Chapter 8
Shoot, my back is sore.
Rolling my shoulders, I attempt to ease the ache buried deep in my muscles from a long day of labor. I can’t help but smile since the ache is from quality work, not just chores around the house. I have a real, honest to God job!
There are tiny pebbles lining the sides of the road I’m walking along, but when I spy a larger one, there’s a tiny part of me that gets joy from kicking it ahead. I don’t want someone to see me acting like a child, so I try to get the most distance I can without looking like I’m literally kicking rocks.
One particular stone I’ve managed to keep in front of me after quite a few kicks, so I’m surprised when a cloud of dust hits my face from the truck pulling over in front of me. A tiny part of me gets excited thinking it could be Jaxon. I didn’t stay to say goodbye since he seemed busy, and if I stood around waiting, he might think it was odd. Spying the driver, I only feel a brief moment of disappointment before my stomach somersaults as Griffin sticks his head out the window with a broad smile.
“You headed home?” he calls out to me.
Holding my hand over my eyes to keep the sun from them, I’m able to see him a bit better. Instead of yelling back, I nod once, and he waves me over.
“Hope in, then. I’m goin’ to grab Corb’s wallet he left at your place the other day.”
Not wanting to dawdle, I pick up my pace and quickly slip into the passenger side. “Thank you for the ride.” Tugging the seatbelt across my chest, I barely have it buckled when he shifts into drive and kicks up gravel as we pull back onto the road. It’s only a five-minute drive but walking would have taken me closer to twenty minutes.
Music is playing on the radio and Griffin is tapping his thumb on the steering wheel to the beat. Then he glances over at me. “Where you comin’ from?”
“I’m volunteering at the barn raising with the church. We just got done for the night.”
He flashes me another smile and butterflies swirl in my stomach. Griffin Graham really does have a beautiful smile, and I’m sure every girl he’s flirted with has melted over it. “How’s it going so far?”
I hum in thought. “Good, I suppose. I’m not really sure all it entails, but I guess it’s going alright. We’ve got a few walls framed up.”
“Who’s handlin’ the build?”
I chew on my lip, embarrassed when my voice comes out breathy. “Jaxon Thorton. Mrs. Danielson says he’s got a construction company and asked him Sunday if he’d help.”
This time, when Griffin eyes me, there’s a slight look of concern. “Oh? Didn’t know he went to your church.”
“I don’t think he does. At least, I’ve never seen him there before. But he stopped over after service let out. I think she strong-armed into it, but he didn’t seem to mind much.”
“Huh.” Griffin seems thoughtful. I want to ask why he’s surprised but bite my tongue. My father doesn’t like when I question him, so I assume most men are the same way. He thrums his fingers on his wheel a bit harder, then asks offhandedly, “You ever find that cat?”
I settle my hand on my empty bag, feeling guilty that I forgot to get food. “I did. I meant to go to the store for some food.” Even though we’re almost at my house, I turn to look at him. “Would you actually mind pulling over and letting me out? I need to go back to the gas station. I think they’ve got some there I could pick up. That’ll make do until I go to the grocery store next.”
Instead of stopping to let me out, Griffin just does a quick U-turn on the vacant road and heads back toward town. When he picks up speed, I feel even more guilty.
“You don’t have to drive me all the way there. I can just walk.”
Waving me off, he relaxes into his seat. “Don’t be crazy. It’ll take ten minutes if I drive you. I’m not in a rush. So, you convinced your daddy to take the cat in, then?”
I hesitate because I’m sure Griffin and his brother know my father isn’t a fan of the Cooper family. I also don’t want him to find out I’m hiding a kitten over there. Then I’ll have to explain why I was over there to begin with. But lying to Griffin feels wrong as well, so I go with a partial truth.
“No, he doesn’t know about him. I’m keeping him in a barn with food and water. It’s been long enough that I’m not sure his momma is around anymore.” There, that’s all truth, just missing a crucial detail which isn’t important to know, anyway.
“Makes sense.”
I look away to hide my smile when he winks at me. It’s playful but I’m positive it doesn’t mean anything beyond being friendly, but I like it no matter his reasoning. The quick trip to the gas station happens in barely a blink of an eye before we’re already headed back to my father’s house.
