“Mom!”
This is going to be a good night. A very good night.
Devon must sense my delight because she narrows her eyes at me as she steps around the counter.
“How can I help, Mrs. Gallagher?” I ask while she drops chicken into the sizzling oil in the frying pan. The smell of fresh garlic and olive oil sweeps around the space.
“Call me Kathy, and you can help by drinking some of this wine Meredith and Kevin bring too much of every time they come.”
I nod. That I can do. I take the glass Meredith is holding out in my direction and pull up a stool beside Kevin at the counter to watch Devon and her mother as they move around the kitchen, cooking together like they’ve worked with a professional choreographer. They are so in sync that when Devon looks up from chopping to meet my gaze, her mother removes the knife from between her fingers and bumps her hip against her daughter’s to get her to move.
“Go introduce Jeff to the chickens,” she says. “They’re starting to come up on the deck anyway.”
Devon takes a deep breath and a large sip of her wine.
“Come on, Jeff. Let’s meet the chickens. Wouldn’t want to offend them with ourfowlmanners.” She giggles at herself and inclines her head for me to follow.
I stand, ignore Meredith’s waggling brows, and follow Devon out the sliding doors onto the dark wood of the back deck. I close the door behind me and turn to find Devon slipping on a pair of gloves that look like they were made for falconry.
“Are those made of chainmail?” I tease.
“Go ahead and joke. Bernice—that fat bully over there—“ she points to a chicken that defies the laws of nature, “she’s been known to take the fingers of the trusting.”
I laugh and hold out my hands.
“Shouldn’t I get the gloves? I’m a surgeon,” I remind her.
She scoffs. “How chivalrous of you! There’s a pair in the shed over here.” She starts toward the corner of the yard and I follow her, nearly tripping over another chicken as it comes right for my ankles.
“Careful, J.J. These chickens are overfed and aggressive. Wouldn’t want you rupturing an Achilles. Especially with only hack job doctors around to help,” she tells me as she swings open the door of the shed and steps inside.
I step inside behind her, watch in the dark space as she lifts onto her toes and searches the shelves for the gloves. Her shirt lifts as she reaches, revealing an inch of the soft skin around her waistband.
“Where the hell—? I really don’t want to be responsible for the destruction of your priceless, delicate phalanges?—”
She turns and bumps into me. Her breathing immediately goes ragged, her amber eyes catching the only light that sneaks through a crack in the roof.
“This is a one person shed,” she whispers, staring up at me. Her hair has come loose in the search for the gloves. I reach outand push it away from her face, let my fingers linger beneath her ear.
“Do you want me to leave?” I ask.
She pushes her lips together. Shakes her head slowly, her eyes still on me.
“Do you want to talk about what’s happening here?” I dip my head lower so that I’m speaking into the space above her shoulder.
She shakes her head again. Then tilts her neck a little to the side, an invitation. I don’t hesitate to take it. I let my lips brush against her skin and the sound she makes—like I’ve just touched her everywhere—makes my entire body throb. I kiss up to her ear, put my hands on her hips, pull her into me so she can feel how much I want her. She whispers my name and my fingers dig into the skin above her jeans?—
“Devonnnn!” Her mom’s voice breaks the spell like a hot pan dipped in cold water and Devon jumps away from me, knocking a rake off the wall so its handle hits me on the side of the head with a hollow knock. She laughs and covers her mouth as it clatters to the ground.
“Shit,” she says, between her hysterical giggles. She pops her head out of the shed. “Yes?”
“What are you doing in there? We need more basil for the sauce. Where’s Jeff?”
I move toward the open door and she kicks me in the shin with her good heel.
“I don’t know, mother. Maybe Bernice ate him. I’ll get the basil,” she says, leaning out of the shed with one hand on the door. I rub at my shin and resist the urge to pinch her ass, knowing she’d kill me.
“Bernice wouldn’t do that. Would you, Bernie girl?”
