My lips curved into a smile. “Currau, are you pouting?”
His answer included a harrumph and an undeniable pout.
I strolled into the hospital room, feeling like I was on enemy turf. Not with Currau. But the hospital in general.
Apparently, my absconding before quitting had traveled around the staff like chlamydia and I’d earned some stares—a few pleasant, a few not so pleasant.
Considering I’d layered on the foundation to hide any malingering yellow tinges where bruises had once stained my skin, they probably thought I’d lied for extra PTO.
Fuck it.
And fuck them.
Stan had been stricter than the doctor at ensuring I’d rested enough, and now, with Victor metaphorically signing off on my return to ‘work,’ Stan had become the dictionary definition of ‘pain in my ass.’
He’d tried to convince me via oral not to head to Pilates today—it hadn’t worked but I’d certainly appreciated his efforts.
When I plunked myself beside Currau on his bed, I withdrew a bag loaded with some of his favorite candies—Tootsie Rolls, Baby Ruths, and Milk Duds. All the OG shit that did nothing for me but had his eyes lighting up.
His neck lengthened as he craned to see what I’d brought along with me. He did a great impression of a crotchety old tortoise who was begrudgingly leaving its shell.
“Is this a bribe to plead forgiveness for forgetting about me?”
I smirked—like great-uncle, like great-nephew. “No bribe, but I may have wanted to sweeten you up.”
His gaze turned imperious. “Where have you been?”
“Did you miss me?”
“You know I did,” he grouched, back to pouting.
“I missed you too.” I unraveled a Tootsie Roll then handed it to him with the wrapper protecting the candy where my fingers touched.
“Why didn’t you come and visit me then?”
“I quit.”
“Oh, I know. I heard the gossip.” He rolled his eyes. “People forget I’m not deaf.”
“What’s the gossip train?”
“That you’re a snooty bitch who isn’t a team player and who decided to take off on another trip?—”
“That’s so freakin’ unfair!” I blurted out. “I came in to explain why I couldn’t work. Jeeeeeeeez, I looked like I’d been run over by a freight train and they figured I could pick up my shift like nothing had happened?!”
“You were in a traffic accident?” he half-roared.
Ever a quiet man, his volume came as such a surprise that I blinked and shut up.
“Kitty!” Gnarled fingers, sticky with the candy, tangled with my own. “What was wrong with you?”
My nose wrinkled. “I kinda can’t tell you,butI can tell you that your matchmaking worked.”
Confusion had him scowling at me. “What? And why can’t you tell me?”
“Well, when you’re out of here, I can, but?—”
“Out of here? My great-nephews and niece are throwing me out?!” he sputtered.
