Page 4 of A Dream for Daphne

He’d thought he had, but Ella decided she wanted someone a little less...embarrassing at the end of the day.

Fuck her.

And if he hadn’t run into her ten days ago, he might not have gone to the casino and tried to drink the memories of not being good enough away.

Instead, he’d gained the memories of another woman who might have made him work a little harder this week trying to wipe away the fact she was gone when he woke in the middle of the night, making him wonder if he’d done something wrong.

He went right to his bathroom in the hall, turned the water on to warm up, stripped out of his damp clothing and threw them in the basket in the corner.

His size thirteen feet stepped over the tub and into the shower, his head under the steamy spray while he let the dust from dirt and concrete run down his body before he lathered up his hair.

Wash it twice was what his mother always told him and he still listened to her even though she was living in Florida now.

His hands flung his damp hair back, then he reached for the Irish Spring and did the same to his body.

Washed himself twice.

Not just because he wanted it all gone, but he never wanted to stink or have a woman say that to him either.

Once he was rinsed off, he turned the cold water up and let it cool his body down for a minute before he shut it off and got out.

After he had dried off, he wrapped the towel around his waist and went to his room for a change of clothes.

A few minutes later, he was crossing the driveways that connected the two houses and walked up the deck stairs to his cousin Easton.

“A beer just for you.”

“Sweet,” he said. “I’ll take it. No Laurel yet?”

“Any minute. Dinner is almost done too if you want to help me get everything out.”

“Sure,” he said. “I should cook for you guys once.”

Easton snorted. “Yeah, right. You never wanted to cook much when we were kids, you’re not going to do it as an adult.”

Abe’s parents had raised Easton from when he was ten on. In Abe’s eyes, Easton and he were brothers more than cousins.

“I can pick up the phone and place an order like the next person,” Abe said.

He took a swig of his beer and followed Easton into the little rental house Laurel Glasgow lived in. His cousin lived in Stamford but worked remotely as an attorney and was spending more time in this neighborhood just outside of Mystic, Connecticut.

“If you want to get the red bowl in the fridge,” Easton said, “I’ll get the plates.”

Abe opened the fridge, saw the bowl, and snagged it out. “Macaroni salad. This day is looking up.”

Easton snorted and the two of them made their way back out to the table on the deck.

Abe was just sitting when Laurel walked up the steps. “Wow,” she said, fanning her hand in front of her face. “If it isn’t the Cooke cousins. What kind of a lucky girl am I to come home to two hot guys on my deck? And one is cooking for me.”

“Hey,” Easton said. “I’m the only one that is allowed to be called hot.”

“Please,” Laurel said, smirking. “You two look a lot alike. Remember, I thought you were him at first.”

Easton snorted. “And he never lets me live it down.”

“I should have opened my mouth rather than just waved,” he said. “Maybe Laurel would be cooking for me half the time rather than Easton doing it.”

“You’ll find your woman,” Laurel said. “She’s out there and will be lucky to have you. I’m going to go change.”

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