Ohmigod!
I forced his words out of my head even as I responded to them. “Yes, okay, but they only didn’t give me a lecture or hit us both with their heavy censure because they think it’s your reward for keeping me alive. In normal circumstances –”
He interrupted me with another arm squeeze and stated, “In normal circumstances, Kia, baby, you are twenty-eight and you can do whatever the fuck you wanna do. And in our current circumstances, my Ma knows me pretty well, she does not have hang ups about that shit but if she did, she knows better than to share them with me or make you uncomfortable. You are not sleepin’ on the couch, you’re sleepin’ with me.”
“Fine,” I returned because I already knew that was a battle I’d never win. “But we won’t be having sex.”
Sam’s face got a little scary.
“Kia –”
“Sam.”
He stared into my eyes.
Then he burst out laughing, fell to his back, taking me with him then he rolled so he was on top and he lifted his head and looked down at me, still, I might add, laughing.
When he got control of his hilarity, he muttered, “Fuck, you’re cute.”
“I wasn’t being cute.”
“Yeah, that’s why you’re cute.”
I glared at him.
His face got soft and it also got closer when he whispered, “You’re nervous.”
Uh… yeah!
I didn’t answer.
“She’ll love you, honey.”
I swallowed.
Sam dipped his head, touched his lips to mine then lifted it and, still whispering, said, “Luci loves you, Celeste loves you, Hap loves you and Ma will love you. Trust me, baby.”
I pressed my lips together.
Sam smiled at me.
My stomach, which was in knots, unknotted.
“Okay,” I said softly.
“Okay,” he repeated softly then he touched his mouth to mine again, lifted his head and told me, “Gonna take Memphis for a walk. You comin’ with?”
“Before coffee?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he answered.
“Then no,” I replied and he smiled again. “Make it short and we’ll take her out again later.”
“Works for me,” he muttered, dipped his head yet again and kissed my nose.
Then he rolled away.
I lay in bed and watched him pull on a pair of loose-fitting, athletic shorts, a tee with the sleeves cut off and a pair of old, ratty running shoes with no socks. Then I watched him move to the door, whistling. Then I watched him disappear through the door, Memphis bouncing behind him and disappearing too.
Then I rolled to my back and looked at the ceiling.
I was going to meet Sam’s Mom in two days.
Yikes.
Fearless, the word sounded in my head.
I took in a deep breath. Then I reminded myself I had a mission.
So I didn’t delay.
I threw off the covers, did my bathroom gig and headed downstairs to make coffee.
*
I was in the kitchen writing a grocery list when I heard the garage door opening and Sam’s Ford F-150 supercrew cab truck growling in.
It was late morning. I was showered, clothed and made up. I was also juiced up on caffeine which was sharing space in my stomach with oatmeal.
Sam had taken Memphis for her walk, came back, changed into workout clothes which meant he put on socks and a better pair of gym shoes. Then he took off to the gym.
Now he was back.
In his absence, I also had time to inspect Sam’s kitchen finding he had all the accoutrements to the point I was a little surprised. He even had a garlic press. What single man had a garlic press?
I found this a little disturbing because no single man had a garlic press unless that single man had a woman that at one time lived with him and forgot to take her garlic press with her when their relationship crashed and burned in a fiery ball of flame. Or she was around enough to cook for him repeatedly thus he outfitted his kitchen with items she’d deemed necessary.
I turned my mind from these thoughts to other thoughts that were only slightly less disturbing. These included the fact that I’d never cooked for Sam. I didn’t cook like my mother, this was true. And I thought my cooking was good. In fact, although Cooter was controlling about what I cooked, he never got pissed off about how it turned out.
But I’d noticed that, although Sam wasn’t freakish about his nutrition consumption inasmuch as he didn’t demand his vegetables steamed, his chicken grilled and allowed nothing unhealthy to pass his lips and he also would enjoy a beer or three, still, his selections were all relatively healthy and he leaned toward fish and skinless poultry and away from beef, fats and copious carbs.
I was the queen of beef, fats and copious carbs. Well, maybe not fats, so much, but definitely the other two. If a meal didn’t have some sort of bread, even if that meal was pasta, my thought was, what was the point?