Page 93 of The No Touch Roommate Rule
“Can’t. I have to do laundry.” He kisses her cheek on his way to the coffeepot, and the happy ache in my heart starts up again.
This easy affection, in a kitchen that already feels like home, with my guy and a woman who instantly accepted me into her family…
I think I’ve been starved for this my entire life.
“Makena, honey, you want one piece of French toast or two?” Nana glances over her shoulder, and I notice she looks tired. Like maybeshepartied a little too hard at yesterday’s festival, too.
“Always two, please. But why don’t you take a load off and let me?—”
“Sit.” She points her spatula at the kitchen table. “Both of you. I’m making breakfast, and I don’t need help. I need an audience. What time did you get home last night? I ended up gossiping with the girls until almost one.”
We sit, sharing the censored version of our evening as we sip our coffee and Nana flips French toast with practiced ease. She plates two slices for me and four for Parker, delivering them to the table along with syrup, butter, and a fruit compote that smells like heaven. “Eat up, babies. Another big day ahead.”
“So how big is the craft fair?” I ask. “As big as the sausage festival?”
“Just about.” She sits across from us, cradling her coffee mug. “And you’ll definitely need at least a hundred dollars in spending money, so be sure to stop at the ATM before you start walking around. There are so many cute new booths this year.” She lifts her nose with a sniff. “Though, of course, you’ll be getting your very own, stubby, chubby penis-shaped tea cozy free of charge.”
“I’m a lucky woman,” I say, meaning it.
“What time do we need to be ready to help you set up?” Parker asks through a mouthful of French toast. “Because I wasn’t kidding. Somehow, I’ve already dirtied everything I packed.”
Nana glances at the clock on the wall. “Two hours and change, so you’d better go throw a load in. We can’t parade you around downtown like that. Poor Makena will have to beat the other women off with a stick.”
“Which, I would,” I assure Parker as he pushes his chair back. “But Iama little tired from all the excitement yesterday, so…”
He grins on his way back to our room, calling over his shoulder, “You want me to throw some of your stuff in, too? Bras and panties and those shorts I like that almost show your ass?”
“Yes, please,” I say with a huff of laughter. “And a t-shirt, in case I feel like wearing a shirt tomorrow, too? With the shorts?”
“I guess,” he mutters.
When I turn back to dig into my toast again, Nana is smiling. “You two are precious,” she murmurs. “I’m so happy you came to see me.”
“Me, too. Really,” I say, wanting her to know how grateful I am. “It’s been the best visit. Parker and I were already talking about coming back in August sometime if that’s all right.”
Her smile widens. “Absolutely! Any time. And maybe I can get y’all to help me with a few things around the house next time. Just a few repairs I haven’t had the energy to get around to.”
“Of course,” I assure her. “Anything you need.”
“It’s really not much. I just haven’t had as much energy lately.” She winks. “It would probably help if I stopped staying out until all hours of the night chatting with friends, but between the six of us, we have a lot of grandbabies. And a lot of gossip. And we’ve been meeting up to watch all the Voodoo games, of course. They’re all so proud. It’s like Leo belongs to all of us.”
“He really is incredible on the ice,” I say. “Even when I was trying not to think about him, I couldn’t stop watching the games.”
“Aw, you had a crush on me, too.” Parker swings back into the kitchen, pinching my hip as he sits down. “If I’d known you were watching, I would have written ‘Date me, Makena’ on my cheek, and you would have come to your senses a lot sooner.”
“Oh, hush,” I mutter, though I suspect he’s probably right.
We finishour French toast and laundry, and three cups of coffee later, have Nana’s ancient station wagon stuffed with boxes of crocheted dick socks and chubby stubby tea cozies in every color of the rainbow. Along with a cash box older than I am, and signs that say things like “Put a Sweater on Your Peeter” and “Keep it Cozy with a C*ck Warmer.”
At the fair, Parker backs the wagon up to her tent, where we help unload and arrange the merchandise.
“I can’t believe this is my life,” I say with a happy sigh, positioning a particularly vibrant purple penis cozy on the display rack.
Parker tosses a rainbow-striped number my way. “This one’s my favorite. Put it up front, too.”
The craft fair is exactly what you’d expect from a town that celebrates sausages. Booths selling everything from handmade soap to oil paintings of dogs in top hats to yoga posing garden gnomes fill the square. The penis cozy booth fits right in, tucked away in the “adult corner” with the obscene cross-stitch and nearly naked firefighter calendars, drawing scandalized giggles and curious browsers in equal measure.
“Now remember,” Nana instructs from her lawn chair once we have everything settled, “the key to sales is education. These aren’t just novelties, they’re functional art. Keeps the jewels warm in winter, provides cushioning for athletic activities?—”
