We entered the kitchen and found Belle standing at the sink, chopping vegetables.
"Look who I found,” Mr. Henderson called, moving to settle in one of the chairs.
Belle glanced over her shoulder, an easy smile ready on her face. As she registered our presence, that smile froze. Her body tensed, the knife falling silent. Her eyes widened until she looked a little like a deer in headlights.
"Belle," Drake grinned, heading over to her. "We have to keep meeting like this." He quickly removed the knife from her hand, dropping it to the counter and then wrapped her in a hug.
I watched, satisfaction building as her cheeks coloured. Drake kept her wrapped in his arms just a beat too long, and I watched, anticipation unfurling, when she didn't protest.
Drake let her go, one hand resting on the small of her back, propelling her toward me. "Go greet, Dane."
She complied, coming to me, and letting me wrap her in a hug. Good girl. I breathed her in. She smelled like lemongrass and home. Our girl felt fucking fantastic in my arms. Her curves were deliciously generous and perfectly plump. Her Double-D tits pressed against me, and I couldn't help the rumble of pleasure that echoed in my chest.
Her breath caught, and her body trembled once before she stepped back. She immediately looked away, hand reaching up to tuck stray hairs behind her ear.
"I…I-I-I didn't realise you were coming today,” she finally stammered, standing awkwardly in the middle of the small kitchenette.
"Thought we'd drop by and see our main man," Drake said, sliding easily onto one of the seats at the four-seater table. He clasped a hand on Mr. Henderson's shoulder. "Gotta make up for lost time."
Her hands lifted, fluttering up to touch her collarbone before settling on her hips. "Right. Well, I'll just get back to dinner." She turned, hesitating. "Did you want to stay?"
The words were a concession. Everyone in the room except old Mr. Henderson knew how much it cost her.
"Love to, Honey," I answered for us. "Whatcha making?"
"Chicken biryani."
"Sounds great. Can we help?"
She blinked. "Um, no. But thank you."
I settled on the opposite side of Mr. Henderson while he dished out coffee, donuts, and the latest gossip. Sally and Johnny were divorced. The old Randall couple had sold up and moved to Idaho to be closer to their grandkids. Belle's parents, the people who'd run the group home, were in Europe for the summer. The Stones’ and Bronze’s were still locked in a battle for the cabins up new Lover’s Lake.
"And what about our fine little Bluebell?" Drake asked, leaning back in his chair. "What's been happening with you, Miss Belle?"
She'd been quietly frying and chopping in the background, the smells teasing my taste buds. She stiffened, the knife stilling.
"It's Blue now,” she murmured, still turned away from us.
"Sorry?"
She cleared her throat, shoulders straightening. She twisted, giving us a serious look. "I go by Blue."
I sensed from her tone that this was important to her. "Any particular reason for the change?"
She gestured down at her body. "Bluebell is the name of some white girl wearing Daisy duke cut-offs and a crop top. That's never gonna be me."
"Baby, you can wear cut-offs and crop tops around us any time," I told her, letting everyone in the room hear the heat in my voice.
But I got it. No one had believed two punk kids could make it. Only Bluebell's great aunt on her daddy's side had stood bythem. She'd been named for that aunt, but it had to be admitted it was one of the frilliest names I'd ever heard.
"Blue," I muttered, liking the taste of her name on my tongue. Liking even more her little shiver of pleasure. "Okay, Blue it is."
She nodded once, then returned to the stove, swirling a large spoon through the simmering curry. "Nothing to really add. I'm sure Mr. Henderson has told you everything."
He had, but so had her parents. In dribs and drabs over the last decade, we'd received updates on little Miss Blue. She'd worked two jobs while studying nursing, then landed a job in the hospital a town over. After a few years there, she'd transferred to a local clinic, preferring the short commute and friendlier hours. When Mrs. Henderson had passed and Mr. Henderson had moved into aged care, she'd helped him sell the house, pack up his things, and move in here.
"Ah, pish-posh." Mr. Henderson shook his head. "Blue's roof got damaged in the storm last night. She's staying with me."
