Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Beckett
Joey
I’m heading to bed early. . .
Is this your way of asking for your Daily Beckett Fact?
Joey
Obviously.
How weird do you want it?
Joey
The weirder the better, baby.
If I have time, I like to air dry after I shower.
Ten minutes go by with no reply.
Did I make things weird?
Joey
No. I was looking up a local psychiatrist for you to talk to. That’s psychopathic behavior.
Not to mention damp.
And cold.
Why are men such strange creatures?
I ask myself that daily.
All week, memories of Joey’s lush curves pressed against me in that closet have haunted me. Along with the sensation of my fingers sinking into her warm skin, her strawberry scent, and the way her plush pink lips parted when I almost kissed her.
Every night, I replay that moment as I fuck my fist in the shower. If I don’t, every thread of restraint I have around her will snap. It’s the only way to ease the tension.
After the moment in the closet, my nervous system glitched and I started shutting down.
It was clear she was worried about the shift in my demeanor, and as much as I wanted to tell her what was going on in my head, I couldn’t because I didn’t understand it myself.
I spent hours journaling that night. Decoding my feelings like a cryptogram, only beginning to make sense of things as I scratched the details into the pages of my journal.
Even now, I can’t get a handle on it all. All I know is that it’ll hurt to leave her when my assignment is up. What I’m feeling isn’t just some generic crush—
“Hello. Earth to Beckett.” Tabitha snaps her fingers in front of me. “What is going on in that beautiful blond head of yours?”
I jolt back and drag a hand down my face. “I wish I could tell you.”
“Your week’s been that bad, huh? I feel that. One of the night shift residents and I almost got into it,” she mutters. “I’ve been thinking about replacing the sugar packets he uses for his coffee with salt.”
I huff a quiet laugh through my nose. “Replace half of his pens with ones that have run out of ink. It’s the gift that keeps on giving.”
She slaps my shoulder, her expression brightening. “This is why you’re my favorite. Quiet and unassuming but with a devious side. The tattoos also help.” As she stands from her chair, she winks, patting me on the shoulder. “Whatever you’re going through, hang in there, big guy.”
After such an exhausting night, my body is drained, yet my mind is still wired from my shift.
So I drag myself upstairs and into the shower to wash the day away. The ER was an absolute nightmare today. From initiating appropriate treatment plans and performing procedures to patient advocacy and working with social workers. I’m tapped out.
With steam billowing around me, I rest my forehead against the cool shower tile and will myself to relax. The hot water cascades down my back, loosening the knots in my muscles.
When I’m feeling a little better, I open my eyes, ready to scrub away the day, and as I reach for the soap, a bright pink object catches my attention.
In the corner of the stall is a pink rubber duck with a mohawk.
I pick it up and examine it, holding it close to my face since I’ve already removed my contacts, and I try not to shudder when the beady eyes bore into my soul.
How the hell did this get in here? More importantly, why is it in here?
Shaking my head, I put it back where I found it and finish my shower. As I step out of the shower, a chill hits me. Rather than air dry tonight, I grab my towel and pat my body down quickly to stave off the cold.
I tug on my favorite pair of gray sweatpants and a faded black T-shirt, then fumble around, looking for my glasses.
In the kitchen, I stop in front of the large window and quickly spot Joey.
As usual, she’s hunched over her crossword puzzle by the glow of the fire.
Smiling to myself, I take a moment to admire the view.
Wrapped in another colorful blanket, this one with shades of purple and blue, she looks content.
Peaceful. Her expression is one of concentration as she fills in the letters of her puzzle, yet there’s ease there too.
As I pad across the yard, I take in the navy night sky and countless twinkling stars. The air is chilly, nipping at my skin as the rich scent of burning firewood envelops me.
“Fortuitous,” I say, lowering myself into the chair beside her.
She jerks upright, her brown eyes widening. “Every. Damn. Time,” she mumbles under her breath.
I can’t help but chuckle. “You had a long day too?”
She lets out a deep, annoyed sigh. “Norma.”
“Fucking Norma,” I grouse. “Need me to talk to her? I’m still in contact with a few of the bikers in that gang I accidentally got caught up with.”
She rears back, her mouth hanging open. “What?”
“Super nice dudes,” I tell her. “They host a flea market most weekends and donate the money to charity.”
“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”
“I gotta keep you on your toes, Josephine.” I wink. “Are you doing anything tonight?”
