Page 64 of Waiting on Life
“He didn’t go far,” Pete said. “He’s probably sitting on a bench outside the restaurant.”
“I thought you said he’d take the bus or walk?”
He grinned. “If he was really hurt, he would have. Kyle’s upset, but he’s not hurt. He loves you, and that’s what makes the difference. I can almost guarantee you he’s right outside waiting on you to come and get him.”
My racing heart slowed as I moved toward the doors we’d come in. I opened them, stepped out into the cool night air, and found Kyle pacing near the bench.
“Kyle….”
He spun and glared at me. “You are without a doubt the most infuriating man I’ve ever met. You’re stubborn, obstinate, and pigheaded. If I wanted that, I would have fallen in love with a jackass.” He crossed his arms over his heaving chest. Goose bumps rose on his skin.
I took my jacket off and wrapped it around his shoulders. “Would it help if I said I was sorry?” I asked, drawing him into an embrace.
“Doubtful. What would help is if you stopped being so damned annoying. I love you, and I want to be with you. On a farm in a town with only a hundred people and not a drag show in sight. Does that tell you my level of commitment?”
“When do we leave?”
He stopped and stared up at me, his eyes alight with hope. “Really? You mean it?”
“I do. You did something I never had the balls to do. I could have taken Tammy up on her offer years ago, but I wouldn’t. Too stubborn for my own good. But having a life with you? That’s more important than anything in the world to me. We’ll have to make plans, but once I give notice and we can pack up, I’m ready to go start our new life together.”
All my fears and angst over this evaporated when he smiled at me. Like I said, I would do or give anything to never lose that from my life.
Which was about to start with Kyle.
Chapter Eighteen
OneYear Later
Kyle
I stood at the window that overlooked our garden, letting the smell of our lavender plants wash over me. Our property was a veritable cornucopia of different sights, scents, and sounds. From the animals that called our place home, to the babbling brook where we learned early on to stay away from when it flooded. From the day we finished hauling in and unpacking the last box, we never regretted it.
Okay, I admit that I still missed Pete. He’d been my source of strength for the longest time. When I finally came clean to him about what happened with Frank and Carl, Pete insisted that we gorge ourselves on ice cream and talk shit about the small-dicked bastards. I thought I hadn’t needed it, but I discovered that the story was always going to require reliving when I opened up to others.
And Toby was right. Pete was my best friend, and nothing, not even distance, would change that. He’d visited twice already and seemed quite taken with the town, such as it was. Toby told him one night over dinner that he was welcome to come out to live with us if he wanted. I got the feeling that Pete was considering making the move.
I stirred the pot on the stove, the scents of sweet orange and lemon creating a zesty aroma that wafted through the house. Our house. Mine and Toby’s. I would never get used to saying that. Even though I thought I’d be bored off my ass, I found that I liked the quiet. The sounds of the night lulling us to sleep. Waldo, who’d been a lazy cat in Toby’s apartment, loved to sit in the window box and watch the birds at the feeder. He was particularly taken with a chubby squirrel who climbed up and chittered with him almost daily.
“Kyle!”
Toby’s pained bellow echoed through the house, putting me on alert. He’d done something stupid and hurt his back. Again.
I turned off the stove and went to wash my hands. “In the kitchen,” I called. “Sit down. I’ll be right out.”
“Bring the liniment,” he groaned.
Which was already on the counter within reach.
After drying my hands, I hurried out to the living room and found Toby lying on the couch. He’d stripped his shirt off and buried his face in the pillow. I sat beside him and put a few daubs of the liniment we’d started selling on him. He sighed as the cool lotion soothed his skin.
“Should I even ask?”
He shook his head. “Don’t talk, just rub.”
I massaged his back, feeling the tightness of his muscles. Since the day he tried to push the car out of the mud, he’d done one thing after another to aggravate it again. Of course, I couldn’t tell him to rest, because that word wasn’t in his vocabulary. He insisted he had harvesting to do if I was going to make more notions and potions, as he called them.
“Okay, is it feeling better?”
