Page 53 of Denim & Diamonds

He fell to my feet and rolled his big body around on the floor.

“You just want chicken. I can’t trust you for shit.” I sighed. “But youdothink I should go get the stuff to make soup? I’d have to go to the store. Tell me what to do, Oak.”

Ruff!

“Damn you, you old romantic.” I grabbed my coat. “All right. I’ll go.”

***

This is going to be interesting.

I had the soup carefully sealed in a container in a bag. I needed to hurry so it didn’t get cold because I wasn’t sure if Feb had a way of heating it up. I couldn’t remember if she had a microwave in her room.

I’d thrown my own ladder into the back of my truck and set it up right before I sent her a text.

Brock: Open your window, Red.

Please don’t be asleep.

When I noticed the window slide open, I began to climb the ladder.

As I made my way up, February called down to me.

“What are you doing, Brock?”

“Brought you some soup,” I said, careful not to jostle the contents of the bag too much as I climbed.

She took the bag from me as I crawled through the window.

“Be careful with that,” I warned. “It’s hot chicken soup. I don’t want it to leak.”

Her mouth dropped open. “You made me soup?”

I nodded. “You have to eat it fast before it gets cold.”

“You didn’t have to do this.”

“Well, Oak told me to. He said he owed you for the nice sleep the other night.” I winked. “Lie down and relax. I’ll prepare you a bowl.”

I took out the two bowls I’d brought, figuring I’d have some with her.

She covered her mouth. “You brought bowls?”

“Well, you don’t even have plates at home. Figured you didn’t have bowls here. I brought spoons, too.”

As I handed her a bowl, I looked more closely at her face. Not a sniffle in sight, and she had makeup on. My stomach sank. February didn’t seem too sick.

“On second thought…” I stood. “I’ll leave you with the soup.”

“Stay.” She rose from the bed. “You brought two bowls, which was very sweet. Clearly you were planning to join me.”

“Yeah. But now I’m thinking better of it. Probably shouldn’t risk catching whatever you have.” I tried to give her the benefit of the doubt.

She frowned. “I promise to keep my distance if you stay and have some soup.”

So I caved, lying next to her in bed—fuck distance—while we ate together.

“This was incredibly sweet, Brock. Thank you,” she said when she’d finished. “And it was really good, by the way. Who says the only thing you know how to make is stew?”

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