Page 16 of Sweet and Salty
Don’t pass out; don’t pass out.
I almost pass out.
Two warm hands grip my biceps and hold me aloft. “Do you have a concussion? What on earth are you doing out here? I could have shot you.”
My vision clears enough to see that Laura is in a furry purple robe and blue pajama pants with neon-orange cheese slices on them. And she’s holding what is either a Taser or a very sturdy flashlight.
“Don’t shoot,” I say weakly.
She rolls her eyes and pulls me inside. “Sit. There, at the table. I’ll get you an ice pack.”
I touch the growing knob on my forehead and wince. “That’s a sharp door you have there.”
My vision swirls and darkens before clearing again. She has her hair up in a loose bun atop her head, like a ball of fluffy brown cotton candy.
“My door doesn’t usually get so many complaints.” Laura crosses to the stainless steel freezer, her slippers shucking across the hardwood floors. Now that I can see, her appliances are all top-of-the-line, state-of-the-art models, slightly incongruous in the otherwise vintage farmhouse look she has going. It all makes sense, I suppose, in the mystery that is Laura Marshall.
“Here.” She hands me an ice pack, wrapped in a kitchen towel that’s embroidered with dozens of tiny, bright red cherries. “What are you doing here? It’s the crack of fricking dawn.”
I hold the ice pack to my forehead with one hand and gesture to the bag with the ring light with my other. “I wanted to drop this off. It sounded important. I didn’t know if it could wait until after work.” What a terrible fucking excuse, but I have a concussion. I’m not on my A game. Not that I need an A game with her.
I just need to lie down.
Laura sticks her finger in my face, and my eyelids snap to attention. “No. You cannot go to sleep.”
“But I’m tired. It’s six in the morning.” To prove my point, I yawn.
Laura looks like she’s holding in a laugh. “I have so many nurses in my family who would be screaming in my ear right now, telling me not to let you fall asleep.”
“Concussion protocols have changed.” The ice pack seems to be calming down the pain and heat from my lump. “Sleep is restorative for a lot of things.”
Laura clucks. “If you tell me I should have gone to nursing school, I’m going to have Einstein hit you in the head with his tail.” Hearing his voice, her Golden Retriever wags his long, shaggy tail.
Dogs are the best. I hold out my hand, and Einstein sniffs it once before effectively plastering himself to my side for rubs. My fingers sink into his soft fur. I think I’m in love.
“I won’t.” I say. “I’m sorry I surprised you. I can’t believe you have a Taser.”
“I’m a single woman living alone in the country. Be grateful I didn’t bring out my shotgun.” She moves around the kitchen, pulling out mugs and filling her electric kettle. “Do you want coffee or tea?”
Einstein barks and leaves me to follow his mom around the kitchen. I supposeteadoes sound a lot liketreat.
“Coffee, please.” A confusing warmth tightens around my lower spine. “So you do make coffee at home.”
“Only for grumps with concussions who come bearing gifts.” She sits down opposite me at her worn kitchen table. “It will be ready in a moment.”
I like her kitchen. It feels so homey and cozy and…right. The house I shared with Esme was never like this. It was imported marble and chrome, and Esme had some sort of diffuser that made the whole house smell like a nightclub. Laura’s house smells like a favorite local restaurant.
Maybe I should see a doctor. Nothing about this is right.
Einstein burrows himself into a ball between me and Laura. My feet scrape through his fur, and when I touch Laura’s leg with mine, I realize she’s doing the same thing.
She looks so pretty first thing in the morning, her face still brushed with sleep. I can’t smell her breath, but I have a feeling even that won’t be awful. Esme used to have the worst morning breath.
“I really am sorry,” I repeat. “I shouldn’t have just stopped by. It’s only that you said the light was important, and I wanted to catch you before you left for work.” Somewhat awkwardly, I hand her the bag. “I shouldn’t have been so grouchy with you the other day. My grandma raised me better than that.”
A flush spreads across her pretty cheeks, but she turns as the kettle whistles with steam. She stands from the table. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do this, but I appreciate it.”
“Sure.” A warmth spreads through me that has everything to do with her acceptance of my apology and nothing to do with the way the purple robe hugs her round ass. It’s far too early in the morning to be getting hard thinking about my next-door neighbor. On the table, her phone buzzes, but she ignores it. “Is that important?” I ask, gesturing.