At Peace (The 'Burg #2)(96)

“I’ll come in, they won’t hear me. I’ll be gone before they get up. They’ll never know I’m here,” Joe assured me.

I figured that was true. Even when I was awake, Joe could sneak up on me.

“Okay.”

His voice got low and tight, like he was forcing out what he was saying and I knew why when he admitted, “Don’t like that shit, Vi. Us next door sleepin’, some f**kwad comin’ to your house while the girls are here, droppin’ off gifts.”

Shit, that was a lot more involved than it was detached.

Why did he constantly give me mixed signals? It was driving me up the freaking wall.

“I don’t either,” I agreed.

“So, we do our thing here.”

“Okay.”

He looked at the door. “How you gonna play it with the girls?”

I took in a deep breath then I let it out. “Don’t know yet. I need to think about it.”

He nodded, telling me he’d keep it quiet then he said, “Pancakes.”

“Yeah.”

He let me go, took my hand and walked me out of my room.

* * * * *

I sat in my car, doors locked like Joe ordered me to keep them and I stared at Bobbie’s Garden Center.

I was early for work and I had a lot on my mind, a lot I needed to get sorted before I clocked in.

Earlier, Joe and I had left my room only to smell bacon cooking.

The smell hit me; it was an emotional hit, instant and hard.

Since Tim died, the girls and I had pancakes, not bacon, the pancakes enough to fill us up.

On pancake Sunday when Tim was alive, we had bacon because Tim liked bacon and pancakes weren’t enough to fill him up.

The girls had made bacon for Joe.

Me having a conversation with Joe in my bedroom was not normal, in fact, it’d never happened but the girls didn’t comment. They didn’t ask questions. They just threw us looks, waiting for me or Joe to share. We didn’t and, surprisingly, they let it go.

Like when Sam was there, Joe took Tim’s seat and this hit me hard too. Minutes later, it hit me harder because the girls again didn’t seem to mind. They acted like Joe sat there all the time. They didn’t act like this was strange or uncomfortable. They were animated, talkative, not desperately so, naturally, even Kate.

And as we settled into eating, I found I liked this, like I liked it when Tim was alive and we had pancake Sunday. Family sitting around the table, eating, talking about the week they had, the week to come.

Joe also seemed at ease. Not talkative, Joe wasn’t talkative but, in his mostly non-verbal way, he encouraged the girls to do it.

Keira I knew had designs on Joe for me because she liked him and she wanted him to know she liked him. Therefore she chatted enthusiastically with Joe about every subject under the sun. None of these subjects Joe had even a hint of interest in, he couldn’t, it was teenage girl stuff, but he never let on that he didn’t.

It was Kate who surprised me. When she got to talking about some of the bands she liked, Joe told her he knew their music, he hadn’t met them like The Buckley Boys, but he listened to the bands she liked. I could tell he liked Kate’s taste and I could tell Kate liked this music, more than I expected. She was really into it and she enjoyed sharing that with Joe since he liked their music too. But it was more, she seemed to take his approval of her taste as praise and she blossomed under it, I saw her do it right over pancakes.

Joe left, we did the dishes and, as the girls got ready for their day, I searched for the key to the sliding glass door. I found it in the junk drawer in the kitchen, having no clue how it got there since keys went on the hook by the side door, but I suspected Keira was the culprit mostly because she always was.

Before I went to work, I took it over to Joe’s.

I knocked on his front door, wanting to give the impression, should anyone be watching, that this was a friendly neighborly visit, rather than getting caught by someone while I snuck around the back which would indicate a very friendly neighborly visit.

When Joe opened the door he was wearing nothing but loose athletic shorts and expensive looking running shoes and he was sweating a lot. He destroyed my neighborly visit ploy by grabbing my hand, yanking me into the house and slamming the door.

I saw a bunch of weights in the living room I hadn’t noticed before, a weight bench pulled into the center of the room. He was working out.

Um… yum.

I looked from the bench to him and, holding the key up between us, I said, “Key.”

His hand closed on the key, his other hand nabbed me around the back of my neck, his head came down and he kissed me, hard and long.

I was breathing heavily, my hands on his sweat slicked chest when his head came up.

“Great pancakes, buddy,” he murmured then let me go, turned away and walked to the kitchen like he hadn’t just laid a huge kiss on me, one that made my knees weak and my breath heavy.

I tried to get my head together and my body under control as I heard the key hit his kitchen counter, he went back to the weight bench and grabbed a bottle of water. He tipped his head back to take a long swallow and I walked to his kitchen, washed his sweat from my hands and then walked to the front door.

“Bye, Joe,” I called, my hand at the door and his eyes hit me.

“Tonight, buddy,” was his farewell.

I nodded and walked to my car.