Caleb's having the stitches taken out of his face later today if all goes well. He's mightily impressed by all this. When I point out that he is lucky, that it could have been worse, he looks at me and says it still could be.
What in the hell do you mean by that? I ask him and throw my empty coffee cup at his head.
Jesus Christ, Bridget! How much damage are you two going to do to my face this week already?
Not enough, apparently because there's still stupid noises coming out of it! GOD! I turn to head back inside for a fresh cup and walk right into Ben. Ben the stranger, who has all but moved into the second tinier suite of rooms off the studio downstairs that wasn't ever supposed to be used for anything but has seemingly become his home.
Okay, Bumblebee? His arms go around me and the mixed messages leave me wishing for a rockstar translator. Or at the very least some sort of impulse generator.
Okay what?
Are you?
Am I WHAT?
Are you okay?
Define okay.
Not fatally wounded? I guess.
Ha. Whatever. Is there coffee left? Bye.
I head around him and hear him ask Caleb what's 'wrong' with me but I don't hear Caleb's response. I don't want to hear Caleb's response. I pour a new cup, find sugar and milk for it (curse you Sam) and head straight through the front of the house looking for that alone time that saves the boys this kind of mood from me. Mercifully no one's on the porch so I head down to the grotto where the sun is streaming in between the branches making everything magical. Maybe not quite dry yet but magical anyway. I haven't spent enough time here. Everything is covered with moss. I curl up in the chair and take a sip and scream when a voice behind me speaks.
Can't a guy get a little privacy anymore?
It's Dalton. He's sitting on the rock wall directly behind me, coffee cup and empty plate beside him, nose in a book.
I'm sorry. I didn't see you.
That's the point. You stopped using this place and it's too nice to let it go to waste.
It's all yours. I'll get out of your hair.
Not if you need an escape.
I need a lob-
You've got to stop saying that. How about instead of running, you stand up for yourself?
I look at the ground. I think I did and they don't like that.
Good girl.
Don't say that.
Sorry. I just don't want to see you get railroaded.
Please tell me that isn't sexual.
What? Oh, God, no. What I mean is this is your house and I see you struggling to find a way to fit into it sometimes. Someone is always watching you and following you.
They kind of have to.
Why?
In case I hurt myself.
You're not going to do that.
What if I do?
What if you don't?
Yeah. What if I don't?
Then you live happily ever after.
Where is the happily part, TJ?
It's coming. Gotta be patient, Bridge. Geez.
