Stay With Me (12 page)

“Here, run it under cold water.” Rebecca walked to
the sink and turned on the faucet for him. “Where can I find a Band-Aid?”

Chris stuck his hand under the water and cursed
again as a red stream swirled into the drain. “Medicine cabinet in the
bathroom. Down the hall on the right.”

She had thought the bathroom would be behind the
closed door on her right, but apparently not. It must be his bedroom. How odd
to have a bedroom attached to a kitchen. She walked the short hall to the
bathroom, which was small and smelled of Lysol. He had probably just cleaned
it. The box of Band-Aids was right where he had said. She pulled one from its
box, removed the wrapper and took it back to the kitchen. “SpongeBob
Squarepants Band-Aids?”

Chris had a paper towel wrapped around his finger
and was scouring his sink with his non-injured hand. “They were on sale.”

Peeling back the adhesive ends of the Squidward
bandage, she wrapped it around his finger and placed a kiss on it. “There. All
better.”

“You don’t need to patronize me.”

Did she hear irritation in his voice? Chris was
always so even-keeled. She didn’t think she’d ever heard that tone from him.

 “Sorry. I’m a little stressed. I rushed home from
work, and I wanted this to be perfect for you. Now do you believe my culinary
skills are limited to cooking over a campfire?”

Her tummy growled and she placed her hand over it.
“It all looks good to me, and I think it’s ready.” The microwave timer beeped,
confirming her assessment, and Rebecca washed her hands and sat while Chris
drained the pasta and filled their plates.

The oven had been hiding warm rolls that he placed
in a basket on the table alongside a stick of butter and their salads. He
opened the refrigerator and stared blankly before he murmured, “Cheese and
salad dressing.”

“I’ve found it’s not the cooking that’s so hard,
it’s timing everything to hit the table at the right time. That’s another
reason I like baking. It’s done when it’s done. Less stress.” She started to
sip the water Chris had set out when she remembered dessert. “Oh, my gosh, I
almost forgot the pie. It’s in the car.” She leapt up and grabbed the keys from
her purse before heading outside.

When she returned with a small peach pie covered in
aluminum foil, Chris stood alongside the table filled with steaming spaghetti
and sauce. A single red rose, its petals perfectly opened, laid across her
napkin.

She placed her purse and the pie on the counter and
walked to the table where Chris held out her chair. “Thank you,” she said, but
before she could sit, Chris took her face in his hands and kissed her.

“I didn’t even greet you when you came in.”

When his hands dropped back to her chair, she sat,
and he pushed her closer to the table. The chair legs dragged on the floor, and
she sat too far from her food, but it was the thought that counted.

Dinner was delicious, and he had obviously thought
a lot about making their meal as perfect as possible. Could Abby’s assessment
be right? Could he be smitten with her?

When their plates had been emptied and Rebecca had
put the leftover pie in the refrigerator, Chris insisted she allow him to do
the cleanup.

He returned the cheese, butter, and salad dressing
to the refrigerator. “I’ll rinse these dishes off and be right in. Make
yourself comfortable in the living room.”

Rebecca walked down a short hallway to a small but
homey room not equipped for a whole lot of living. A sofa, end table and floor
lamp lined one wall, and a flat-screen TV hung from the opposite wall. Against
a third wall stood the only interesting thing in the room—a large, oak
bookcase.

Board games and puzzles filled the top shelf. The
second shelf held books, a mixture of history and thrillers. The bottom two
shelves held books as well. The shelf in the middle caught her eye.

On the left stood a framed, five-by-seven photo of
Chris and his family. Chris wore a black cap and gown, and she assumed the
photo memorialized his college graduation. He had one arm around Alan and one
around his father. His mother stood on the end, next to her husband. The photo
next to it made her heart stop before it started up again at a rapid clip.

Oh my. How can I get a copy of
this, and would it be considered obsessive if I had it blown up to poster size?

The burnished silver frame surrounded a black and
white picture of Chris wearing boots, jeans, a leather jacket, and sunglasses
while straddling his Harley. The barest hint of a smile graced his lips. A
small piece of folded cardstock adhered to the upper right corner of the frame.
Rebecca lifted it to reveal a feminine handwriting in red ink. Her heart seized
a little until she saw the signature. It read, “If you’re not careful on that
thing, I’ll kill you. Love, Mom.” She smiled. She’d only met Chris’s mother
briefly at Alan’s wedding, but she knew he got his sense of humor from her.

An older photo showed two young boys with an
elderly couple. Chris and Alan with their grandparents? She picked it up to
take a closer look at the young faces and noticed it had been resting on a
couple of identical three-by-five prints.

She picked up the prints and set the picture of the
boys back down. As she peered at the photos, a smile spread across her face.
She hadn’t heard him coming in from the kitchen, but suddenly Chris stood
beside her.

“Jamie gave me those. Apparently someone caught us
on one of those disposable wedding cameras.”

She looked down again at the photo of them kissing
and then up at Chris to see if the fact that someone had immortalized that
moment pleased or bothered him.

He shrugged. “I’m kind of glad. It’s a good shot
for those cheap cameras. I only wish I had thought to have someone take a
picture of us that actually showed our faces.”

Rebecca thought she’d like one of those, too, but
the one she held was invaluable. “Maybe the photographer got a shot of us, and
we didn’t even realize.”

“Maybe. One of those is yours if you want it.”

“Oh, I want it.” Should she ask for a copy of the
one with the motorcycle? She was torn between her desire to keep that picture
close to her at all times and the fear of looking like a besotted twit. Her
pride won out, and she kept her request to herself.

Chris laid a hand on the top shelf. “Want to play a
game?”

