“I like that one too,” Cotton declared, gazing at it critically.
“I can’t take that,” I said to him and he looked at me.
“Why not?” he asked, sounding genuinely puzzled.
“I… it’s…” Why not? Was he mad? “Because it’s worth a fortune,” I explained.
“I know,” Cotton retorted. “Got about a dozen offers on it, all, like you said, a fortune. Didn’t like the feel of any of ‘em. Didn’t want it hangin’ wherever those folk would be.”
“But –” I began but Cotton cut me off.
“Like the feel of it hangin’ wherever you might be.”
At his words, which rocked me to my soul, I let Max go, my hands went to my cheeks and before I could stop myself I cried, “Oh bloody hell! I’m going to cry!”
Then I did. I burst right into tears.
Within an instant, I was in Max’s arms. I put mine around him and held on tight, shoving my face into his chest and crying like an idiot.
It was several moments later when I heard Cotton mutter, “Women.” Then sounding like he was on the move he asked, “What’s for dinner?”
I felt Max’s body get tight against my wet cheek.
I tipped my head back to look at him, the tears subsiding when I saw his neck was twisted and he was staring toward the kitchen and, regardless of the fact that Cotton just gave both of us priceless pieces of his art, Max’s expression appeared murderous.
I followed his eyes and saw Cotton pulling himself up on a stool.
“Get me a beer, Max, it’s been a long day,” Cotton called, leaning forward to look at the rolls then he spun on the stool and exclaimed, “Right on! Crescent rolls!”
“Cotton –” Max started but my arms gave him a squeeze, Max stopped speaking and looked down at me.
“He just gave us his photos,” I told him. “We can give him dinner.”
“Yeah, I haven’t had a home-cooked meal since Alana died or least not a good one.” Cotton drew in an audible breath through his nostrils and he declared, “And whatever’s cookin’ smells good.”
“Fish pie,” I told him and Cotton grinned.
“I like fish,” he said.
It was low, it was soft but I definitely heard Max growl.
I gave him another squeeze with my arms, let him go and, slower, he let me go too. Then, wiping the tears from my face, I went back to the rolls.
Max got Cotton a beer and I had poured frozen peas into a bowl and was setting them in the microwave when lights flashed on the wall.
“This is a f**kin’ joke,” Max clipped from his place, h*ps against the sink, beer in hand, unhappy expression on his face as he stared toward the drive.
“Max’s popular,” Cotton noted.
“I’m noticing that,” I replied, also looking out the windows.
I watched a figure come up the steps then I recognized Arlene walking across the porch toward the door. Her eyes were on us and she didn’t bother to knock, she just walked right in.
“Hey y’all,” she called, striding toward the kitchen like she lived there. “Hey Cotton.”
“Heya Arlene. What’s shakin’?” Cotton greeted.
“Don’t shift some of this weight, everything,” Arlene replied, she stopped at the mouth of the U in the kitchen and looked at me.