Chapter 16 #2
“Prescott, I’m a single woman in my thirties. If you think there’s a cat account I don’t know about, please tell me. Those are my comfort watches before bed.” She puts a hand on my shoulder. “I really am sorry. Your tribute to him made me sob for an hour.”
I pat her hand. “Thank you. That didn’t get many views, so I appreciate you telling me.”
Buford’s not living on only in my memories. Social media is a powerful medium. The loss shifts. I should’ve kept going and wielded that influence for…something.
Instead, I drained my savings and had to move.
“Tomorrow?” Clem asks. “I’m free anytime, and I know it’s an ambitious ask. I thought I’d try before school started.”
“Tomorrow.”
Clem’s grin is wide. “It’s a date.”
When she leaves, Haven sits forward. “So you’ll date her and not me?”
Have n
Prescott’s cheeks turn beet red. I’m joking. Mostly. I’m not looking for a date. I want more of that sweetness I got on the porch.
“It’s not—it’s just—” She works her jaw like she’s straightening her tongue out. “It’s business.”
The woman from behind the counter swoops by with our drinks and bread bowls, and she drops a to-go container with the cruffins.
Prescott peeks inside at the goods and pins me with an accusing gaze. “You’re behind this, aren’t you?”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” I pick up the top of the bowl and rip a chunk off. “Whatever it is that Clem wants, I think you should do it.”
There’s a lot Prescott should do. Starting with me.
My time with her red panties and those steamy front-step memories have changed me.
I’m not the same man I was before she came in my arms. I’m starving.
I can’t concentrate. I got fuck all done this morning.
All my fingers and toes are crossed that I didn’t fuck up the amount of grain I dumped into the mash tun, or Durban’s going to have my ass.
She mimics me and dips a piece of bread into her beer cheese soup. “Do you know what she wants?”
“Nope, but it’s probably for the library. She does the kids’ part of it.”
“Maybe the library is having a festival day, and they want someone to capture it.” Anyone could do that with a phone. “But she mentioned Buford.”
“Buford’s worth mentioning.” The cat is safe territory.
I won’t be captivated by the way her red lips close around the soaked bread.
Or how her pupils widen, just slightly, as she gets her first taste of the soup.
It’s fucking amazing, but now each time I eat it, her pleased expression will be in my head.
“You’ve seen him?”
Busted. “I might’ve snooped a little.”
“Oh.” She gets quiet and tears off another chunk of bread. “What’d you think?”
I thought it was a humorous but touching account. She showed off a fancy, mellow cat and talked for him in a way that anyone could relate to. I was enraptured by her voice and drawn into the vibrant imagery. “I liked it. I watched for an hour.”
Then she flashed to some prick and I almost smashed my phone into the desk. The jackass ex who’d fucked around on her.
Her eyes widen. “Really?”
If she needs me to make a sap of myself, I will.
“You know how sometimes you can skip posts over and over again, but there’s no way to pinpoint why.
Was it the lighting? The hesitation of the speaker?
No animals?” The corner of her mouth tilts up.
“You nailed all of it. Each time that cat appeared on the screen, I wanted to stay.” Only it wasn’t for the kitty, though Buford was a cute bugger.
She was in those posts. She left a part of herself in each one, and I wanted to collect them all.
“I wish I could’ve had the same effect,” she mutters and dunks another chunk of bread.
“You would’ve, but you were mourning.”
She lifts a shoulder noncommittally. “I guess. I didn’t have a purpose though, and I wasn’t enough of a draw to get beyond that.”
She is an attraction. I walked in on an asshole hitting on her. She wasn’t interested, nor does she seem to read into her worth about the guys who come on to her. Superficial isn’t what wins Prescott Keys over.
“I didn’t know if you’d show up today,” she says after we take a few more bites.
“If I didn’t, would you have kept talking to Slick?
” Okay, maybe that bothered me more than I thought.
It’s one thing to walk into the bar and some guy is always on her heels, but the bakery too?
Sure, it was one of the same men, but what if some Slick makes it through her defenses?
What if he gets her alone on the front step of her dad’s house?
“Slick?” Her red lips twist up. “The guy in line?” She shakes her head. Her hair’s in another loose bun. A different one than I’ve seen yet, and I’m apparently keeping track. “No. I know his type. Maybe he’d make a good friend. Or a fishing buddy.”
A crumb goes down the wrong tube, and I start coughing. I guzzle my Sprite. A good fucking friend? Why the hell would she think about fishing with someone other than me?
What, have I staked my claim?
“You okay?” She ducks her head to get a better look at me. “I’m kidding. He probably doesn’t pack Hennessy beef sticks.”
“I’m fine,” I wheeze. When I fully recover, I chug half my drink.
She gives me a once-over before diving into the remains of her soup bowl. “All I’m saying is that, no, I wouldn’t have done more than chat. He reminds me too much of Milo.”
“The Slick in Buford’s posts?”
“That’s the one.” She giggles. “‘Slick.’ Is that from your dad’s shows? ”
Touched she’d remember, I grin. “Probably. If it was from my mom, it’d be something like ‘goddamn cocksucking motherfucker.’”
She coughs and puts her fingers on her lips. I spoke low enough that I didn’t shatter anyone’s impression of me. “Slick is much better.”
As if I summoned her, my phone screen lights up. A text from my mom.
I flip it over. Prescott watches the move but doesn’t say anything.
My phone buzzes again. And again. Sighing, I check the messages.
Mom: I had to work Saturday night.
Mom: Have you seen the price of eggs?
Mom: Call me.
My stomach cramps around my lunch. I put the phone face down on the tabletop again and push my bread bowl to the side. The bottom is my favorite part too.
Prescott rips a soup-soaked strip from hers. She doesn’t pry.
“It’s my mom.” There goes a pleasant meal. “She needs money,” I say woodenly.
Surprise and concern fill her eyes. “Does she ask for financial help a lot?”
My laugh comes out empty. She makes it sound so formal.
“She goes through seasons. It’s not a lot, and I mean, it was hard on her, raising all of us on one income.
Everything my dad left behind stayed in a trust, and Iverson was in charge of that once he turned eighteen.
By then, he knew better than to hand it over. ”
“The trust had the mine and the land?”
I nod. “And that’s it. No money. We hunted a lot of our food.” Hoping to lighten the mood, I grin. “I didn’t contribute a whole lot other than being told to be quiet.”
She smiles, and just when I think she’s going to ask something that’ll veer us into the depressing and serious, she tips her head. Her bun flops with the move. “You probably couldn’t contribute a whole lot fishing either.”
I bark out a laugh, and it draws attention, but I don’t care. “Holding all the time I took teaching you over my head? Low blow.”
“I mean, we could try again.”
Now I’m serious. “You mean that?”
She thinks for a moment. “Will it cheer you up?”
“Yes.” Without a doubt.
“Then let me know when you’re free again. Isn’t that what fishing buddies are for?” she asks lightly.
Fishing buddies?
I know how she moans when she’s turned on. I know how wet she gets when she comes. And I’ve got her panties in my house. “Just an FYI, Red. This fishing buddy is wondering what color underwear you’re wearing today.”