Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 131387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
“So?” she pushed. “Is it still in the house?”
“’Spect not,” Hutch lied (and that would be what I’d expect him to say). “My kitchen is old, but not that old.”
Her face fell.
But she brightened again when she remembered my request. “I’ll have a look for some pictures. I would want to know the history behind where I live too.” She smiled. “And I do. But, say I moved to a new place, I’d look into that.”
“That would be great. I own The Groove. If you find something, and you’re in town, you can drop by. Or, if you have an iPhone, we can AirDrop, and you can just call me.”
“I have an iPhone,” she replied.
We exchanged numbers and goodbyes, and Hutch slung his arm around my shoulders again (ditto with me at his waist) and turned us around to walk back the five blocks to his truck.
We did this not speaking, and we did that not-speaking bit comfortably.
There weren’t a lot of folks around. Some in the Double D. Some late stragglers strolling down the street where Hutch pointed out Harry and Lillian lived, checking out the elaborate Halloween decorations.
But mostly, it was quiet and peaceful, and we both were clearly feeling the need to take those vibes in.
We were in his truck and on our way when I said, “I know it wasn’t your thing, but thanks for going on that with me.”
“It might not have been one hundred percent accurate, but it was interesting,” he replied.
He was right.
“You think I should have my kitchen appraised?” he asked.
I was taken aback by the question.
But I answered it.
“For the purposes of insuring something that is highly likely very valuable, maybe. But they’ll jack up your rates, and if you don’t intend to sell it, the only value it really has is how gorgeous it is and its usefulness. You could never replace it and probably wouldn’t want to spend that kind of money on a new kitchen. That said, if something were to happen to it, you could just pocket the difference.”
“You really like that kitchen, yeah?”
“Don’t you?”
“A kitchen’s a kitchen, May.”
What a guy.
“To answer your question, yes, I do.”
“I could auction it and make money for the sanctuary.”
The idea of that kitchen being pulled from his house physically hurt me.
But I said. “It’s your kitchen, honey.”
“You have trouble cooking with that stove?” he asked.
We cooked together at his place because, one, it was his place, two, Hutch could cook and told me I’d been bearing the brunt of it and that had to change, and three, he had to guide the way so I could get the hang of things.
“There’s definitely a knack to it. But you said you keep it stoked all the time. So it isn’t like you have to squat in front of the door blowing on the flames to reach three hundred fifty degrees.”
There was humor in his tone when he said, “No. You don’t gotta do that.”
“Alternate question, is the sanctuary in trouble financially?”
“The sanctuary and rescue are always in trouble financially. We got government grants and sometimes can be at the whims of an administration. But that sanctuary has been there for thirty years, and it keeps limping along. Still, money always helps.”
At this very true statement, I decided right then, I’d give it time. I’d make sure the shop was a go. I’d buy my place. I’d set some aside for a rainy day. And I’d give the rest of Frank’s money to Stony Bluff.
Frank might like that.
He might hate it.
I didn’t care.
Something of that man’s should do some good.
And I’d just decided how it would.
I didn’t tell Hutch, though.
I said, “You just learned you might be sitting on a goldmine. Can I suggest you don’t make any hasty decisions?”
“I never make hasty decisions.”
I didn’t doubt it.
“Except the one I made when you were asking me to fuck you.” He shot me a shit-eating grin. “But I seriously don’t regret that one.”
Ugh.
And…
Yum.
Simply to keep up appearance, I slapped his arm.
Then I leaned over to kiss his jaw.
“Mm,” he hummed in a way that made me suddenly want to get home, and fast.
We got home, just not fast, though we did it safe.
And after some fur baby greeting, puppy checking, and a bathroom break for all of them, as anticipated, Hutch delivered on the promise of that hum.
TWENTY-SIX
Ivy League of the Midwest
Mabel
Sunday afternoon, the rain was steadily coming down, the day was gray and misty, and I was in the best place anyone could be on such a day (or maybe on any day).
Propped up again on Hutch’s naked chest (I was naked too), baring the last of my soul.
That being what I considered the worst of my tales of woe.
My mom accidentally killing someone.
Over the years, to the people I trusted with this information, the reactions varied widely.