“Lasagnas?Huh?No, it’s—” And then I realize what he’s doing.“Hah.No lasagnas necessary.I just want to be a good neighbor.”Retreating toward my door and seriously asking myself whether or not I should do what I’m about to, I lift the crockpot, then carry it back over to where he’s standing.“You didn’t eat, and I have plenty.”I start to hand it to him, then remember he shouldn’t be carrying it.“I can bring it in and set it on the counter.”
“Only if you’ll eat with me.I’m assuming you didn’t eat at the diner, and you definitely didn’t have time to eat while I was in the shower.”
“I-I can go home.”
“Has Thomas eaten?”
I nod.“He’s already headed to bed.”
“You?”
“Not yet,” I admit.I should have set a bowl aside for myself so I could just leave this here.Why didn’t I think this through?
“Then will you come in and eat with me?”
Say no, say no.“Sure.I need to get back soon, though.My shift at the coffee shop is tomorrow morning at seven.”
“Sounds good.”He steps aside, and I move into the apartment.The scent of tea tree clings to the air, warming my blood in a way it really shouldn’t.
God, help me, please.Why am I so drawn to this man?
“Bowls?”I question.
“Cabinet to the left of the stove.”
I turn and stretch up to pull down two bowls, then set them on the counter.A warm body moves in behind me, and I freeze as Garrison passes by and opens a drawer to retrieve spoons.The heat of his body might as well be straight from a furnace.
Oh.Boy.Trouble.I’m in big trouble here.
“You go sit.I’ve got this,” I scold, as much for my needing space as for his own safety.
Garrison chuckles.“I’m not good at being taken care of.”
“So I see.Seriously, I don’t mind.Sit.”
He leaves his kitchen and takes a seat at a small round table big enough for two.
After searching for a ladle, I finally find one and scoop white chicken chili into both bowls, then carry them to the table.When I set them down, I realize that I forgot the toppings.“I need to run next door for cheese.”
“No need.Anastasia stocked my fridge.She knows my fondness for microwaved nachos, so there’s plenty.”
“Microwaved nachos?”
He laughs.“It’s a particular favorite of mine.”
I open the fridge and find three small bags of shredded cheese.After pulling one out, I return to the table and offer him the bag.
“My parents both died when I was young, and my aunt raised me,” he explains.“She had a lot of medical problems, and we didn’t have a lot of money, but she tried to make things special.Every year on my birthday, she’d microwave tortilla chips after topping them with cheese and whatever we had in the pantry or fridge at the time.It became a sort of comfort food for me.”
My heart aches at the grief on his face.I know I don’t have to ask because, from the way he’s talking about her in past tense, he lost her.
“She passed a few months before I enlisted in the Navy.”
“Is that why you went in?”
He nods.“There wasn’t anything else for me.She was all I had, and I used every dime we had to bury her properly.Even took on some debt to do it.”
I top my chili with some cheese, imagining a young Garrison standing alone beside a casket as it was lowered into the ground.Pain blooms in my chest, so I rub the heel of my palm against it.“She sounds like a great woman.”