Chapter Fifteen
DEACON
I’d spent most of the morning overthinking a lot of things. Dad assumed it was about Mrs. Stevens, and although he wasn’t entirely wrong, I didn’t correct him.
Yesterday had not been a good day.
For the most part, I’d managed to keep it all in check while Mrs. Stevens was there. Dad knew though; he always did.
Highly emotive scenes had never been great for me. Emotions made people unpredictable and that always made me anxious, and when emotions were already running high in stressful situations, having me add to that was never ideal.
Dad said he was certain Mrs. Stevens hadn’t even noticed that I’d needed to leave. He’d taken her into his examination room for some privacy while he consoled her, and I dealt with her beloved dog.
At least death was predictable.
I could deal with that.
Buddy had been a great dog. A great companion to Mrs. Stevens since her husband had died, and I knew from experience, as my dad had told me years before, sometimes people weep, not so much for the lost pet but for the grief of a loved one that pet helped them through.
They relive that grief all over again.
It wasn’t a rational response, but very few things humans did were rational.
It’s why I preferred animals. They acted on instinct and there was a predictability in that. There was no subterfuge, lies, or insults disguised as sarcasm in animals.
Winter’s suggestion to drop by and check on Mrs. Stevens was a great idea, and I was so grateful he offered to come with me.
I was so grateful for him.
For his phone call last night. For his letting me talk without judgment. For listening. For making me smile.
I didn’t know I could need someone like I needed him.
It was different from the way I needed my family.
It made my heart feel too big and happy.
So the line of poetry I sent him might have been too much, which was part of my morning of overthinking, but I couldn’t bring myself to regret it.
Was it a declaration? Was I saying too much?
It was very likely yes.
His gif reply of a black-and-white movie star clutching a letter to her chest while she swooned told me he liked the poem, but still . . .
Overthinking was my specialty.
His blinding smile when I walked into his store at lunchtime told me he was happy to see me.
Maybe he felt for me what I felt for him.
Though I was certain what I felt for him far exceeded his feelings.
If the online definitions of love were anything to go by.
He made my heart skip a beat, my breath would catch, and my brain would stop processing . . .
It was either love or a medical condition.
Given it only presented when I saw him, or spoke to him, or thought of him, I was sure it wasn’t medical.
“Hey,” he said softly, his eyes scanning mine. “You look great. I haven’t seen that coat before.”
I looked down at my coat. It was a navy peacoat. Nothing special. I had a white button-down underneath. Not my usual work attire. “I wanted to dress appropriately to see Mrs. Stevens,” I replied.
“Well, you look very dapper.”
Dapper.
That word made me smile.
Or maybe it was just him.
“Let me grab my coat,” he said.
“Hello, Deacon,” Aunt Ro said, coming out from the storeroom. She was carrying some books. “Well, don’t you look very handsome today.”
Oh.
I was not a fan of compliments, and two in as many minutes was my limit.
“I’ve already embarrassed him,” Winter said, coming over, now wearing his brown coat and orange beanie and holding a box of cookies. He grinned at me. “Ready?”
“Yes.”
I held the door for him and he ducked his head as he walked by me.
We walked to my truck and I opened the door for him there as well. “Oh,” he whispered. “Thank you.”
His smile made my heart thump, and when I got in behind the wheel, his eyes were on me, his cheeks pink. “Are you cold?” I turned up the heat.
“No.”
“Your cheeks are flushed.”
He laughed and fanned his face. “Because . . .”
“Because why?”
“Because you held the door for me twice just now, and that’s a first for me. Plus the poem you sent me this morning was possibly the best ever. It made me very happy, and seeing you just now, being so handsome and cute. That made me happy too. It’s a happy blush.”
My face grew warm. “Oh.”
He chuckled. “Are you cold?”
“No.”
“It’s just that your cheeks are flushed.”
I narrowed my eyes at him and he laughed. “I’m just kidding, Deacon. I’m very happy today, that’s all.”
I met his eyes. “I am happy too.”
He looked away first, which I think was a record for me. “You know, if you keep this up,” he said, looking out the window, “I just might think that silly story about Hartbridge’s Christmas Cupid is real.”
Goodness.
“I would be inclined to think it’s not real. The idea of mythical beings with a bow and arrow lacks any foundation in reality.”
He laughed before his eyes met mine. “What about fate?”
“Fate?”
“Yes. The predestination of people meeting, of paths crossing.”