She tilts her head. “Why?”
I run my hands through my damp hair. “I need to work out some nervous energy.”
She pulls her lip between her teeth. “Uh. Okay?”
“I was wondering if you could help me.” I don’t know how else to put it, so I go with the straightforward approach.
Joey blinks at me like an owl. The deep orange flames reflecting in her eyes make them sparkle. “I don’t know where this is going and I’m scared to find out. Yet I’m weirdly intrigued.”
Feeling a bit bold, I grin and lower my voice, angling in closer. “How good are you with your hands?”
She gives me a dead stare, and I swear she isn’t breathing.
After a moment, she heaves out a breath. “Beckett. This isn’t funny.” She surveys the fire for a moment, then turns back to me. With a resigned sigh, she says, “Okay, it’s a little funny.”
“All joking aside,” I say, “I wanted to make a loaf of bread and thought you might like to join me.”
She rolls her lips, holding back a smile. “Wow. I didn’t know we’d reached the point in our relationship where you’d be willing to share Agatha with me. You can be a bit kneady.”
I huff a breath out of my nose. This woman. I swear she’s the reincarnation of a suburban father figure trying to be cool. Her jokes are more likely to make a person groan than laugh.
Yet I find it unquestionably charming.
Her eyes widen. “Did I make things weird? I made things weird. Let’s head inside before I make more of an ass out of myself.” She heaves herself up, and with slumped shoulders, she shuffles her way to the cottage.
Despite my best efforts to hold it in, a burst of laughter escapes me.
She whips around and stomps her foot. “You’re supposed to be nice and laugh, even if my joke isn’t funny. I’m off my game this evening. Ugh.” With that, she trudges inside.
Joey’s little quips, whether poorly timed jokes or funny comments under her breath, never fail to amuse me. It’s part of what makes her so extraordinary in my eyes. She has a unique charm that’s impossible to replicate.
After putting the fire out, I head in. Stepping into the kitchen feels like entering a little bubble created for just the two of us. The outside worries drift away and the stresses from the week disappear.
I reach for my phone, cuing up a playlist of gentle melodies. Then I get to work wiping down the countertops in preparation.
“Can you get the flour out?” I ask as I’m gathering the rest of the things I need.
Joey pads over to the cabinet to the left of the fridge and pulls it open. A scream rends the air, piercing through the stillness of the kitchen and sending my heart racing.
On high alert, I dart across the room and put myself between her and the danger.
Only then do I discover the issue.
Barbara.
Tucked away deep in the dark cabinet, my cat has burrowed herself between my baking supplies. Only her glowing amber eyes are visible like this. It’s enough to even creep me out.
I wince. “Sorry about my stalker cat. I’ll get her out of there.”
“How does she get in here? And how does she get in my room? She comes in while I’m sleeping and knocks my phone off the bedside table.”
“Huh.” I peer at my cat. “So that’s where she’s going at night.”
“That’s where she’s going at night?” she mocks. “Maybe you should put a tracker on her. Your stalker cat’s new hobby is watching me sleep, and it’s unnerving.”
Crossing my arms, I prop myself up against the cabinets. “Do you think she stays there all night?”
Glaring, Joey runs her hands through her wavy hair. “Beckett. She’s. Your. Cat.”
I try my best to keep a straight face, but she’s so adorable when she’s angry, and the laughter spills out of me.
“You should know,” she grouses. “Get control over your daughter.”
I lift one shoulder lazily. “I can’t keep track of her if I’m asleep.”
“Well, try harder.” She props her hands on her hips, her chin lifted. “I wake up every morning nearly suffocating because she’s curled up on my chest.”
Lucky cat.
Skirting around Joey, I snag the flour from the cabinet, followed by Barbara. I set her on the floor, and she quickly skitters up the stairs, leaving Joey and me alone in the kitchen.
Silently, I pour most of Agatha’s contents into a bowl, then add water, salt, and flour.
All the while, Joey watches me intently.
I make sourdough so often I could probably do it in my sleep, so the dough comes together in no time.
I turn it out onto the floured countertop and divide the dough into two equal portions, then dust my hands with flour.
“All right,” I say, nodding to one half of the dough.
“Get some flour on your hands like this. Then you want to push the dough away from you with the heel of your hand like this.” I demonstrate, then pull the dough back and repeat the process.
“When you’re ready to shape it, cup the sides and tuck while dragging it toward your body. ”