Hutch had been the one to tell me about the weather report, so he’d been sure to pull out my printed wool coat before he left that morning as his not-so-subtle hint I bulk up.It had a pattern that looked like a blanket in tans, rust, brown and shades of green.Having learned about layering, I’d put on an oversize copper turtleneck over my shell to wear with it.
I got a thrill at seeing him with his hair mussed from wind, stubble added to the mustache since he hadn’t taken the time to shave in a few days, his tall, lean frame heading my way with his manner of movement that was all him and all beautiful.
And I didn’t care what was happening.
When we got home that night, we were having our talk.
If I was wrong, I needed to deal with the pain, then (maybe) find some way to get on with it before I got any deeper.
If I was right, I damn well wanted it official.
“Hey.How’s the eagle doing?”I called.
“Pissed as shit it isn’t dive bombing a fish in a lake,” he replied, making it to me, putting his hand to my hip and bending his head to kiss me.
I loved our pecks.
I loved that he was affectionate and touchy.
Oh yeah, this had to be done so I could grieve (or whatever you call what you’d do if you lost the man you knew was meant for you, maybe even born for you, and you understood you could never hope for another thing again).
Or celebrate.
“What’s up?”
His question took me out of my thoughts, and when I focused on him again, I saw his head slightly tipped to the side and his eyes narrowed on my face.
“Nothing’s up,” I lied.
His fingers still at my hip dug in.
“Something happen?”he asked.
“I checked the menu at Luigi’s,” I replied and did not lie, but I also did.“They don’t have anything you eat.”
“Luigi is Gianni’s dad’s name.Gianni is the owner and the cook.He’s also the overprotective father who bought one of my dogs to look after his daughter when she demanded finally to move out when she was twenty-two.She doesn’t need a dog with that caliber of training.But she has him.When I come in, he chops up soppressata and salami and puts it in one of their family salads for me.”
“Oh,” I mumbled.
“I dig you give a shit about my diet, babe, but you know I don’t make it anyone else’s thing and can find my way around a menu.So, what’s up?”he pushed.
“Brett texted earlier.He said he’s worried about Abigail.”
His brows drew down.“This flu is laying waste to the town, but I haven’t heard of any really bad cases.”
“I’m sure I’m overreacting.That’s why I didn’t want to say anything.It’s probably just a man who doesn’t like to see his beloved wife sick,” I replied.
And I was sure it was.
Or I hoped I was sure.
The thing was, Brett never struck me as drama in any way.
In fact,I’m worried about Abby, coming from Brett could be an understatement.
“You wanna drop by their place and check on her?”Hutch offered.
I shook my head.“No.I don’t want to disturb them.Two sick people, and since this seems like a tougher strain, keeping Emma away from her mom and brother is a lot on him.I’ll text later.”
