Chapter Nineteen
“Remind me not to get in the shower with you again.” Drea wandered into the small kitchen while running a comb through her hair.
Cujo smiled and poured her a glass of the red Zinfandel from the bottle he’d brought with him. “Hey. It’s not my fault you look so darned delectable wearing hot water and soap.”
Dwarfing the space in the kitchen, his track pants hung low on his waist revealing his lickable six pack, and those beautiful lines that led down to … well, whatever they were called, yumminess. She yawned and pulled her phone out of her hoodie pocket. One o’clock in the morning.
She flipped to the photo he’d just taken. In some ways, it didn’t even look like her. She appeared too confident, flushed with excitement. Was it really how he saw her?
“I can’t even look at it without getting turned on,” Cujo said, peering over her shoulder.
“Cool it, soldier,” she laughed, hopping onto one of the breakfast bar stools.
The robust wine was delicious. She turned the bottle on the counter to take a better look at the label. It had been a couple of months since she’d been able to afford any, but it was one of her favorites when she could.
“I want to take you paddleboarding at sunrise tomorrow. I’ve got boards in the back.
I know it’s a ridiculously small number of hours away, but I thought you could add it to your list of hobbies to try.
I got you this.” He placed the pink-and-white-striped bag in front of her.
“Got to be honest, Harper helped me pick it. Said men couldn’t be trusted. ”
“Trent bought her an incredibly tiny black and white polka dot bikini,” she laughed, wondering if Harper had taken it to Tahiti.
“Figured you feel a bit more comfortable in something a little less … you know … given it’s your first time. If it’s cold, you can always wear a hoodie. We’re staying in the shallows, so you’ll be fine.”
The pretty emerald green two-piece was perfect. “Thanks, Brody.” She rose to her feet and kissed him on his cheek. The corner of his mouth lifted in a warm smile.
They took their drinks outside, choosing to sit in the chairs on the porch. It had long since gone dark, and Cujo lit the candles on the table.
“Thank you for making this so special, Brody. I feel like I’ve had a week’s rest, not a day’s.”
He sat down then reached across the small table and took her hand. “My pleasure. I meant what I said the other day you know. Without all the other stuff, you and I are good.”
Drea let her head rest on the back of the chair. “I’m sorry I keep forgetting that.”
“Easily done, Shortcake. I do, too.”
They sat in silence, savoring the moment. His thumb rubbed circles over her knuckles.
“I’m worried I’m going to make my next choices based around you and me,” Drea said quietly. It had been invading her thoughts in those early morning moments between sleep and being awake.
“In what way?” She heard him shuffle in his chair, knowing he’d turned to look at her, and reluctantly opened her eyes. Fear was knotted inside her.
She considered her word choices carefully. “I don’t work in a coffee shop because I’m not smart enough to do anything else. I just couldn’t study while holding down a part-time job and helping my mom. I didn’t consider college because I knew I’d grow to be resentful I wasn’t there.”
Cujo kissed her knuckles, then held her hand tight. “I can see that, Shortcake. The way you make sense of all those environmental reports blows me away. And the way you connected the dots that led to Gilliam, and ultimately to Don.”
“I don’t want any constraints on what I do next. But I think our relationship will do that. Like what if I fall in love with the idea of going to Florida State, but don’t because it’s five hundred miles away from Miami?”
Drea took a sip of wine, needing a moment to compose the thoughts banging through her brain like metal balls in a pinball machine.
“I meant what I said after the funeral,” he said.
“Which part?”
“When I said I’d go with you. You don’t need to worry about the location.”
“But you have everything here. Your brothers, nieces, Trent, the studio, the garage. Why would you want to go with me after such a short time?”
“It’s not that short. We’ve known each other nearly six months. And everyone you mentioned, they’d still be here when I came back to visit. And we could video call. We’d figure it out.”
Fuck. She was a bad person. First she had to have her mom die to get out of the life she had. Now Cujo was talking about giving up everything he held dear so he could follow her while she did it. “I can’t ask you to do that.”
“No, you can’t. But I can offer. I wouldn’t be following after you like some lovesick puppy. We’d make a decision as a couple to move. I’d make a decision to support you while you do it. The choice of how I earn the money is mine.”
There was more though. Leaving Aunt Celine and Milo, the only family she had, would crush her. And Harper, her sister in all the ways that mattered.
