“Jewel tones look good on you. I’ve noticed that before.” She shrugs as she plays with the edge of the blanket.
“Oh, thanks?” I furrow my brows. It’s just a shirt. Sitting down beside her, I put on new socks and shoes.
“Do you do that a lot?” she asks quietly.
“Do what?” I ask, as I continue lacing up a shoe.
“Snap your fingers and have things delivered to Emerley in the middle of the night?” She raises a hand and snaps her fingers as she says it.
Sitting up, I meet her bright blue eyes. “No.” I shake my head. “Last night was an exception.” I mean, I could, but I never have.
“Because I was sick?” she asks, nibbling on her bottom lip. The colour has returned to her cheeks, but I can tell she’s still tired.
“Yes.” Shifting in my seat to face her, I say, “I didn’t do anything last night that I didn’t want to. I told you I wanted to take care of you, and I did. And I’m going to continue to take care of you.” When she opens her mouth to interrupt, I gently touch two fingers to her lips. “Please,” I say softly, “let me do this.”
She must see something in my eyes because she nods her head in silent agreement—then she licks my finger. And just like that, the tension is gone.
“You’re gross,” I say in mock disgust, wiping my fingers on her pyjama top.
“That’s not what you thought this morning when you were wrapped around me like an octopus. I could barely breathe, and it wasn’t from this stupid cold.” She laughs, leaning into me.
Rolling my eyes, I stand. “That’s it, I’m leaving before you can make fun of me further.” Bending, I kiss her on the top of her head. “I won’t be gone long. If you can think of anything else you need, text me.”
“Go get your coffee, Pretty Boy. I’ll be fine.” She brushes me off before curling up in her blanket.
With one last quick scan, I make sure she has everything she may need while I’m gone.
Jogging down the stairs with my keys in my hand, I glance up and see Maggie standing on her front porch smiling. She waves before turning and going back inside. Should I worry about the optics of this? I don’t think so. Maggie is the one who sent me here. Sure, I spent the night, but I was only helping my sick…friend. Yes, I can confidently say she is my friend.
A friend I can’t stop touching. A friend that I have slept beside and woken up hard as a rock twice. A friend who makes me feel things I’m completely unprepared to feel. But still only a friend.
Getting into the truck, I let out a heavy sigh before starting the engine. The drive from her trailer to town feels like secondnature now, but my thoughts keep circling to the same question. When did our relationship change? Was it at The Riff when she fit so perfectly in my arms while we slow-danced? Or the afternoon I picked her up soaking wet in the rain? Or was it even before that? Was it one of those nights we were out with our friends when I secretly wished it was me she was laughing with? Flirting with? I have dedicated years to learning how to deal with my emotions, and I’m professionally trained to help clients work through theirs. But with Beck, I’m lost.
Impulsively, I decide to make a quick detour into the hardware store before going to the bakery. Everyone needs a coffee pot. I know she said she doesn’t have the space, but maybe a single-serving one will work. She will either love it or hate it.
Like many businesses in Emerley, McDonald’s Hardware has been in the family for generations. Four generations, if the pictures on the wall above the till are to be believed. If they don’t have something in stock, they will order it without a fuss. Anything to keep people from clicking “add to cart” online.
The bell over the door gives a quick ring as I step inside. The youngest McDonald daughter looks up from the magazine she is flipping through and smiles.
“Good morning, Mr. Sampson,” she says cheerfully, standing a little straighter.
“Good morning, Violet. Can you point me towards the aisle with the coffee makers?”
“Aisle three, near the end, on the right. Do you need me to help you find anything?” she asks.
“No, I’ve got it. Thank you.”
Slipping past the seasonal items and around a display of paint, I find aisle three and the coffee makers right where she said they would be.
Scouring the limited selection, I think I’ve found the perfect model. Picking it up, I spin it around in my hands and read—a single-serving hot and ice coffee machine. Ready in three minutes. Perfect. I know she likes iced coffee, and lucky for me, they also carry a variety of pods.
After paying, I step out into the crisp autumn air and see my friends gathered beside my truck.
“So, this is what we do now. Just hang out in random parking lots first thing in the morning?” I ask as I join them.
“Hey, man. Where were you last night? I stopped by your place around eight and you weren’t home,” Carson asks, leaning up against the side of his truck.
“Oh. Ah,” I stumble on my words. “I had stopped at the bakery, and Maggie asked me to drop off some things for Beck on my way home.” I have no reason to lie to them, and it really isn’t that big of a deal.
