Pops takes one more tired bite of the soup then shakes his head. “No more.”
He barely ate anything. I drop the spoon in the bowl, defeated, hiding how much his ailing health is affecting me. I can’t let it show it’s killing me as quickly as it’s killing him. My chest aches just looking at his frail form. Less than a year ago, he weighed over one-hundred- eighty pounds. Now, he barely weighs a hundred.
“Tired?” I whisper as his eyelids flutter, fighting to stay open.
“Very,” he wheezes, not even bothering to hide it. He used to at least try to put up a front, pretending his doctors were exaggerating the severity of the emphysema. But I’ve watched his downturn. The last few weeks have been the worst. I don’t want to leave. I wish I could curl up on the recliner in the corner and be here when he takes his last breath. I don’t want him to die alone or scared. I want him to know I’m here, with him, the same way he’s always been with me. Pops drifts off without a warning. Just slips away into slumber. My eyes mist with tears, but none fall. He made me promise. No waterworks. His exact words. He gave me a pass for only one day. The day he dies.
That day is looming. It’s closer than ever before.
I’m terrified to think of what my life is going to be like without him, so I try not to think about it at all.
I hold Pops’ hand while he sleeps, conscious of the time and my ever-present responsibilities. If he had the strength, he’d have told me to stop senselessly doting and go to work. Toss me right out of the room himself. After lingering a few more stagnant minutes, I leave. Walking past Daisy at the front desk, we exchange the same sad smile. We all know what’s coming.
Once at work, I drown my sorrows in fritter batter. The sous chefs usually prep everything, but it helps my depression when I keep my hands busy. Mainly by cooking. There’s just something therapeutic about it. And challenging and uplifting and fun. I like that it has a beginning, middle, and end, and that you have something to present after all your hard work.
I stare off into space mindlessly as I fold the ingredients together.
“Jenn?” A smooth male voice utters my name from behind. I turn with the large silver bowl in my hands.
“Shane?” Big hazel eyes and a bright smile greet me. “What are you doing here?” I scan the kitchen. “Where’s Chase?”
“Chase has a business dinner with Ty. So since I’m flying solo, I thought I would drop in and surprise you.”
“It’s definitely a surprise.”
“A good surprise?” He leans against the stainless steel counter and crosses his arms. I scan him from head to toe. His blond waves are tame and styled back neatly, his tan suit is pressed perfectly, and dress shoes are shining like new. The man standing next to me is a stark contrast to the laidback surfer on the beach the other night. So professional looking. I find it difficult to decide which version of him I like more.
“A very good surprise.” I smile genuinely for the first time today. The last forty-eight hours have been highly intense. He and Chase weren’t kidding about abducting me. After I had returned from visiting Pops and packing a change of clothes, they kept me busy in bed. The two of them have the stamina of racehorses. If I wasn’t pinned beneath one or the other, I was bent over, sandwiched, mauled, or manhandled. I’m surprised I can still walk after the punishing my pussy took.
In spite of it all, I liked spending time with both of them. I liked the carefree breakfasts in bed. The long walks along the beach at sunset and the late night talks. I liked connecting, even if it is a foreign concept. Shane was right; the three of us do have something special. Which seems crazy since we only just met.
“Since Chase is having dinner with Ty,” at the thought, I curl my lip, “I’m assuming you’re hungry, and you expect me to feed you,” I flirt.
Shane sucks on his bottom lip seductively, raking his greenish gaze over my face, down my chest, stopping at the bowl in my hands.
“I could eat.” He leans in, resting his mouth next to my ear. “Food and pussy.”
I glare over at him, concealing my smirk and the excitement that just soaked my panties. “Food I can accommodate right now. Pussy will have to wait until later.” I whisper.
“I can live with satisfying one need at a time.”
“Good. Because I can’t disappear into the stairwell tonight.”
“How disappointing,” he pouts adorably.
I flutter my eyes. Incorrigible. “Go grab a table, and I’ll bring out dinner.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Shane saunters out of the kitchen, and I sigh like a stinkin’ love-struck fool.
“What?” I snap defensively when I realize the entire kitchen staff is staring at me.
“Jennifer’s got a boyfriend,” Slick, the line chef, mocks.
I smile conspiratorially. If they only knew. Jennifer has two.
* * *
I dropa plate of clam chowder fritters and two cups of lobster bisque on the table. Shane picked the best seat in the house. A two-top nestled in the corner of the restaurant right next to one of the large back wall windows.