I thought about that for a second. “I . . . I’m not sure. Can I get back to you on that?”
“Yes, you can.” Then he held up the cookies. “I bought the raspberry shortbread cookies. I hope Mrs. Stevens likes them.”
Oh, yes.
Right.
Mrs. Stevens.
“Yes. We should go.” I pulled the truck out and set off toward Pine Street. It wasn’t a long drive. We probably could have walked, but the air was cold today and I didn’t want Winter to catch a chill.
Mrs. Stevens’s house was a small bungalow, painted cream and white. Her shrubs had been covered for the winter, though her path had not been shoveled in a day or two. I spotted the shovel on the porch and made a mental note to do it for her when we were leaving.
I knocked on her front door and could hear her shuffling before she answered. “Oh, Deacon, is that you?” she said.
“Yes, Mrs. Stevens, it is. And this is Winter Atkins. We wanted to come see you today, to check if you were okay after yesterday.”
She got teary again.
I hadn’t thought for one second that she might not appreciate this. “If this is not appropriate, I will understand—”
“No, no,” she said, opening the door. “Please come in. It’s very sweet of you, Deacon. Please come in.”
She led us into her kitchen, to the round dining table in the middle of the room. Her house was warm, and there were a few Christmas decorations here and there to brighten the place up. “Please, take a seat.”
“We brought some cookies,” Winter said, offering her the box.
“Then I best put the kettle on.”
“I love your gingerbread house,” Winter said.
It looked as if a child had decorated it, and I wasn’t going to mention it.
“Oh, thank you,” she said with a smile. “My grandson made it.”
Thank goodness . . .
We sat and had a cup of tea, which was not my favorite, but the cookies were delicious. And Mrs. Stevens did seem to appreciate the company.
We didn’t speak of Buddy much, but like how Winter had talked to me on the phone last night, just talking in general seemed to help.
She was smiling by the end of our visit, and that made me happy.
I was glad I’d done this, and I was even more grateful for Winter now. It was his suggestion, after all, and his ability to make conversation looked easy. Small talk was not something I excelled at, or even enjoyed, but he made it look effortless.
I checked my watch, realizing it was past time we left. “My dad will be wondering where I am,” I said.
“Thank you, boys, for stopping by,” she said as we walked out. “It was very sweet of you.”
I picked up the shovel. “I will do this first,” I said, quickly shoveling her path while Winter stood by the door, still chatting with Mrs. Stevens.
Then I collected her mail and gave it to her, leaned the shovel on the porch wall, and again held Winter’s car door for him. Because he seemed to like it so much.
When I got in behind the wheel, he was looking at me, cheeks pink, eyes bright.
“Everything okay?” I asked, starting the engine.
“Just you,” he said. “You are all kinds of wonderful, you know that?”
I stopped and blinked. “Wonderful?”
“Yep. Wonderful. The way you shoveled her path, collected her mail. She said you were just like your dad. Kind, thoughtful, and handsome.”
I stared at him. “She did not say that.”
He laughed. “Okay, well, I added the handsome part. But she totally did say you were kind and thoughtful, just like your dad. She said she made the right decision in making you her vet.”
Oh.
He reached over, very quickly patting my arm. “You did great today, Deacon. You really helped her and totally brightened her day.”
“It was your idea, and I wouldn’t have done this had you not suggested it. And I wouldn’t have come on my own.”
“Then we make a pretty good team, huh?”
I met his eyes. “Yes.” I tried to hold his gaze but had to look away. “I think we do. Make a good team.”
He pressed his hands to his thighs and inhaled deeply. “We better get back to work.”
“Yes. I’m late already.”
As I drove down Main Street, and just as I was about to park the truck, Winter cleared his throat. “Sooo,” he drew out, in a way that often preluded something uncomfortable. “I was thinking . . .”
I put the truck into Park and held my breath.
And waited.
“Thinking about what?” I asked, suddenly not feeling very well.
He reached over to where I had my hand pressed to my stomach, and taking my sleeve, he whispered, “Hey.”
I looked at his face then. He was smiling, which confused me . . .
“So I was thinking,” he said, his eyes locking with mine. “That dating is awesome and all, and I’m very happy with where things are at, but I was wondering if you would want to upgrade to boyfriends?”
I blinked.
Boyfriends . . .
“Totally cool if you don’t want that,” he added quickly. “If you’re happy with how things are progressing between us. If you think it’s too soon. But I really like you, Deacon. You’re the most amazing guy I’ve ever met—”