I started for my bike and said, “I’ll get them going on the surveillance.”
“Good. That where you’re headed now?” Cotton asked, grinning at me like a fucking Cheshire cat.
“No,” I answered as I got on my bike and started the engine. “I’ll get back to you.”
It was still early. There was no reason for me to be there, but I needed to check on them, see for myself that everything was okay. The sun had gone down, and the chill of the night bit at the back of my neck as I parked my bike at the edge of the driveway and killed the engine. Just knowing they were on the other side of those four walls made the tension I’d been carrying around all day begin to subside. Her house was just a small brick house, nothing out of the ordinary, but Wren had done her best to make the place look like a home. There were fresh mums sitting on the porch, and she had some kind of fall decoration hanging on the front door. The lights were on in the kitchen, and I could see her standing at the window. She was talking to someone, but then stopped when she noticed me sitting there. Seconds later the front door opened and Wren was walking over to me.
Her lips curled into a warm smile as she approached me and said, “Thought I might have scared you off.” Her hair was up in a ponytail, and she was wearing a pair of black leggings with a sweater. Even without trying, she was gorgeous.
“I’ve been around.”
“I’m sure you have,” she laughed. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to this whole stealth protector thing you have going on, but I’ve decided to just take it for what it is. I mean, it’s not every girl that has her very own macho motorcycle guy sitting out in their driveway, waiting to save the day. Oh, I wonder if the neighbors have spotted you. I’m surprised they haven’t called me about it.” I must have made her nervous, because she was rambling. Too damn cute. “So… um, I’m making spaghetti. Would you like to come in for some?”
“No, that’s not necessary,” I told her.
“It’s just spaghetti, Griffin. Besides, I know Wyatt would be excited to see you.” I’m sure she could see that I was considering it, so she pushed a little harder. “You don’t want to pass this up. I make a mean pot of spaghetti and my meatballs are homemade.”
“You don’t get told no very often, do you?” I poked.
“Not really. It’s a character flaw of mine,” she admitted.
I’d barely made it off my bike when Wyatt came barreling out of the front door and shouted, “Hey Stitch!”
“Hey there, dude. Heard your mom made spaghetti.”
“Yeah, but I’m not really a fan of spaghetti,” Wyatt admitted. Then he leaned in closer to me and whispered, “You should come eat some with us, then you could eat some of mine.”
“I think I can help you out with that,” I laughed as I followed them inside. A hint of garlic filled the air as I walked into the small kitchen and sat down. It wasn’t a new place, but Wren had done a good job in making it a home. The cabinets had a fresh coat of paint, and she’d hung plaid curtains over the windows. It was nice. I watched as she walked over to the old stove and pulled out the bread, quickly placing the hot pan on the counter.
“What can I get you to drink?” Wyatt asked.
“I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
“Mom makes me drink milk at dinner time. She says it’s good for my bones. I’ve told her that there is calcium in my Flintstone’s vitamins, but she still makes me drink it.”
“Milk will be fine.”
Quietly, Wren started filling the table with food while Wyatt poured me a large glass of milk. I was mesmerized watching their little dinner time routine, and I wondered if it was always like that with them. Even though it was just the two of them they were a family and I was curious how the whole thing worked. I couldn’t even remember sitting down to a meal without being afraid that something would set my grandfather off. It was different with them. It was nice, really nice.
When everything was ready Wren said, “Okay, boys. Dig in.”
“Looks really good, momma,” Wyatt told her. Then, he cut his eyes over to me and gave me a mischievous smile. I was liking the kid more all the time.
“I saw that, Wyatt,” Wren told him, nudging him playfully with her elbow.
“It’s messy, Momma, and the noodles are hard to get on my fork,” he complained. He placed his fork in the center of his plate and started to twirl it around, trying to gather up the noodles. When he lifted his fork, most of the noodles dropped back down to his plate. “See… it’s hard.”
“If you want a brownie later, then you have to eat your dinner. Up to you, bud.” And with that, he took his fork and tried again… and again… and again.
We’d spent a few minutes in silence while everyone tried to eat their meal without making a huge mess, then Wyatt asked, “You know why you can’t trust atoms?”
“No. Why?” I asked.