12. Ari
TWELVE
ARI
All anyone could talk about that morning after the fire, and for days after, was the Outpost going up in flames.
It had been the third or fourth similar incident in the past four months, and everyone was curious and rightfully concerned about their safety.
A few busybodies were also eager to make connections, especially as it pertained to Wyatt's murder charge and the fate of his bar. Like Mrs. Austen.
She was a regular patient, but she mainly took up my time trying to figure out what my business was so she could get all up in it.
"Maybe he's gotten involved with the mafia. That sounds right. Who else would do such a horrible thing?" she said, more a statement than an actual question.
"Maybe we should leave the speculations to the professionals, Mrs. Austen. Don't you think?" I stood up to signal the end of our meaningless appointment, and she followed suit.
"But if Wyatt Goodman is dangerous and dealing with dangerous people, shouldn't we know?"
I bit my tongue and opened the door for her. "I know I'm new on the island, but I very much doubt he's a bad guy. He's homeless for all intents and purposes. A little sympathy would be nice."
She stopped outside my van and her eyes creased. "You know something, don't you?"
"Good morning, Mrs. Austen," was all I answered and turned to the next person in line.
I was exhausted when I got home, least of all from trying to reroute all talk about Wyatt and the fire to medical topics.
I was ready to get home and crash for the night, but as soon as I got in, I found Wyatt sitting on the sofa in the living room, a laptop in front of him and his mobile phone in his ear.
"You need to stop worrying..." he said to whoever he was talking to. "No, I don't need you to do anything..."
He glanced at me and waved before his brows furrowed and he all but growled.
"You will not go to the freaking mayor and threaten him, Elliot. That's a surefire way to get yourself killed. Do I need to assign you a babysitter?"
I waved back at him, even though he was far too busy with his call, and dropped my stuff on the armchair. I had half a mind to go pass out in my bed, but it felt wrong when I had a guest at home. Though with such an attractive guest, it was probably best if I avoided him.
But there was always that thing in the back of my mind, worrying. What if he needed something? What if he couldn’t find the coffee? What if he needed me? What if…
Maybe I was just making excuses to spend more time with my friend's older brother. It didn’t have to mean more than that.
Just because I could lend a shoulder to cry on didn't mean I wanted to get in the man's pants. I was a professional problem listener and solver, after all. It was in my blood.
So, convinced I had to be there for Wyatt as a friend, I grabbed my laptop and plonked myself down at the kitchen table to take care of some business while he finished his call.
"I know you're trying to help. It's sweet of you, but we're already deep in shit as it is. I don't need to worry about you more than I already do."
I logged into my emails, and as the page loaded, I looked at the back of his head.
There was so much frustration in his voice but also concern. Maybe to others it wasn't noticeable, but aggressive, fierce overprotection was in my Greek veins, and I would recognize it anywhere in the world.
"You should be worrying about school. Your future.
Not an old fuck like me... I know you want to be useful.
You can be useful by getting yourself another job.
Maybe Hwan can help out. Or Duke might need a hand at his sanctuary...
okay? Okay. I'll see what I can do. All right. Good night. I'll see you tomorrow."
He hung up, and as he turned around to look at me, I forgot I was staring, and he caught me red-handed.
"Was I loud? Sorry," he said.
I shook my head a little too fast and dismissed his apology. "No, not at all. Don't worry about it. Are you okay?"
He nodded and put his phone down, then turned around on the sofa so he could put his hands and head on the back of it and look at me, totally oblivious of how cute and sexy he looked like that. His blue eyes were almost hypnotizing in the dim, warm light of the apartment.
"Yeah. Just... Elliot is determined to take me to an early grave."
I smiled. "Who is Elliot?" I asked and closed my laptop.
"This kid I took under my wing about a year or so ago. He was involved in some shady shit thanks to his older brother and living in a hovel."
I sat back. "Oh, wow. That's...intense." I'd heard of Elliot via Warren, but I hadn't known the full story. I just assumed he was a school-dropout that worked at Wyatt's bar.
"It wasn't really. All he needed was someone to give a shit about him and show him right from wrong. He's made tremendous progress since. He can even manage the kitchen all on his own. Well, could. There's no kitchen anymore."
He let out a sigh, and I pressed my lips together in sympathy.
"That's...very admirable. What you did. You seem like you care about him a lot. And he seems to care about you."
He shrugged and pushed himself off the sofa. "He's like the son I never had," he said. "I can't help but love the kid. If only he didn't have a death wish."
I chuckled. "Maybe you can reframe it."
"Reframe it how?" he asked and approached the kitchen table with his towering presence.
"Reframe it that he cares about you so much he's willing to put his life at risk for you."
