed the house.
I couldn’t see him in his car—he must be warming it up, or maybe he forgot something and ran back inside with the engine still running—but I smiled, knowing it was his car, his house.
“His aunt Ro wants to do it up, apparently. He said it needs some work.”
“Ahhh,” he said, nodding slowly. “I bet it does, but those old farmhouses sure are beautiful.”
He was quiet then, looking over at me every few seconds, as if he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how to.
“So he lives with his aunt, huh?”
“Yes.”
More silence, more sidelong glances.
“Do you have something you’d like to ask?”
He laughed, embarrassed. “Well, I just wanted to know how last night went, that’s all. You seemed to enjoy it, and you’re helping him again tonight . . .”
“I did enjoy it. I like cataloging and doing the inventory side of it. He showed me the computer system for entering the stock items. The software has a huge database. If you enter in the ISBN, it brings up all the information, and I would put in the stock amount so he knows how many copies he has of each book, and you can order more when it gets low, or if a customer requests a particular book.”
“That sounds great,” Dad said. “A bit similar to ours, but with books instead of medicine and equipment.”
I nodded. “He said I picked it up really fast.”
Dad grinned at me followed by more silence and more sidelong glances. “So,” he hedged as we slowed down to enter through the Jenkins’ gate. “Is he seeing anyone? Is he single?”
I shot him a look, heat crawling up my face. “That . . . How would I know? That’s not an appropriate thing to ask.”
“Sure it is,” he replied. “You can just ask in general conversation. Getting to know someone involves asking questions; otherwise, how are you expected to know? Like what his favorite book is, which movie did he like, where he lived before moving here, if he’s dating anyone, that kind of thing.”
I shook my head, feeling uneasy at the thought.
Because what if he is seeing someone? What if he does have a boyfriend, or a girlfriend?
And more importantly, why didn’t I think of that before?
He very likely would have a boyfriend or girlfriend. Of course he would.
“Oh.” I wiped my hands on my thighs, and my tummy ache was back.
Dad pulled the truck up to a stop at the side of the Jenkins’ house, just as Col Jenkins came outside.
“No time to dwell on those things now,” Dad said. “We’ve got work to do.”
Being busy helped—and we were busy all day, which I’m sure Dad did on purpose—but every so often my mind would drift back to Winter and asking him if he was single, and my tummy would feel all blah again.
I didn’t like that feeling.
But not having a minute’s break all day gave me less time to think, and overthink, and get myself into a state.
Making me focus on other things was the only way to stop me from focusing on Winter.
Usually the more I tried to not think about something, the more my brain latched onto it.
So Dad kept me busy with full lists of things to do all day long—appointments, rechecking stock numbers, ordering, and cleaning—right up until it was past closing time.
We were late for dinner and basically walked inside and sat at the dining table with Dad still recounting his day and asking my opinion on each case, not giving me a chance to think about anything else.
Until it was time to leave.
Mom fixed my coat at the door. “You have fun,” she said.
“I think Dad’s tired himself out today by trying to keep me occupied,” I whispered. “He’ll be asleep in his chair soon.”
Mom laughed and handed me my beanie. “I think so too.”
“I should be home around ten,” I said. “Please leave the kitchen light on.”
“Okay, love. Drive carefully.”
“Always do.”
And wow, the temperature had dropped a lot. I parked on Main Street and began walking down Short Street. I quickly pulled my gloves on, wondering if Winter had gloves with him. That was something I could ask him. Another thing in my ever-growing list of things I should ask.
Small talk made me uncomfortable, but Dad was right. It was part of the getting-to-know-someone stage, and of course friends asked friends questions. Otherwise how would we know if we were even friends?
What if he liked things I couldn’t stand?
What if he believed in things that didn’t sit well with me? Like, what if he cared about money more than people? Although he seemed very kind to me, and he was caring by nature. I’d seen that with how he adopted Merry and Bright and cared for them.
What if he hated things that I loved?
Well, I already knew he loved the same book as me. And our TV show.
But what if he didn’t like Tolkien or Tolstoy?
What if he didn’t like pancakes?
What if he wasn’t single?
What if he had a girlfriend or a boyfriend?
What if he was straight? That would be fine.
I knew a lot of straight people, and I liked them just fine.
But what if he didn’t like gay people? What if he .
. . ? Oh god, what if he laughed at me or sneered at me in disgust?
What if he asked me to leave and never see him again?
What if he . . . ?
I was at the door to the bookstore but I couldn’t bring myself to knock. Maybe I should go home. Going home would be good. Maybe I should—
The door opened, and Winter stood there, smiling at me. “Hey,” he said. Then he frowned. “What’s wrong? Deacon? Are you okay? Come inside out of the dreadful cold.”
He ushered me inside where it was nice and warm and closed the door behind me. Then he stood in front of me, his eyes wide and full of concern. “Did something happen? Are you okay?”
I shook my head, then squinted my eyes shut, seeing if everything was better when I opened them again.
Winter was still looking at me, still standing very close, not touching me, but his hand was out as if he’d like to.
“I just . . .” I licked my lips and started again.
“I have questions and I’ve been trying not to think of them all day, but on the drive here, I thought of so many I should ask you and it overloaded my brain.
Some of them not good. I’m sorry. I should go home. ”
I expected him to look at me as if I was the weirdest person he’d ever met—it wouldn’t be the first time people looked at me like that—but no, there was only kindness and understanding.
“I was just making hot chocolate,” he said. “Would you like some?”
He was offering me hot chocolate? That wasn’t what I expected, but the change of direction was good for me.
And I really liked hot chocolate.