The Slow Burn (Moonlight and Motor Oil #2) - Kristen Ashley Page 0,40
those killer, burlap grocery bags Macy sold that were one of the few things I’d spied in a long time that I wished I could buy (two with the black thistle flowers printed on the side, two with the black-eyed Susan, which would have been my call since both designs were fabulous).
“Dodo!”
“This is it,” he declared, sauntering right by me, not even looking at Brooklyn.
Automatically I followed him to the kitchen.
Dapper Dan came with us.
When I arrived, my son’s struggles went into overdrive, so I put him on his feet on the floor.
He was walking, not about to enter any 5Ks, but he could get around, and all wobbly he was adorable as hell doing it.
Right then, he didn’t fuck around with walking.
He dropped to his hands and knees and used what he had down pat to crawl swiftly to Toby.
I monitored that action until Toby spoke.
“Christmas cookies.”
At these bizarre words, my eyes lifted to his.
He was looking at me, but when I looked to him, his gaze shifted to Izzy’s island.
I turned my attention there and saw it was covered in burlap bags.
Eight of them, as well as four six-packs of beer.
“Flour,” Toby said, “sugar, butter, milk, food coloring, shit like that to make Christmas cookies, ’cause every kid should have Christmas cookies at Christmas.”
With that amount of bags, did he expect me to make every kid in Matlock cookies?
“Dodo, Dodo, Dodo, Dodo,” Brooks chanted.
I glanced down to him to see he’d made it to Toby, pulled himself up to his feet using Tobe’s jeans, and was banging on his leg with both of his chubby hands to get attention.
For his part, Dapper Dan was hanging close but giving my boy priority spacing to get to their guy.
Totally a good dog.
“Hamburger,” Toby said, not to my son, to me, and my gaze lifted again to his. “Chicken. Pork shoulder. A coupla steaks. Tortillas. Beans. Rice. Cous Cous. Spice packets for tacos, chili, pulled pork. You can cook it, freeze what you don’t eat, take it out in the morning and have a decent meal that night, right along with Brooks.”
Oh my God.
He’d left after installing the Christmas lights to go grocery shopping for me.
“Deli meat,” Toby carried on with his grocery litany. “Cheese. Bread. Condiments. Chips. Snack packs of shit like pudding and granola bars. For you to make lunches.”
“Toby—” I forced out.
Apparently, this effort took too much time because Tobe talked right over me.
“Frozen pizzas. Frozen pies. Ice cream and cupcakes. So you can give yourself a treat. And other shit, just to have to eat. As well as laundry detergent, fabric softener, crap like that. And for the party tonight, wine and beer.”
Stiltedly, I looked down at the big bags covering Izzy’s island.
I sensed Toby move and I looked that way, something that had been weighing me down lifting inside me as I saw him bending to my son.
And then that something froze solid when I watched him detach Brooklyn from his leg, set him away on his ass, and move to the island.
Brooklyn sat there, stunned, staring up at Toby, his little baby face openly confused.
And the freeze inside turned to fire.
My attention shifted to Toby as he got close, but I had to look down when I saw him pull something out of his back pocket.
He set a white envelope on the edge of the counter.
“That’s five grand in cash and a check for the same,” he announced.
My gaze darted back to his.
He was still talking.
“You use the cash for face-to-face shit. Gas. Food. Paying Johnny. Whatever. You do not deposit it, Adeline. The check, you deposit and use on bills.” He stared hard at me a second before he went on, “If you keep it. Whatever you got in your head that might make you refuse it, I don’t care. Do whatever you want. I don’t give a fuck. What you can’t do is give it back to me. I won’t accept it. Either use it or do whatever with it. But do not try to give it back to me.”
“To—”
“I’m leaving town.”
I shut my mouth as I tried to beat back the pain of what felt like a sudden, unexpected, and very brutal blow to my chest.
“After the new year,” he continued. “Goin’ down to Florida to work with a bud. I’ll be back for Johnny and Izzy’s wedding in the summer. Whatever you do with that,” he tapped his middle finger on the white envelope,