His shoulders drew up tight as he reached out to pet Millicent. I stood by the gate, arms folded, waiting for him to explain what the hell was going on. Did he hate me or not? I mean, his penis seemed to like me, but his brain was not following suit.
“My parents invited you to dinner.” He glanced back at me, his hands stroking the long neck of a very contented llama. “Not going would be rude.”
I stared at him for so long that my eyes started to dry out. “Do you want me to go? You can say it, Acosta. Honestly, you can say that you might have been wrong about me and that I’m a really cute guy who rocks your world.”
He stared at Millicent, his fingers roaming through her fur as if he could find some sort of strength in touching her soft fleecy fur.
“Are you coming or not? If not, you have to call them and make your excuses.”
Argh. I sorely wanted to pinch him. Hard. Right on his sweet little ass. “I’m going. Only because backing out would be rude and your parents are lovely people. Unlike their son. Now let’s jab this damn llama already so I can go home to change. Also,” I added as he removed a hypo from the little skinny pocket of his old handyman jeans. His slate gaze touched mine. God, those eyes. So filled with passion and pain. “I’m not a quitter.”
But you were just thinking about—
Shut up. No one asked you.
“I wouldn’t have held it against you if you backed out.”
“I would have. Now let’s do our Dr. Doolittle bit here. It will take me time to get my hair ready for mass. I do not go to speak to Jesus without pomade and a freshly pressed suit.”
He stared at me as if I had a quartet of octopi sitting atop my head playing Bach’s “Cello Suite No. 1” in G major on teensy little waterproof cellos. Then one side of his mouth twitched. Just a wee bit, but that was enough. He did like me, deep down he did. Cripes, I sounded like Sally Field now. Whatever. He liked me, I liked him.
Huh? Like? When did like enter the picture? Isn’t this a passing fancy? A little rendezvous in the snowy woods? It’s been how many days?!
I don’t know. Time is fluid. Ask Dr. Who.
It’s been a couple of days. And this is not another of your rescues. This is a way to prove to him that Fitzgerald & Sons Well Services is a company that works with people to better their lives while providing badly needed energy to the global market?
Shut. It. Now. Gods, as if I need me to blast me with the company promotional marketing lines that I helped write. Leave me be the eternal optimist. Someone has to bring this sad, beautiful man out of the well of grief. I am more than capable of rescuing him. I did take that CPR class in college. And I know how to lifeguard.
Right. Well, if he starts to drown in a water trough, we know who to call. Decker, you cannot save every damaged soul you stumble across. Remember what your therapists are always telling you. Look how that ended with Sebastian. And Micah. And Dominick. And all the birds and that baby bunny and—
Hush. Now. Just…hush…
I brushed my inner voice aside. He was a such a nasty little saboteur at times. Brutally honest, the bitch. I didnothave a savior complex. I just like helping people. If being a white knight was a bad thing, then why are they always the good guys in all the movies? Exactly. Hashtag mic drop.
ChapterTen
It had beena hot minute since I’d been in church.
Things came right back to me though. It was like riding a bike, skinned knees and all.
Acosta was extremely quiet throughout the mass, his sight flitting around the beautiful interior of the Roman Catholic church situated outside Miller’s Lake town limits.
“They let us build out here to ensure the Protestant church got all the blingity-bling,” Mr. Melios informed me after we’d exited the church. What kind of blingity-bling a church possessed—be it Protestant, Methodist, Catholic, or Satanic—I wasn’t quite sure.
“If only we could have a Greek Methodist church, but there’s not enough of our people here,” Mrs. Melios commiserated as we made our way across the freshly salted parking lot behind the church. “Please, follow us home. Dinner will be ready in a few hours. We can talk, get to know the others well.”
“I have ouzo,” Mr. Melios chimed in, sweetening the deal in his mind. I really wasn’t a big drinker, but I did enjoy a sip of something to warm the tummy on a cold winter’s eve. Or morning. Glancing over at Acosta with his dour face and shoulders covering his ears, a dribble of that familiar anise-flavored apéritif might be just what the doctor ordered. “To warm the belly on such cold days.” He patted his belly before giving me a wink. “Follow us. Watch the bend on Holly Bramble Lane. It is sharp, and in the sun, so much ice builds up on it. When you hit it, your car goes whammy! Into fence post then cows get free to run up road.”
“Your car goes whammy into fence post, Yiorgos. My car does never go whammy,” Mrs. Melios countered before giving me a wink. “Mr. Melios goes too quick for conditions. Has to pay Farmer Holly for fence after rounding up cows.”
“Was like rodeo in movie! We had ropes and lassoing was good fun!” Mr. Melios informed me as he opened the passenger side door of their Subaru for his wife. Such a gallant man. “Zina says I am big western movie star like Gene Autry.”
“More handsome of course,” she whispered and then pecked his cheek. His olive skin flushed a deep red. How lovely! My stars, it was so endearing to see a married couple so happy. Their love was so obvious and so strong. Even through the tragedy of losing a child, they had stayed together. Such a traumatic thing could have easily split up a weaker union. My phone vibrated. I reached into my pocket, removed it, and saw that it was my mother. Speaking of weaker unions…
“I’m leaving the driving to Acosta. He knows the roads far better than me. You two go on ahead. I have to take this call. It’s my mother.” Mrs. Melios beamed at me. I wanted to tell her that it wasn’t anything to be so happy about, but I couldn’t bring myself to ruin her mood. Instead, I smiled warmly and moved away to stand by a snowy pine tree that could serve as a windbreak. I was sure the call wouldn’t take long. They never did.
“Mom, hello. Merry Christmas,” I opened with, spinning to give the parking lot my back.
