Page 1 of Make Mine Sweet
ONE
IAN
I really needaGo awaysign.
The doorbell’s cheery chime rings through my apartment for the third time. I’ve been lying on the couch pretending I’m not home in the hope my uninvited visitor would go away, but they haven’t taken the hint. Since I only ever get the one visitor, it was a pointless hope. My aunt’s allergic to the wordNo.
The chime rings again, quicker this time, and I groan, rolling up to a sitting position. My blinds are closed, but I still squint against the harsh summer sunshine like a vampire awoken too early from his slumber. Might even hiss, but that’s more from my aching back than the sunlight burning my skin. This couch wasn’t built for naps.
My dog’s got his nose practically pressed to the front door, whining and wagging his tail. Yep. It’s my aunt Amy waiting on the other side.
Can’t expect anyone else when she’s the only person I know here in Sunshine. That was the whole point in coming to a small town in central Oregon—the isolation. But Amy and I haven’t seen eye to eye on that. Case in point: her unpredictable social calls. It’s like the woman doesn’t know what “holing up so I can lick my wounds in peace” means.
I push up my sweatpants leg and re-secure my prosthesis. I don’t sleep with it on, and I’d been expecting a longer nap than the one I got.
Raking my fingers through my long hair, I groan again at how far I’ve fallen. Taking afternoon naps like an old man in a nursing home. If only the readers ofCrux Monthlycould see me now. Those fifteen minutes of fame sure disappear fast.
The moment I throw the door open, Amy accosts me with her grin. “Ian. I was starting to think you were out on a hike.”
She doesn’t mean anything by it. Still feels like a dig. The closest I get to hiking anymore is walking the two-mile trail that starts behind the duplex. I used to climb dangerous mountain peaks for a living. Now, I have to hype myself up to tackle the kiddie hill.
She bends down to greet my dog, Dutch, who tries to lick her face. But Amy’s familiar with his tactics and steers clear of his whip-fast tongue.
“I was just—” I gesture vaguely around the apartment.Avoiding humanity and staring into the abyss.“You caught me at an awkward time.”
She straightens, searing me with a fiery look. “That implies there’s a good time to catch you.”
I can’t help the laugh that gusts out of me. She’s not wrong. I haven’t been at my best for…well. A solid two years now. “If I’d known you were coming, I might have…”
Her eyebrows lift, waiting for me to finish that sentence. What would I have done? Cleaned the apartment? Showered? Not lain motionless for ten minutes hoping she would give up and drive away?
None of the above.
She just laughs. “Don’t strain yourself on my account.”
Amy and I are closer in age than a typical aunt/nephew pair. She’s only ten years older than I am, just a step above my oldest brother. Most of the time, she’s more like an overly familiar cousin than a matronly aunt.
I shudder. If she had any idea I eventhoughtthe word “matronly” in connection with her, she’d skin me alive.
I step back from the doorway and motion her to come inside, even though it puts me on edge. I have enough sense left to know I should do something about the mess. Just don’t have the motivation.
Amy walks into the middle of the living room as though she doesn’t see the granola bar wrappers, dirty plates, and empty coffee mugs on every flat surface. But Dutch licks at a crumb on a spoon as he passes the coffee table, calling me out on my shoddy housekeeping.Thanks, man’s best friend.
“Jodi wanted to send a burger and fries over, but I told her if she did, it’d be even longer before she sees you again.” She smiles, making the comment more affectionate than it deserves to be.
It also twists something in my gut. Shame, probably. Amy and her wife, Jodi, run a local diner and own several rental properties around town. They offered me this apartment to “recuperate” for a while, and I’ve showed my gratitude by stopping in to visit them a handful of times in three months.
The thing is, Delish is a popular place. Not that long ago, I would have reveled in the crowds, but now, they make my skin crawl. I’m out of the habit of being around that many people. I don’t know how to carry myself anymore. And that’s just trying to grab a bite to eat.
“I’ll drop by this week,” I tell her. Near closing, when the place is almost empty.
“Good. She misses your face.” Amy hitches a shoulder. “Such as it is.”
I scrape a hand over my beard. “It’s not that bad.”
Her “Oh, really?”look could melt glass. “That beard’s somewhere between ‘Hagrid’ and ‘Gandalf.’”
I consider the two options. “Which one’s worse?”
