Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
ERIKA
Two days later, I stared down at the “lunch” I’d packed of hummus, pretzels, and one of Vinny’s organic fruit snacks.
It was a meal you threw together when you didn’t have the time or energy to care if you fed yourself at all.
It showed exactly how last night had gone—hours in the freezing dark with a colicking horse, and a body running on fumes today.
Josh had crashed on my sofa but slipped out before I woke up.
Josh walked in and peeled off his scrub top, tossing it in his office chair. My breath snagged as he flashed skin without an ounce of awareness. “Don’t give me that look,” he said, grinning. “I’ll kidnap you for the rest of the afternoon and skip castrating bulls.”
My eyebrows rose as he tugged on a fresh scrub top. “Do you buy them one size too small on purpose?”
“This fits fine.” He adjusted the neckline, which only made it strain harder across his biceps.
Something restless pushed through my chest. I stood and moved toward him without fully deciding to. His pupils darkened immediately, his throat working around a swallow like me being close knocked something loose inside him.
“Erika…” His voice cracked on my name.
I kicked the door shut with my foot.
“We’re at work,” he said hoarsely. “Didn’t we decide we weren’t… That we can’t… At least, not here.”
I laid my hand on his chest and dragged it up slowly, feeling the jump of his heartbeat under my palm before reaching the bare skin at the V of his scrub top.
“Are you still too angry at me to…” I didn’t finish.
Instead, I leaned in and pressed a kiss to that exposed inch of him—soft but deliberate.
When I lifted my gaze, it was with a challenge.
“You haven’t texted. You haven’t said anything real to me since you went apeshit at the PTA meeting. ”
“I said we could look at specs on the new building,” he said hoarsely. “Yesterday.”
“I’m not talking about business stuff. Don’t you want me anymore?”
His jaw ticked. “There’s never been a time I didn’t want you.”
“So, you’re pouting and punishing both of us?”
“Maybe,” he said cautiously.
I stepped back, spine snapping straight as I dropped into business mode, like yanking a lever.
“Do we have a credit card for the practice? We’re out of distilled water.
I’ll run to the grocery store right now over lunch.
I also need stuff for dinner. I won’t use the work card for that, to be clear.
And,” I glanced sadly at the food I brought, “maybe I’ll grab something for myself to eat now. ”
He blinked at me, looking like I’d smacked him with a dictionary. “Water?”
“Yes.” I crossed my arms, forcing myself not to smile. “We need more distilled water for the ultrasonic cleaner. You want to come with me to the store?” I waggled my eyebrows. “I’ll even let you drive.”
“What the hell? You start all that and now you want to go buy water?”
“You’re the one who pranced in here and flashed naked skin,” I shot back. “Don’t throw down a challenge like that and expect it to go unanswered.” I bit down on a grin. “What would you do if I whipped my top off right now?” I grabbed the hem of my scrub top like I might.
He went rigid. “Do it, and neither of us will be making it to the store or any of our afternoon appointments.”
I lifted my shirt just enough to flash an inch of my stomach and gave him the double eyebrow raise of death. “Your move, Whiskey.”
“I’ll drive.” He hauled me into his chest like he had zero patience left. “You’re trouble.” Then he kissed me so hard I forgot everything for a second.
A knock at the door had us jumping apart.
“Dr. Hurst, there’s a downed cow that needs you before you start any of the castrations on the rest of the herd,” Marty called out.
Josh dropped his chin but stalked to the door. He flashed Marty a smile. “I’ll take care of it after I take Erika to the store to get distilled water.”
“Great.” Her eyebrows rose. “You two okay? You’re not arguing again?” She glanced into the office, curious.
“We’re good.” Josh turned toward me and cocked his head. “You coming?”
After five minutes in the car, it became obvious we weren’t going toward a store. “Where are we going?”
“My house. For lunch, to be specific. Nothing else. I’ll grab the water after work.”
“Why?”
“For starters, you need to eat something other than rabbit food. Second, we need to talk.”
“About what?”
He parked the car and got out, clearly expecting me to follow him up the steps into his house. I did. The moment we got inside I announced, “We don’t have time to mess around.”
“We’re here for lunch. Lunch!” he yelled from the kitchen. When I got there, he said, “We’re eating my mom’s chicken casserole. You ever tried it?”
I shook my head.
He slid a Tupperware container out of the refrigerator into the microwave and waved for me to take one of the bar height chairs at the counter.
Then he handed me a sparkling water can across the counter.
“We won’t talk business. Or exes.” His voice was steady.
“We’re just going to talk. Like two people who haven’t seen each other in ten years. ”
I searched his face, trying to figure out why. “Okay. What does that look like?”
“Like a mini-date.” He cracked open his own sparkling water, the sharp hiss filling the silence. “What music are you into now?”
