to my sores. Damn, why does that feel so good? It’s a question I already know the answer to. Jay is a nice guy, and I’m super attracted to him. I just can’t act on it, though. “Do you have any acetaminophen?”
“Not that I know of.”
“I have a bottle you can have.”
He finishes cleaning me, and I follow him into his bedroom. He tugs a blue T-shirt from his dresser and a pair of sweats from his closet. “These aren’t your usual fashion, but they’re baggy so they shouldn’t rub up against your sores.” I take the clothes and hold them to my chest.
“I appreciate all your help,” I say, and he points to the bed.
“You want to…” He frowns.
Oh, yeah, I want to.
“Your feet,” he says. “I need you seated so I can take care of them.”
“Right.”
I slide onto his comfy mattress, and he comes back from the bathroom with a white tub of salve. “I make this using my honey,” he says, opening the lid to show me.
“Seriously?”
“Yup, lots of antiseptic and antibacterial properties in honey.”
“I’m impressed. You’re a man of many talents.”
He drops to his knees, takes my feet in his hands, and, using slow circular motions that send my thoughts spiraling, he applies it gently. “I’d add some to your stings, but your clothes will stick to you. You can take this with you and use it before bed if you like.”
“I like,” I say, and he chuckles. “You should bottle and sell this stuff.”
“We do, in your market. It’s a popular item.”
He opens his nightstand, and I catch sight of a velvet ring box as he reaches for a pill bottle. He shakes two into his palm and hands them to me. He disappears into the bathroom and comes back with a glass of water.
“Thank you,” I say. I study him for a moment. If he’s so sure I’m going to bail, so hell-bent on seeing the tail end of me, why the heck is he helping? Seems to me like he wants this Bryce guy to take over the farm. He’s offered me his number a couple times already. Charlie Miller mentioned a local wanting to buy the place two seconds after I met him. I assume he was talking about Bryce, and I guess a lot of folks around here don’t think I belong. They’re not wrong.
“So, um, I’m not keeping you from anything or anyone, am I?” I ask.
“Nothing that can’t wait.” He stands, looks at my feet another second, and hands me a big pair of socks. “Wait here, okay. I’m going to check on a pair of boots for you.”
His cell pings, and he tugs it from his back pocket. “Shit.”
“Everything okay?” I ask, a stupid question judging by his reaction.
“It’s my buddy Colin. He’s getting married next month. I’m the best man.” He puts his phone away. “I’ll be right back.”
He hurries down the stairs and heads outside. I dress, tug on the socks, and take a fast glance at his nightstand. I’m curious about that box, but I’m not about to invade the man’s privacy. He seemed pretty adamant that he wasn’t married, engaged, or taken, and when I talked about being stabbed in the back, he went quiet. Has he loved and lost? I’m not sure, but his business is his, and mine is mine, so I am not going to give it another thought. I push up from his bed and carefully make my way down the steep steps, taking stock of his main level. Against one wall there is a small kitchen and table. On the other side of the room, there is a gray sofa, chair, TV, and Capone’s huge birdcage.
“Hey, Capone,” I say and walk up to his cage.
“Capone’s a catch,” he says, and I laugh. My God, if my friends could see me now, talking to a pool-house parrot, they’d think I’ve finally gone and lost it. But I frown as my thoughts go to my friends. I’ve not heard from a single one of them since I left, and Lucy hasn’t bothered to text me back.
“So, Capone. What can you tell me about Jay?”
“Jay’s an asshole.”
I chuckle and tap his cage. “That’s not a very nice thing to say.”
“Mom’s a peach.”
“Who’s your mom?”
“Mom’s a peach.”
“I bet she is. Does that velvet box have something to do with her?” As soon as the words leave my mouth, footsteps sound on the floor behind me. I turn and find Jay standing there, a