“Most people add something,” Eva continues, pulling out a breakfast sandwich and unwrapping it. “Sugar, cream, honey in my sister Eden’s case, which is basically dessert.”
“Sugar invites extra trips to the dentist.”
“That’s a very practical way to avoid admitting you’re bitter.” She grins. “Unlike me. I’m a sweet little thing.”
Despite everything—the pain, the exhaustion, the humiliation of my current situation—I almost pop a boner at her words. Almost.
And that just makes me feel like a pervert. She’s probably half my age. Fresh out of college with a degree she actually finished, a career she built through legitimate channels, a life unmarred by the kind of choices that leave permanent gaps in your résumé.
Eva pushes a sandwich toward me. “Eat. You need food with pain meds, right?”
I take a bite, but Eva notices the bottle of pain meds tipped over behind the coffee mess on the counter.
“You have the look of a man trying to power through,” she says around a bite of sandwich. “My sister Eliza is like that. Esther, too. My brother-in-law once slipped her some weed honey to get her to sleep after her bar caught on fire.”
I blink at her, and she flushes. “I’m rambling, aren’t I? But you will feel better if you eat, regardless of the meds.”
I take another bite of sandwich. I do need food, and it gives me something to do other than stare at her.
“So,” Eva says, settling onto one of my stools as if she belongs here. “I’m going to be at Pierce Acres most of the day. Taking stock of everything, figuring out what I’m dealing with. I’ll check on you in a few hours. Bring lunch, maybe.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know. But I’m going to, anyway.” She says it so matter-of-factly, like she is in charge of me now. Like it’s not a burden or an obligation, but simply the obvious choice.
Maybe she pities me. Maybe this is some kind of misplaced caretaker instinct left over from parental neglect.
Or maybe—and this is the thought that makes my chest pinch—maybe she’s just genuinely kind.
I don’t know how to handle genuinely kind.
People like Eva—sunny, capable, helpful—they don’t stay around people like me. I learned that when my study group stopped inviting me places because I kept canceling. Learned it when my college girlfriend got tired of coming second to my sister’s emergency room visits.
Eva will figure out soon enough that I’m a loner.
“I should get to work,” I mumble.
“Right. I’ll get out of your hair.” She starts gathering the bag and trash. “But I’ll be back later. You need anything specific?”
“No.” I want a bottle of whatever your hair smells like, actually. “I said I’m fine.”
“Okay. Well, if you think of something, text me.” She pulls out her phone. “What’s your number?”
I give it to her because refusing seems more awkward than complying. She types it in, then frowns at her phone. “I still have lousy service. Can I get on your Wi-Fi, maybe?”
I ignore her question and explain, “Meow Mobile is the only provider with coverage up here.”
Eva laughs. “Meow Mobile? Because of the Catskills? That’s great.”
“They gave me a shot when nobody else would.” The words come out before I can stop them, more honest than I intended.
She tilts her head, curious, and I look away.
“I mean. They’re a good company.” I shrug and finish my sandwich, then gulp the rest of the coffee. I do feel better, but I’m not going to tell her that. Not right when she’s about to leave me alone.
“I’ll leave you to it, and I’ll investigate this kitty cell phone company.” Eva pats my hand, and before I can respond, she heads for the door. She pauses with her hand on the knob, looking back at me. “Seriously though. If you need anything. I’m like five minutes away. Maybe you have a dinner bell you can ring or something, and I’ll come running.”
“I’ll be fine.” I close my eyes against the image of her running in those pants. I cannot spend the day fantasizing about this young, gorgeous woman.