I blinked. Of all the things I’d braced for, that wasn’t one of them. “Music?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged like it didn’t matter, like it wasn’t a lifeline he was tossing between us. “I’m still mostly listening to country. I’ve gone to a few concerts. Tried branching out.” He tested the casserole, frowned, and added more time on the microwave.
“I don’t like jazz,” I said. “Or classical. Mostly.” I hesitated, suddenly too aware of how quiet it was. “I guess I listen to a little of everything else.”
“Not all classical is terrible. I took a social dance class in college. The waltz is actually kind of fun once you stop stepping on feet.”
He split the casserole into portions and put it onto plates, sliding one toward me, close enough that our fingers almost touched.
“You took a dance class?” The words came out wrong, almost too disbelieving, as if I was echoing him instead of speaking for myself.
“My roommate thought it’d be a great way to hook up with girls.”
“Was it?”
He shrugged, unapologetic. “Worked once or twice. Nothing that stuck.”
I swatted his shoulder, letting my hand linger just long enough to be a mistake. “So that’s why you’re defending classical music now? You’re terrible at small talk. Is this you trying to impress me or make me jealous?”
His mouth curved slow and lethal. “Careful,” he said. “You’re starting to sound like you want to dance with me.”
The look in his eyes lit something feral in my chest, my pulse snapping hard and fast.
“You want to dance right now?” I warned, “Behave or I swear to God I’ll forget every good intention you want me to have and beg you to make me scream right here on this counter.”
The back door swung open. We both jumped, the heat between us evaporating instantly when Josh’s dad marched in, somehow balancing a Jenga tower of Tupperware.
He was basically Josh in twenty years—same build, same sharp eyes—just upgraded to full gray.
“Oh, hey, son.” He deposited the containers on the counter without losing a single one. “Weekly drop-off. This week I’ve got enchiladas and banana pudding. Your mom’s convinced you’re one skipped meal away from starvation.”
His gaze landed on me and brightened. “That you, Erika? Perfect. I’ve got some for you too. Saves me a trip to your place.”
Then he was gone, back out the door before either of us managed a word.
We sat there in stunned silence for a few beats.
Finally, I said, “So… If civilization collapses, we’ll be good on food.”
Josh sighed. “Between this freezer and the one outside, I could feed a small village.”
“What does your parents’ freezer look like?”
Josh pursed his lips like he was choosing his words carefully. “Mostly meat. And pie. And, well, she’s got something stashed in there for every possible apocalypse. Basically, if zombies showed up, we’d survive indoors for several months so long as we can keep the freezers on.”
“Don’t speak ill of your mother,” his dad called from the doorway. He dropped a paper bag on the counter. “This one’s for you, Erika.”
“Thanks!” I said, smiling. “Tell her I appreciate the meals.”
“If zombies showed up, we’d blow their heads off with the arsenal in the second garage. That way we wouldn’t be stuck inside.” His dad grinned.
Timothy stomped in through the back door.
“What’s taking so long? You said a few stops and then you’d drop me off to get my truck, Dad.
I’ve got to do an estimate for the retirement home’s HVAC today.
” His eyes landed on our plates. “Is that the chicken one?” Without waiting, he grabbed Josh’s plate and shoveled a third of it into his mouth. “Yep. Best one.”
“Put his plate down!” I ordered.
Timothy froze mid-forkful.
“That’s Josh’s lunch,” I snapped.
“I can heat another,” Josh offered weakly.
“The hell you will. Timothy, give it back.” When he didn’t budge, I raised my voice. “Do you have any idea how unhinged it is to steal a man’s lunch when he’s got fifteen minutes before he’ll be spending five hours outside in this cold weather?”
Timothy finally set the plate down and pushed it toward Josh like this was territory in a war and he’d just surrendered.
“Got anything to say to him?” I gave him a look I hoped screamed “Manners 101.”
He glared at me and stormed back out the door.
“That man needs to learn to see beyond his own ass,” I muttered.
Josh’s dad bit back a snicker, but the gaze he shot me was a mixture of approval and surprise.
I spooned about a third from my plate onto Josh’s.
Josh began, “No—”
“I’ve got banana pudding in the bag,” I interrupted. “All good.”
“Nice to see you, Erika.” Mason Hurst waved like a tiny general and was gone, leaving us staring at the Tupperware like survivors of some strange, organized battle.
Josh’s phone dinged four times in rapid succession. He stared at it, brow furrowed. “The down cow just graduated to full-blown emergency.” He let his head drop onto his hand. “All I wanted was twenty minutes. That’s it. Twenty minutes for us to talk about something that wouldn’t trigger a fight.”
I swallowed a bite of casserole and shrugged. “That’s our life, isn’t it? Always on the edge of war?”
He looked up, eyes softening, a hint of guilt threading through the exasperation. “It shouldn’t be.”
I nudged my plate toward him. “Your mom’s a great cook. Eat up.” I winked, teasing lightly, but my voice carried something more. “If being on the edge of war keeps it this hot, maybe it’s not all bad.”