But she doesn’t say anything for a second. Then trying to catch her breath, she chokes out, “Dumplin’,” and buries her face against my bare chest.
So I reach around her and pat her back. “I’m sorry. Please don’t cry.”
Mason pokes his head around the corner, his eyes as big as saucers. Flying saucers. Massive ones. And his idea of showing support in the midst of my nightmare is to shake his head back and forth slowly.
With his nose scrunched up, he waves and takes off toward Ava’s. How can that kid abandon me in the middle of my worst nightmare?
Bluebonnet’s sobs aren’t stopping, so I give up patting her on the back and hug her. I don’t want it to look like cheating, but what else am I supposed to do?
When my buddies need relationship advice, I’m the voice of reason. But this is different. The woman I’ve crushed on for fifteen years is sobbing against my bare chest because I sprayed her with a giant water gun.Way to go, Parker.
After several minutes, the sobs subside, but now she’s hyperventilating, and I feel worse hearing those little stutter breaths.
Hoping that if I slow my breathing it will help her calm down, I’m intentional about taking measured breaths.
She turns, pressing her cheek to my chest, and I tighten my embrace.
“Hey, you okay? I totally didn’t mean to drench you. I thought you were Mason.”
Her laugh catches me off guard, and I smile in spite of how awful I feel about the whole thing.
“Was that funny?” I’m happy to hear a laugh but confused about what prompted it.
“A little. Because you were planning to drench an unsuspecting seven-year-old.”
“Oh, he was suspecting. I washistarget. And he’s much too good at this game for me to go easy on him.”
She laughs again, and I’m feeling a little better about the situation, a little more confident.
After picking her head up, she swipes at my chest, wiping off the tears. It was easier when she wasn’t running her fingers all over me. “That’s so like you, Dumplin’. Saturday afternoon, and you’re playing with a kid.”
My confidence is now in tiny pieces and scattered on the porch. “Kent and Poppy don’t get back from their honeymoon until tomorrow, and I’m trying to keep Mason busy and entertained. That’s why. Plus, he’s fun.”
Pressing a hand to my chest, she meets my gaze. “It’s sweet.” Her words dissolve into sobs.
I need cue cards to keep up. “Do you, um, want me to take you home?”
She catches her breath long enough to announce, “I want food.”
That is a wish I can fulfill.
Rubbing her back, I say, “I’m sure I can find you something in the mess hall.”
“Thank you, Dumplin’.” She wipes her eyes again, then starts rubbing my damp chest. “Oh, I cried all over you. I’m so sorry.”
I clasped her hands, before her frantic fingers stray anywhere else. Then I lead her into the big room where meals are served. It’s a homey space with a big kitchen on the other side of the long counter and one long wooden table in the center of the room.
“Have a seat here.” I pull a bench away from the table for her.
“Thank you.” She drops into her seat and watches as I open the fridge.
The deli drawer is full of sandwich fixin’s, and I pull out meat and cheese, then grab the jar of pickles out of the door. For fifteen years, I’ve devoted myself to knowing all the things that make Bluebonnet smile, so I slather a hefty portion of mayo onto two slices of bread, pile thinly sliced ham on one piece and a slice of mild cheddar cheese on the other. With a fork, I fish two pickle spears out of the jar and set them on the plate. Before carrying the plate to the table I cut diagonally through the sandwich, creating two equally sized triangles. The shape allows for the optimal sandwich-eating experience.
“And here you go. Water, Coke, or sweet tea?” I haven’t quite figured out the pattern of her drink choices.
Tears well up in her eyes again, and I’m about to lose my mind. I hate seeing her cry. When she was fifteen and didn’t make the volleyball team, I sat beside her, handing her chips, chocolates, and tissues until she calmed down.
Chips! That’s what I forgot to grab. Ava keeps a stash in the pantry. And a second lesser-known assortment in the corner cabinet. I’m pretty sure Kent and I are the only ones who know about the other stash.