We’re quiet this time for a few minutes. It feels a bit awkward, at least for me, since I have no idea what to say. My eyes flick to him and notice he’s relaxed, so maybe it’s just me. Without thinking, I blurt out, “Are you staying for dinner?”
His lips turn up at my question. “Well, I ‘spose that depends on if you’re cookin’ again. Doubt your daddy knows his way around the kitchen as well as you do. I’m guessin’ every time we’ve eaten at your place, it’s always been you makin’ the meals, not Clay. You invitin’ me to stay?”
“Oh… umm.” I stumble over my words, not sure how to answer. My question was more asking if he already had those plans, and I’m afraid if I did say yes, my father would be furious. “I-I guess it… Well, I mean my f-father might—”
My mouth snaps shut when Griffin’s hand covers my hand and squeezes. I didn’t realize I was digging my fingers into my thighs. “Relax,” he murmurs softly, then tightens his hold briefly before letting me go to grip the wheel again.
Wanting to explain, I ignore my blushing cheeks. “It’s not that I-I wouldn’t invite you. I just don’t know what he wants me to make for dinner or if there’s enough. But I’m sure if you ask him, he’d say yes.”
“I was just teasin’ you. Not that I wouldn’t want to eat your fine cookin’, but I’m not hintin’ at a free meal. Now, if Clay invites, I certainly won’t say no, but only if I know you’d be okay feedin’ an extra mouth.”
I’ve always envied the way people can smoothly unwind conversations when one of the participants is struggling through. His easy words immediately calm me, but I think it’s the lessened worry I may anger my father.
I turn away to watch out the window, unsure of how to respond. Griffin doesn’t leave me to myself for long, though. “Well? If he invites me, would you be opposed to it?”
Whipping my head around, I stare at him in surprise. “I didn’t realize you were actually asking me.”
His chuckle is light, and he lifts his chin to stress his words. “You’re not actually answerin’ me. ‘Course I’m gonna ask you. If you’re cookin’, you ought to have a say if you want to do the extra work.”
My lips press together for a moment, then I wet them with my tongue before answering. “I don’t mind cooking for you.”
He seems pleased, and the rest of our drive is done without conversation in a comfortable silence. I still feel like I should fill the silence, but since it’s only a few minutes, I bite my tongue to prevent any more embarrassing awkwardness on my part.
As soon as he parks and turns off the engine, I tuck the small bag of dry cat food into my bag and hurry toward the back door. It’s always unlocked during the day, so I hold it open for Griffin, following closely. It feels quite nice as we both kick off our shoes before heading into the kitchen, then wash our hands side by side.
I notice a half pound box of spaghetti noodles on the counter, so I check the fridge to find a thawing package of beef. My shoulders droop slightly when I realize that there won’t be enough to feed everyone with this, so I’m sure my father won’t ask Griffin to stick around. Chewing on my lip, I consider making an extra box of pasta. I could forgo the sauce and just claim that I prefer butter and garlic noodles rather than slathering them in sauce.
When a warm hand touches my lower back, I jump, not noticing he was still so close. Leaning down, he whispers, “Your daddy is snorin’ in his chair. You think you got enough for me to stick around?”
Turning my head to look up at him over my shoulder, I bite my lower lip and keep my voice as quiet as his. “There’s plenty. Looks like he wants spaghetti tonight. But you might want to check in with him first. He won’t be bothered much if you wake him.”
Griffin’s brow wrinkles, but then he flashes me that friendly smile again. His hand has stayed resting in the dip of my back the entire time. As he steps back, he lets it fall away slowly before disappearing to find my father.
I blow out a hard breath and hurry into the pantry to grab another box of pasta, just in case. Ignoring the muffled voices, I hurriedly get set up to brown the meat. Once it’s cooking, I dig out a pot to fill with water, setting it to boil before seasoning the now sizzling burger with garlic, salt, and pepper.
My father’s voice raises abruptly, and I hunch my shoulders out of habit. The door swings open, the noise of the television blaring momentarily before it slams shut. Griffin waves Corbin’s wallet at me before shoving it into his pocket.
