Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 51624 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 258(@200wpm)___ 206(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51624 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 258(@200wpm)___ 206(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
“Not at all. Colt even gave me the day off so I could help you.”
“What?” I squeak. “You can’t do that. I can take care of myself. There’s no reason for you to bother with me. We’re just—”
“You will never be a bother, Olivia Davis. You’re not a responsibility. I like being around you. I want to be here. Now, I’m just going to be in the kitchen. I’ll heat us up some soup and we’ll sit in here, eat, and watch any movie you want.”
“Lake—”
“You can even watch one of those disgusting girl movies that’s sickeningly sweet and set impossible goals that no ordinary man could match. You’re going to relax today and that’s an order. Am I clear?”
“I’m not sure you can order someone to relax. If you do that, it will probably have the opposite reaction,” I point out.
He grins. Then, he shocks me further by leaning down and kissing my forehead. His beard is soft against my face. I don’t even think as my fingers curl into it briefly. He pulls back, his brown eyes sparkling as he looks down at me. “Call out if you need me.”
“You don’t know where I keep the soup and things,” I point out, feeling out of my depth.
“It’s a kitchen, not an operating table where someone is telling me to do a brain transplant. I’ll figure it out.”
His words almost make me smile. Instead, I yawn and curl into my pillow. I watch Lake walk out of the room and close my eyes, thinking he has the same swagger as Bear. The thought makes me feel guilty, but I ignore it and will my body to relax.
For now, I’m just going to exist. I’ll worry about what I should or shouldn’t do tomorrow. Right or wrong, it’s just too damn exhausting to even think about right now.
22
FIGHTING GHOSTS
LAKE
It took me a bit, but I found the pantry. Inside were all kinds of supplies, but a lot of them were homemade and canned items. It seems Olivia wasn’t lying when she said she liked the diner because she didn’t eat a lot of fast food. I figured if she liked it enough to make and preserve it, I couldn’t go wrong choosing something there. She had beef stew, but I worried it might hurt her stomach. It had to be tender after the upset she had suffered today. So, I grabbed a quart of vegetable soup. It has ground beef in it, too, so it should be filling. I also located crackers and grabbed a couple of lemon-lime sodas from the fridge. I’m a little unsure of my choices, but I thought it would be rather light and easy on her stomach, and that was my goal. I couldn’t find a serving tray, but I found a large, aluminum sheet pan in a cabinet, so I arranged everything on it and took it to Olivia’s room.
I smile when I notice she’s curled back into the bed. I put the pan on one of the nightstands. Then sit on the bed, turning toward Olivia. Bending down, I tuck some air behind her ear and quietly ask, “Are you awake?”
“Mostly,” she answers, her voice hoarse and groggy, making me smile. Even as broken as she looks with her pale face and swollen eyes, Olivia is adorable.
“Good. I brought us some food.”
“Us?” she asks, surprised.
“We always have lunch together. Are you going to kick me out and force me to go home to peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, when I’m dying to try your homemade soup?” I ask, only slightly pretending to be hurt. If she kicks me out, it might crush me. I don’t care if that makes me sound like a pussy. I don’t want to leave her.
“You fixed my soup?”
“Yeah. It looked too good to pass up. Now, sit up and eat with me. What movie are we watching?” I ask.
“Movie?”
“Yeah, I told you to pick your favorite movie, and we’d watch it. Remember?”
“Oh, I guess I forgot. I don’t really watch a lot of television, though,” she confesses, as she turns to face the end of the bed, her legs folding with her knees out as she gets comfy.
“That’s okay,” I respond, putting the pan in front of both of us, opening her soda. “I just want you to feel comfortable.”
“I’m good. I like the quiet,” she explains.
I open the sleeve of crackers, placing it on the pan between our bowls. We’re silent for a bit as we get our food ready. It’s not a stilted silence, though. We work in harmony. Any tension in the room is completely nonexistent. If I’m honest, it feels damn good. As the first spoonful of the soup hits my tongue, I almost moan. Flavor explodes on my tongue. It’s the best damn thing I can remember eating.