“Don’t look so worried, Shortcake. It doesn’t have to be a heavy decision, and we don’t have to choose today. We can put the conversation in a holding pattern and we’ll know when it needs to come in to land.”
Cujo drank the last of his wine. “Stand up,” he instructed.
She quickly downed the rest of the liquid in her glass and put it down on the table.
He framed her face with both hands. “We can work anything out, right?”
Any lingering doubts were washed away. Through his words and actions, she knew he was there for her. “Right,” she answered with a nod.
“And that conversation doesn’t commit you to anything. Okay?”
“Okay, but same goes for you.”
“Well, I was serious about the whole moving thing, but we hadn’t discussed what you would have to do for me in bed if you accepted my offer.”
Drea shook her head and leaned forward into his chest.
“Alright, Shortcake. Let’s get you to bed. Early start tomorrow.”
It was another hour before he let her fall asleep.
* * *
The water looked spookily dark, a shoal-of-piranhas-circling-the-underside-of-your-paddleboard-and-you’d-never-know-it dark.
Cujo’s reassurance’s that they’d be fine carried no weight.
The last she’d checked, gators still roamed wild in Florida.
And even though her limbs were shorter than she’d like, she wanted to keep all of them intact, thank you very much.
Paddleboarding had been easier than she imagined. Fear of falling had been a great motivator.
Even on three hours sleep, the sunrise had been spectacular, a blend of shimmering oranges and pinks. Cujo pulling their boards together so they could kiss, perfect.
Drea shifted her stance slightly, as Cujo had taught her. She followed him to a narrow beach area.
“That was way more fun than I expected.” She really meant it.
“You did great,” he said, helping her off her board.
Cujo handed her the paddles, then hefted a board under each arm. The way the muscles flexed in his shoulders made her feel all kinds of horny.
Once at the truck, she whipped on a pair of track pants, savoring the immediate warmth from their fleecy lining. Cujo did the same and they were soon in the cab on their way back to the cottage.
He pulled into what looked like a derelict diner next to a gas station. The weeds were overgrown out front, the sign missing letters so it read W ST SID GR LL.
“Don’t judge.” Cujo killed the engine. “Best stack of blueberry buttermilk pancakes you can get.”
Cujo helped her down and placed a hand on her back. They walked inside.
“Brody, sweetheart.” A woman with a platinum-colored beehive that added nearly a foot to her stocky frame rushed toward them.
“Hey, Barb. How’re you doing? How’s Hank?”
“We’re good, darlin’, we’re good. Hank’s at the grill, as always. I’ll send him out.”
Barb led them to a booth near the front window, the benches torn in places, the red and white gingham vinyl on the table peeling at the corners, but spotlessly clean. A window box of silk flowers brightened the table.
Drea chose the cinnamon and apple French toast, Cujo the pancakes. Barb brought them huge mugs of steaming coffee with lots of half-and-half, and a large orange juice for Cujo.
Cujo played with her fingers from across the table. His wind-blown blond hair was sticking up all over the place.
When the food arrived, the amount on her plate could have served a family of four.
There were several huge chunks of fresh white bread with a deliciously crisp, sweet cinnamon crust. The apples had been baked with the French toast, and broke up as she cut through them with her fork. Syrup dripped off the stack.
“Oh my God,” she groaned, closing her eyes. “This is so good.”
“Told you.”
“I’m never going to be able to eat all this. It’s like two days of food on one plate.”
Cujo couldn’t respond. He looked like Alvin or one of the other chipmunks, his cheeks stuffed with pancakes.
Twenty minutes later, Drea pushed her half-full plate away and picked up her coffee mug with both hands, leaning back in the booth.
“I am so not going to need to eat again today.”
Cujo took what was left of her French toast.
“Seriously?”
“Shortcake, it takes some serious energy reserves to keep you happy. This engine doesn’t rev unless it has premium fuel in it,” he said with a wink.
Once full, they finished off with a leisurely coffee before they headed back to the cottage.
“I’m gonna take a nap. Someone kept me up late last night.” Drea sighed. The motion of the truck lulled her toward sleep.
Cujo’s hand glided up her thigh. “Only because you lying there naked kept me up.” Cujo laughed as she slapped his hand away.
A nondescript silver sedan pulled around them. It had one of those annoying bumper stickers, the ones that gloated about having a kid at Harvard.
“What a dick—” Cujo said.
“Holy shit. That’s Marty Jacobs,” Drea said at the same time.
Cujo flashed a look at the car. “The governor? Was he alone?”