Page 73 of Just Friends
“Nah, I can’t stand the fragrance of those lilies.”
“I’ll bring it to you once the flowers die.”
“Don’t know what I’d do with it.”
“You’ll need it when Weasel brings you flowers.”
Rebecca laughed. “Dead deer is more his speed.”
“Beautiful necklace, by the way…”
She ran her fingers over the butterfly thathe’d given her for Christmas. “Thanks.”
“A present from someone?”
“Yeah.”
Hannah studied Rebecca, “You’re not taking anything home? Well… except for a man.”
Rebecca glanced around and not locating Weasel anywhere, “If he ran away, I’ll need a ride home.”
Hannah laughed. “Honey, that man didn’t go far.”
Probably true. Weasel had been nearby for five days and jumped every time she’d even shifted. If she were honest with herself, she didn’t mind his attentiveness. But now wasn’t a good time for honesty as relatives were lining up for goodbyes.
She and Weasel were, again, the last to leave. In a cruel twist of time, the world carried on. Traffic flowed as people rushed around running their errands—shopping, grabbing lunch, having fun with the landscape transforming into white. Today didn’t seem like a Saturday, but she didn’t know what day it felt like. Nothing was the same. For four years she’d structured her life around her dad, his care needs, and going to the rehab center. And now….
“I packed up some of the food I thought you’d like,” Weasel said, interrupting her thoughts. “Are you warm enough?” He’d turned the heat full blast and had several vents pointed at her in his SUV. Rebecca nodded that she was. But her feet had frozen solid. At a red light, he reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and produced something—the angel figurine.
“How?” she asked holding it. “You took an angel away from an old lady?”
“She’s close enough to seeing the real thing anyway.”
“Weasel,” she attempted to stifle the laugh, but failed.
“Honey, she set it on the table in the kitchen while she was raking as much fried chicken into her tote bag as she could, I pocketed it. She walked off without looking. Besides, he’s your dad. I’d bet if we found the card, it was to you.” He drove the turn onto the road, heading up the plateau. “And it was the only thing you wanted.”
Rebecca leaned back and closed her eyes clutching the little pilfered item with a smile. Weasel’s hand rested on her thigh, and rubbing her hand over his, she interlaced their fingers. He pulled her hand to him and kissed it.
???
The following five days, she holed up in Weasel’s cabin, barely moving and not speaking to anyone else. Text messages from Autumn and Hannah received short replies. Ones from her mother reminding her of her promise and asked if she’d accepted the job offer from John, were ignored. Weasel returned to duty and didn’t complain about her presence.
Staying with him, she learned that a cleaning crew arrived in twice a week, which explained the spotless house and that the man somehow ran on little sleep. Weasel worked all hours of the day and night and did not appear exhausted. On a good day, she still needed nine hours of sleep. The twelve she slept after the funeral was excessive, even by her standards. At night after dinner thathe brought home, they’d curl up on the couch and watch television. By the end of the third day, Janet left, vacating her apartment, and she had no reason left to remain at Weasel’s. And she should return to her job, even if she wanted a new one. The bills needed paying. Realistically, she couldn’t stick around with him forever. She’d been there long enough. He’d invited her to be polite; she shouldn’t be the house guest that overstayed. It had been a break from her old reality, and now it was time to begin a different one.
???
Weasel parked in front of his cabin after a long day that had begun well before sunrise. There was a slippery convenience store robber that no one could ID and who could disappear into thin air that had top priority. The first store had security camera footage of the lowest quality imaginable. It was so sad. They should scrap the system for all the good it did. In the second store, the cameras didn’t work at the time of the robbery, which, he didn’t buy. Weasel’s gut told him it was an inside job, created to resemble the other. Someone thought they could get away with an easy payday. He needed to figure out which of the employees it was, but for now, he looked forward to seeing the gorgeous woman inside. The best part of the past week had been coming home to her.
Rebecca had texted him not to buy dinner. If she was making dinner, he hoped that meant she’d started to feel better. He exited the vehicle trudging through the sludge. He pushed through the front door greeted by warmth and a mouthwatering aroma. Dropping his boots and jacket in the foyer, he stepped to the kitchen.
“That smells ama…” He stopped short at the sight of Rebecca at the oven. In a fitted blue cotton t-shirt that stretched across her breasts and skimmed her middle, no bra, and a pair of loose flannel pajama bottoms that slid low on her hips revealing a strip of skin. She stirred a simmering pot of whatever goodness smelled that scrumptious, his words backed up in his throat.
A woman in his kitchen was making supper, just for him. No one had ever done that before, certainly not someone as heart-stoppingly amazing as the woman before him. Sure, she’d cooked him a lot of meals over the past few years, but it had always been part of cooking for the Diner or the group; now this was just for him. He spent his life figuring out how he could protect and care for her, to win her affections; it’d never occurred to him that this was how she cared for him. He never got thathe’d missed out on everything by not having a mother, and this was a hell of a minute for a realization.
“It’s Venison Bourguignon,” she said, bringing him back from the mental rabbit hole he’d fallen down.
“Sounds fancy and smells incredible.” Weasel crossed the room, scooping her into his arms and pressing his lips to hers, hoping she didn’t notice his little mental freak out.