“Sure.” She loved board games, but like outdoor
activities, neither her father nor her sister was keen on them.

“Yahtzee?”

“Okay.” Less chance to make a fool of herself
playing that than, say, Trivial Pursuit.

Chris removed the box from the shelf and set it in
the middle of the floor before sitting down alongside it. “Care to make it
interesting?” That wicked look shone in his eyes again.

“As long as the stakes aren’t too high. I don’t get
paid until next week.”

“I wasn’t thinking in terms of money.” He paused
and let her squirm for a few seconds. Did Strip Yahtzee exist?

“Best of five. Winner gets to choose his or her
bounty.”

“Bounty?” Rebecca kicked off her flat shoes, folded
her legs beneath her and smoothed out her linen slacks. “You make it sound like
someone’s going to get his head lopped off.”

“Only if
she
loses.” He grinned as he opened
the box and removed the score sheets, pen, dice, and cup. “Okay. Winner decides
on the loser’s punishment.”

It took less than three seconds for Rebecca to
decide. “I’m in.”

“Okay.” He smiled as if he had pulled something
over on her. Well, wait until he heard what he’d have to do when he lost. “You
first then.”

“If I win, you have to take me for a ride on your
motorcycle.”

The smile left his face in an instant.

She anticipated him being hesitant. Since he hadn’t
taken her out already, she assumed there was some reason for his reluctance,
but she didn’t know what. The surprised—or alarmed?—look on his face had her
wondering.

 In a flash he recovered.

“Okay. A motorcycle ride. And if I win . . .”

He made a show of scrunching up his face and
looking up at the ceiling as he puzzled over what would be an appropriate
“punishment” for her. She doubted he needed any time to come up with something.
After all, this had been his idea.

“If I win, you have to kiss me.”

“Kiss you?” Rebecca gave him a sideways glance
meant to question his sanity. “That’s it? It’s not like I’ve been playing hard
to get in that regard.”

“Well, this would be different.”

“Oh, I think I see.” Her cheeks grew warm. “This is
about Saturday and how I—”

“This is about my desire for you. And how maybe it
would be better…be easier for you…if you knew what to expect without me
barreling ahead, not being sure if that’s what you want.”

She swallowed hard. Had he just said he desired
her? She tried to refocus on the second half of what he had said. She had
thought a lot about why she had reacted the way she did on Saturday. She had
emotional baggage stored in compartments Chris didn’t even know existed. He
didn’t deserve her lack of trust. On the contrary, he’d done about everything
he could to earn it, including having this awkward conversation.

“If you win, and that’s a big
if
, I can
abide by my so-called ‘punishment.’” She said it with a smile that hid the
twinge of anxiety she still felt. In truth, kissing Chris was no hardship, but
she had made something out of nothing.

Rebecca won the first two games by a wide margin,
but Chris rolled double Yahtzees in the next two. Then he edged her out in the
final game by using sixes in his four-of-a-kind.

They compared their tallies, and Chris pumped his
fist in the air. “Victory!”

Rebecca slumped back against his couch. She didn’t
consider herself very competitive, but the final game had been intense. Well,
for Yahtzee anyway.

“You won fair and square.” She straightened her
legs out and crossed them at the ankles now that Chris had cleared the game
pieces away.

“That I did,” Chris said. He closed the box and
slid it toward the book case before he positioned himself next to her against
the couch.

She already missed that motorcycle ride. So much so
that she might challenge him to a rematch.

He rested his arm on the back of her shoulders, and
she turned into him. His eyes were all light and heat. She lowered her lids and
savored the sweet anticipation of feeling his lips, but they never
materialized, and she reopened her eyes.

“It doesn’t have to be tonight. I don’t want it to
feel forced.”

Rebecca pushed away a smattering of disappointment
and rested her head against him. She had never known the contentment she felt
in Chris’s arms. He was her Teflon-proofing for life. None of the bad stuff
stuck when his arms encircled her.

“Can I get you anything to drink?”

“A glass of water would be great. Thanks.”

Slipping his arms from around her, he stood and
went to the kitchen. The cupboard clicked open, then the freezer. Ice cubes
rattled, and water ran from the faucet.

Again the picture of Chris on his motorcycle
captivated her. She needed to get one to put on her desk at work. Her gaze strayed
down the bookcase to the bottom two shelves. She shifted onto her knees and
studied the titles.

It looked like these shelves were all religious
books—Bibles, books about saints and theology. He said he’d read his way into
the Catholic Church, and the evidence in front of her confirmed it. She had to
admit it intimidated her. Her dad had a Bible, and that was it. She continued
to peruse the titles until the ones on the right side of the bottom shelf made
her stop and examine them more closely. Some of the titles were loftier than
others, but they all looked to be books about sex.

“Here you go.” Chris handed down her water. He had
a bottle of beer for himself in his other hand.

“See anything that interests you?”

“Well, I’m kind of curious about these books down
here.” She waved her index finger towards the books she had been looking at. “I
don’t think I’ve ever seen books about sex and religion before.”

Crouching alongside her, he reached forward and ran
his finger along the spines until he found the one he searched for. He slid the
slim purple book from the shelf and handed it to her. “Most of these books have
to do with the Theology of the Body. This one’s an easy read—all Q & A. Why
don’t you take it home and check it out? You might find it interesting.”

She loathed saying goodnight, and if they didn’t
have to work the next day, she could have envisioned them staying up all night
talking. It was well after midnight already, and they would both be tired in
the morning. It took three kisses until she got out the door and into her car.
She piled a couple of pieces of leftover pie on the seat beside her along with
the purple book Chris had loaned her and two others. He watched her pull out
and remained standing on his stoop until her car turned out of view.