He chewed on his lip for a moment before cocking his head to the side. "I guess. I still hate his recklessness. I have half a mind to put a tail on him so he doesn't do anything stupid."
I laughed. "You might also have to do that," I said. Then I pushed my chair back and looked at the stove. "Are you hungry? Have you eaten?"
Wyatt glanced at the stove too and scratched the back of his head. "I...I'm okay. I can get takeout."
I rolled my eyes at him with a little too much dramatic flare. "Why would you get takeout when I could whip up something quickly for both of us?"
He nodded his head from side to side then looked around as if searching for someone. "What about Warren? Is he not joining us?"
"I'll be surprised if he gets home before midnight. Don't worry. I'll make enough for him too."
He seemed to ponder my words for a bit before he succumbed to his hunger, and I got up to look through the fridge and find something to make for him.
There was a pack of pork steaks in the meat drawer, and I got an idea. I took the fries out of the freezer and heated the oven while I chopped the pork into thin slices.
"Do you need a hand?" he asked, standing beside me and watching me work.
I wasn't going to lie. It did make me feel a little flustered, but I managed to keep my composure, least of all because I had a purpose and determination.
"It's okay. It's pretty easy," I said.
"I insist," he replied, and I pursed my lips before I conceded.
"If you don't mind grabbing a large bowl from the cupboard," I said and then gave further instructions as I dumped the meat inside, and he helped me put together the marinade made of vinegar, red onion, honey, and oregano.
"That smells...interesting," he said as I left him to stir, and I put the fries in the oven.
"I promise it tastes amazing. I was hesitant at first, but it’s actually so good. And so close to the original flavor."
He narrowed his eyes. "What exactly are we making?"
"A little taste of home," I offered and reached for the frying pan.
"Greece?" he asked.
I nodded.
"Where in Greece are you from?"
"Oh, from Northern mainland Greece. From a little town called Little Heart Bay."
"Hm. That doesn't sound very Greek."
I laughed. "No. It doesn't. Its Greek name is Mikri Kardia, but it’s very touristy, so we have an official English name. Makes marketing easier, I suppose."
"Ah, that's more like it," he said. "Do you go back often?"
I grabbed the bowl with the meat, and once the frying pan was searing hot, I emptied the meat inside. Steam blasted our faces, and I chuckled as Wyatt leaned in and inhaled the tart but divine scent. He got so close to my face, for a second, I thought he was leaning in for a kiss.
I was tempted to do it anyway, but I still had some sense in my noggin. That didn't mean my heart didn't begin to race at the proximity, or that my cock didn't pulse from the impact he had on me.
"N-not as often as I'd like," I said. "But I try to speak to my family at least once a week."
He straightened back from the stove and pressed his lips together. "I bet that's still not the same. I remember when I was stationed abroad, I missed home something fierce."
"The States have become my home the past decade or so. It's not so bad," I said, and I pulled back a little too, Evan's beautiful smile appearing in my head for a moment.
"What brought you here anyway?"
I reached for my wedding ring on my right hand as if on instinct and rolled it around a couple of times, trying to compose myself.
"Love," I said.
He nodded, and after a moment, pointed at the meat. "Should I take it off?" he asked.
"I...uhm...yeah, if you want. Or you can have it a little crispier."
"I'll leave it to you." He put his hands up and smiled. "Can I do anything else?"
I dropped my hands and instantly cleared my head. It was best to focus on the here and now.
"I could make us a salad if you want," I offered, and he opened the fridge to take out some of the vegetables.
"I hope you mean Greek salad," he said, taking out the block of feta cheese and showing it to me.
I raised an eyebrow and scoffed. "As if there's any other option," I told him, and we both laughed.
A few minutes later, we were both sitting at the kitchen table with a plate full of fries, seasoned pork, tzatziki, and a salad to share between us.
"This is delicious," he said after taking a bite out of the pork. "It reminds me of kebab, or gyro."
"Ding, ding, ding, that's exactly what it is. Homemade gyros. Or the closest thing to it. To be honest this is probably healthier than the real thing, and the flavor is so close sometimes I forget it's not the 'real' thing," I said, also taking a bite.
"Well, I approve," he said. "This tastes like Greece all around," he added and took a couple of cucumbers and feta from the salad bowl.
"It really does," I said and looked at him for a few moments before I realized what I was doing and stared back at my plate.
Why was it so easy to forget myself around him? Why was it so easy to forget my body and heart were unavailable when he was around? Why was it so easy to be around him? And why did I feel right at home in his presence?
No. This wasn't right. I had to do something. Something to remind me he wasn't someone to swoon over. He was nothing but a friend in need. Nothing else.
I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I was sure I felt the copper taste of blood in my mouth, but I didn't care. If that was the only way to stop these...stupid feelings, then I'd bite my whole damn mouth until they ceased to exist.