Page 51 of Blood Lovers

He must feel my scrutiny, because his hand goes up and pulls the collar off. “It’s new.” He kinda huffs these words out. “I hate them. They are so stiff. I was trying to break it in.”

I don’t know why I find this funny, but I do. So I laugh a little. “It’s cool. I’m the last man to be judging you.”

The corners of his mouth slowly lift up in a smile. Like he was hoping I wasn’t a serial killer, but it wasn’t a high hope. Until I spoke, and then he knew it to be true.

Kind of like Syrsee.

Damn. She’s just on my mind, isn’t she? Everything is going back to her right now.

“I don’t judge anyone.” He points to the ceiling. “That’s His job.”

“Right.”

I get another smile. A more knowing smile. “You’re just here for the food. I get it. Don’t let me stop you. There is no commitment required to help yourself.” He pans his hands wide to encompass the entire pantry. “Take whatever you want.”

“Thanks.” I look around and realize it’s all like… fresh. As in… ingredients. As in… I will need to cook this shit using things that are not a microwave.

I don’t know what I was expecting. It’s not like I even have a microwave in the cabin to heat up frozen food, but I guess I was expecting a more convenient method of nourishment. Bags of cookies, or something.

“You don’t cook, do you?”

“No.” I look over at him and chuckle. “I don’t. But I’ve got a hungry woman at home and she wants me to feed her.”

“Ohhhh.” He processes this. “I see. She’s… someone you care about? Or this is just an obligation you feel?”

“First one.”

“Ah.” And this comes with a grin. “Wait. She’s not the woman who just moved in above the hardware store, is she?”

“Wow. You know everyone.”

“This town is home to a hundred and fifty people. So. Yeah. But the church owns that apartment. She’s our tenant. It is her, though, right?”

“Yeah. It’s her.” And I grin.

“You like her.” His brow furrows. “But she just got in last night.”

“I’m not quite sure how it happened, either. She went to the diner looking for food and kinda had a little breakdown in the parking lot. So I went across the street to see if she was OK. And she was.” The guy nods, relieved. Because he might’ve been getting concerned. “And then…” I sigh and throw up my hands. “The next thing I know, I’m picturing a life with this girl and going out in the snow to hunt her down some food.”

Part of which isn’t technically true. The part about picturing a life with her. This is new. But now that these words have spilled out of my mouth, they are manifest.

He puts up a finger. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer. Just turns towards a doorway covered by a sheet, pushes through it, and disappears.

I let out a breath and take in the pantry. It’s so… nice. It’s not what I was expecting. The shelves are stocked with bags of flour, rice, sugar, and nuts. Plus glass jars filled with all kinds of other stuff. Jams, and meat, and vegetables. Not the glass jars you find in supermarkets, but the old-fashioned kind. The kind a woman from my first life might have in her cupboards because she canned it all herself.

There is a lot of fresh produce too. Even strawberries.

The man appears again, finding me gazing at the strawberries. “We have a lot of strawberries. Our greenhouse is going a little bit crazy at the moment. But we’ll have a full house in church tomorrow. They will be gone by noon and pies will be baked by supper.”

“Hm. Sounds kinda nice.”

“Oh. The reason I left.” He points to the curtained door. “My wife is going to cook you and your girl up some breakfast.”

“Oh, no.” I put up a hand. “It’s not necessary.”

“You’re right. It’s not. But we’re going to do it anyway.” He thrusts a hand at me. “I’m Joshua. And my wife”—he once again points to the curtain over the door—“she’s Emily.”