Rafe ignores Winger’s glib remark. “I need to grab my phone and keys.” We rise from the sofa, and he looks at me expectantly.
“Okay,” I mutter, waiting for him to go get his things. He’s still just watching me.
“She’ll be fine with me for a minute. I’m not going to steal her and keep her for my own,” Wringer grumbles, exasperated.
“You would already be dead if I thought you would,” Rafe deadpans. He turns to me and adds, “I’ll be right back.”
“He treating you okay, Lucy?” Winger asks when Rafe disappears down the hall.
I nod. “He’s intense, but he’s very sweet to me,” I answer honestly.
Wringer scoffs. “He must have saved it all up for you, because that man has never been nice to anyone, let alone sweet.”
“You must like him.”
“He saved my life more times than I can count, and I respect him,” he says while looking me right in the eye.
I hear Rafe’s footsteps announcing his return, so I don’t delve deeper into Winger’s statement for the time being.
* * *
I’ve tried callingGwen three times, but she never answers and hasn’t returned my calls. It’s early evening when I talk to Rafe and express my concerns. “She never avoids me like this.” I’m actually getting kind of aggravated with her. I don’t think she should be giving me the cold shoulder because I went home with Rafe instead of her. I did bail on the movie though, and I feel guilty every time I start to get mad.
“Maybe she’s just busy.” He doesn’t sound like he cares why she’s not answering.
“I guess I can give it another day. What are you up to?”
“Sitting here wondering why we aren’t having this conversation face-to-face. Are you done for the day?”
I had my first real riding lesson today. Scooby was such a good boy with the little girl. It was her first time on a horse, and she was a little scared when she saw how big he was, but by the end of the hour, she was all smiles. “I am. My mom made dinner though, and I feel like I need to eat with her. We’ve been kind of distant lately.”
“Why?” he asks, seeming much more interested than he was about the Gwen situation.
“It’s kind of a long story. I can tell you about it later if you want, but I wanted to know if you would like to join us for dinner. I know it’s kind of short—”
“When?” he interrupts before I can finish.
“It’s nearly ready, but it will hold for a while if you need a bit.”
“I can be there in about twenty,” he tells me.
“Great, see you soon.”
“Soon,” is his only response before the line goes dead.
I set my phone aside and move toward the kitchen. “Ma, I invited Rafe for dinner. I hope that’s okay.” I probably should have talked to her first, but we haven’t been talking too much lately.
She uses one hand to twist her wheel so she can face me. “Sure, you know my table is always open.” She smiles at me, but she looks a little sad too.
“Sorry I didn’t mention it sooner. I just sort of invited him while we were talking on the phone.”
“It’s fine. You haven’t talked about him much. What’s he like?” Moms have this way of saying something simple and still making you feel guilty for it, like reminding me we haven’t talked much.
I walk over to the counter and pull out the loaf of sourdough bread I made this morning to put on the table with the butter dish. “I like him, but he’s rich.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It’s notbad, but I think he’s like, really rich.”
