Page 36 of Dust Storm

“Aboutus,” I clarified.

“Now’s not a good time. We need to let things cool down before?—”

“I’m not talking about the wedding, Tripp! I said we need to talk aboutus.”

“Look, I gotta go.” He let out a laugh. “Lillian is a handful and she’s had a bottle of wine.”

The call ended without a goodbye.

Mickey huffed in the background as I stared at the dark phone screen and wondered where it all went wrong.

Christian foundme on his porch, sitting in a rocking chair with a cereal bowl on my lap.

Moths flitted around, dancing high in the porch light. Shadows were cast at my feet.

“I’d have to ask Becks about normal New York City dinners, but I don’t think that’s a proper meal, Princess.”

I didn’t look up from my bowl of ice cream. “You told me I could help myself to whatever I could find in the kitchen.”

The rocking chair beside mine creaked as he lowered himself into it. “Yeah, to the pantry or the fridge or whatever leftovers were in there.” He leaned over the rocking chair arm and studied my bowl. “Really? Mint chocolate chip and… whiskey?”

I swirled my spoon around the spiked float I had fixed myself when I snuck back from the office. “Don’t knock it ’til you try it,” I said as I shoveled in a spoonful.

Christian disappeared without a word.

What was it about men and their propensity to walk away unexpectedly?

I was one silent exit away from losing my shit.

Utensils clanked and clattered inside as I stared at the melting mound of mint ice cream swirling into warm brown whiskey. Was this was rock bottom?

I took a big scoop and let the burn of liquor be cooled by the sweetness of peppermint.

“I’ll trade you.”

I looked up and found Christian standing in front of me with a matching bowl full of chili. It was topped with a wedge of cornbread dripping in butter.

“You missed dinner,” he said as he took the ice cream from me and replaced it with the chili bowl that was warm from the microwave.

“I was working,” I lied.

Christian took a testing bite of my ice cream concoction and grimaced. “That’s repulsive.”

“It’s an acquired taste,” I retorted without much enthusiasm as I poked at the chili.

The wooden slats of the porch creaked as Christian gently rocked back and forth.

I watched him out of the corner of my eye. He rested comfortably; knees wide and boots flat, leaning back in thechair. His hair was still in a bun, but it was loose after a long day. Tendrils spilled out across his shoulders.

It was unnerving to be around someone so relaxed.

Tripp was always running around, so I was too.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” I asked as I took a meager nibble. The buttery sweetness of the cornbread, the earthy warmth of cumin, and the acidity of the tomatoes blended perfectly.

“I don’t sleep until everyone in my house is settled.”

“You don’t have to wait up for me. I’m capable of going to bed and getting myself to your office in the morning.”

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