Looking toward the door before meeting his eyes, I ask, “Is he… Are you staying?”
“If you’ll have me.” He’s grinning as he pulls out a beer from the fridge, then makes himself comfortable at the kitchen table. Cracking the can open, he tilts his head toward the living room. “Don’t think he’s gonna be awake for dinner. He’s already half in the bag.”
I’m not sure what face I make, but Griffin’s smile melts away and his mouth turns down. I turn my back on him and focus on the pan in front of me. “I don’t mind at all if you stay. Did, uhh, did he say anything else?”
Griffin is quiet, so I glance at him to see if he heard me. He’s watching me curiously, and I force a smile before breaking eye contact. “Your dad. He normally like this during the week? I know we get a bit toasty on Sundays for the games, but he sorta seems like he’s been hittin’ it for a while today.”
Waving my wooden spoon at him, I shrug him off. It’s not my place to gossip about my father’s habits and he’d be furious if I said anything that might give someone a negative opinion of him.
“I don’t pay much attention to him having a drink now and then.” In an attempt to change the subject, I push toward a new topic. I need to establish now that I prefer spaghetti without sauce, so he doesn’t think anything of it. “You like spaghetti? My father loves the sauce part of it. It’s not anything special but tastes good enough. I tend to just do my pasta up with butter, garlic, and some parmesan cheese if we’ve got it lying around. Not that I don’t like the sauce, but I just like it better plain.”
Griffin is hesitant to fall into the new subject, then I hear the creak of his chair as he relaxes. “Who doesn’t like it? One of those comfort meals you can’t mess up. Want me to go set some food out for the cat while you’re workin’?”
Shoot. I need to go run over there tonight before it gets too dark.
“Oh, don’t worry about it. I’ll head out there before I go to bed. He’ll be fine for a bit. Would you like some garlic bread with this? I can pop some in the toaster just before this is done and mix up some garlic butter. It’s nothing fancy, but it’ll do the trick.” I know I’m rambling; it’s just I’ve never had anyone sitting in here while I cook unless it’s my father when he’s in a mood and feels the need to supervise.
“If you all are gonna have some, sure. Need a hand?” His voice comes from just behind me, and I can’t hide the way I jump again. I never heard him stand from his chair, but I’m not surprised. My heart is pounding from nerves of messing this up. “Sorry. Seems I keep startlin’ you.”
He moves to my side and leans his hip against the counter to watch me. I can’t look at him because he’ll see how anxious I’m feeling. Since the water is boiling now, I dump the pasta in and stir it for a moment while I get myself under control. Finally, I’m able to plaster on another smile and pick up the pan with the cooked meat. “I need to sneak past you to drain this.”
Griffin takes a step back, only so far to allow me space in front of the sink, but I can feel the heat of his body close. Carefully pouring the meat into a bowl in the sink so the grease doesn’t clog the drain, I will away goosebumps popping up on the back of my neck. I can feel his eyes on me, watching my every move.
“All done,” I whisper, then slide back to the stove and set the pan down, quickly pouring in the sauce and a few herbs to season. “If, uhh, if you want to sit back down, this’ll be ready in a few minutes. I can make up a plate for you and my father.”
“And you.”
My face heats again with how much conviction he laces his response with. “And me. Go on, sit.”
Griffin obeys without another word, and as I move around to drain the pasta and plate the meals, I catch him watching me closely from the corner of my eye. It’s unnerving, but I also feel a sense of pride for performing without incident, like I know exactly what I’m doing.
I set a full plate in front of him before grabbing a second plate with the garlic toast along with my doctored pasta. Poking my head into the living room, I see my father is fast asleep with his mouth hanging open. The only light comes from the TV, so I quietly shut the door and place a cover over his meal, then set it in the fridge. I’m sure he’ll find it when he eventually wakes and stumbles to his bedroom.
Grabbing a napkin from the table, I sit in the chair next to Griffin, then pick up my fork. “I hope it’s alright.”
He hasn’t said a word since I urged him to sit, but he nods toward me to show I should eat first. With his eyes on me, I spin my fork in my pasta, then take a small bite, aware that he’s watching my every move.
I blow out a soft gust of air when he finally picks up his fork to dig in.