In all honesty, I think he was lonely and knew I was too. So knowing my company was helping him in turn helped me recover from the hardest time of my life.
“Here, son, let me do that,” his gruff voice comes from behind me, along with the tap of his walking stick against the tiled floor.
I flip over the strips of bacon before glancing over my shoulder and offering him a tired smile. “I’ve got it. You can grab the plates, though.”
I’m more than capable of getting the plates, but I’ve learned that there’s no arguing with Walt. He likes to feel useful.
“How was your shift?” he asks as he sets the plates beside the stove.
“Long.”
He snorts. “That ain’t anything new. Did you manage to sleep?”
“I got about two or three hours total, but it was broken.”
He lets out a disgruntled noise. “That ain’t enough, Hunter. You’re gonna burn yourself out.”
It’s a conversation we’ve had so many times, yet the outcome is always the same. A record stuck on repeat.
“I’m gonna try to get a few hours this morning before I head to the gym.”
“Make sure you do. Who will make me bacon if you snuff it?” he jokes, and I grin.
A few minutes later, I dish up bacon, scrambled eggs, sausage patties, and hash browns and carry the plates over to the small wooden table in the kitchen before pouring two mugs of coffee.
“Will you be able to drive me to Matilda’s tonight?” he asks, eyes remaining fixed on the TV that’s showing highlights from last night’s basketball game.
“Sure.”
Matilda is his “lady friend,” as he likes to call her. I’m pretty sure they’re dating, but Walt has never been one for labels.
“She’s made stew.”
“That sounds good.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “When are you gonna find someone to make you stew?”
My fork pauses midair. “What?”
“Don’t make me repeat it, Hunter. I know your hearing works fine.”
Frowning, I shake my head. “I won’t be meeting anyone.”
He clicks his tongue. “Duncan wouldn’t want this for you.”
I drop my fork to my plate, my hunger suddenly disappearing.
“He’d want you to make someone happy and for someone to make you happy.”
“And make me stew?”
“Exactly.”
“What if they can’t make stew?” I raise a brow in challenge.
He rolls his eyes. “Don’t act all snarky with me, son. They can make you a grilled cheese sandwich if that’s all they can do,but my point still stands. Duncan wouldn’t want this life for you. This…” He waves his fork in the air before stabbing a piece of egg. “Lonely life. You’re too good of a man to end up like me.”
“You’re a good man,” I argue.
