“Sure, I do, but I’m not an idiot. She has to trust me first and I know that has to be earned. I just want to see her again but in a way that isn’t threatening or…obligatory. I don’t want her to think she owes me anything because she doesn’t.”
“Yeah, sure, Shep,” Sebastian says with a nod. “I’ll go with you tomorrow. After the team meeting?”
“Yeah. That sounds good.”
“Count me in too.” Bishop raises his hand. “Mack invited some of us to sample a few new recipes she’s planning for the season so I’m free after that.”
I almost groan with delight. “If it’s her new braised short ribs, say yes. They are fucking delicious.”
Mackenzie “Mack” Adams is the head chef for both the Portland Rush football team and the Portland Lagers baseball team. She cooks for the teams during their individual seasons and caters all the major team events. She got the job not just because she has a brother playing on each team, but because she’s fucking amazing at what she does. If the woman had a restaurant, I’d want to be there every night.
“Yeah,” Killian says, running a hand through his hair. “I’m down too, I guess. I’ll ride with Hop to the tasting and we’ll meet you at the bar after.”
“Cool. Thanks guys.”
Killian tips his hat. “I’ll be sure to look my best so your bartender girl can properly meet the best-looking of the Haynes brothers.”
I snort and flip him off. “In your dreams, Killy.”
12
SUTTON
My phone buzzes at 9:03 a.m.
I don’t look at it immediately because I’m elbow-deep in a box of canned tomatoes at the food pantry, counting and recounting as if the numbers might change. Sixteen cans. Sixteen cans to feed how many families? The math makes my stomach twist.
Where is all the food?
Shouldn’t there have been a shipment?
What are we supposed to tell people?
“Hey Helen?”
The manager of the Portland Pantry tips her head around the corner, her small reading glasses bridging her nose as she looks over them. “Yes, dear?”
“There’s no more bread, and I passed out the last of the bananas this morning when Mr. Prednigot stopped by.” I hear the tremor in my voice, the one I’m trying to swallow down. “Also, we don’t have any more baby formula, or oatmeal, and we’re down to one bag of apples. Should I divide them up instead of giving out the bag?”
Her shoulders deflate and I can tell she’s just as worried as Iam at the lack of food on our shelves. “I think that might be best so we can stretch as far as we can. Maybe one apple per person until we run out?”
I nod, a knot forming in my throat.
One apple.
One single apple when I know some of these people won’t eat again until tomorrow. The unfairness of it all burns in my chest. I choke back tears with the knowledge that at some point today, I’m going to be forced to turn people away. And that’s the very last thing I want to do.
My phone buzzes again and again, I ignore it.
It’s probably Shepherd and after the way I acted the other day, I’m not sure what to say to him.
I kissed him.
I wanted to kiss him.
I wanted to know what it felt like and damn, did it ever feel good.
But it’s not me.
