Page 57 of The Way We Touch

“No.” He walks over and sits in a chair beside the polished-oak desk. “I’m pretty sure that was Dad’s.”

It makes me sad, because I know how much he loved to read, but I’m not going there. “I’m going to steal this bookcase. Mine’s overflowing.”

“Go for it.” He waves a hand.

His beard is thicker than Logan’s, but still trimmed and tight. The thin T-shirt he wears lets me know his muscles are still toned, and a sleeve of tattoos covers his right arm. His eyes are tired and lately they’ve been so distant.

“Remember when we were little kids, and you’d read to me?” I smile, tilting my head to the side. “What was that book you always read?”

“Everybody Poops. Mom said it would help you relax and go potty.”

“She told you that?”

“Yep.” He exhales, stretching in his seat. “I was the only one who’d sit still long enough for her to talk to. Until you got bigger.”

“I miss talking to you.” I walk over to put my hand on his shoulder. “We all miss you down at the restaurant. Craig asks about you all the time.”

His smile is more of a wince. “I don’t like how people look at me when I’m there, and if one more person speaks to me in that voice…”

“What voice?” I lean down, imitating the high-pitched, sing-song sympathy tone. “The one where I’m soooo worried about you?”

“Stop.” He flinches away from me.

“Does your footie-woot hurt weel weel bad?”

“I’m going to start flipping tables.”

“Don’t do that.” I drop the baby voice. “The Coot & Shoot has gotten rowdy enough after dark. I’m starting to rethink the whole concept of my Dare dish. Last time it broke out into a full-on, dirty-dancing party, and we still had little kids there.”

“It’s your thing. Customers love it.”

“Only a small group of customers love it. Most of them can’t even eat it. We throw away more than we give out.” Exhaling a sigh, I walk to the door. “I’m starting to think maybe Davis is right, and it’s a dumb idea, both from a business and an accounting perspective.”

“Davis Kent is a jackass.”

“And the Coyote Ugly routine is probably a health code violation. If anybody complains, we could get fined or whatever they do with those.”

“Nobody’s going to complain about pretty girls grinding on a bar.”

“I don’t know. Some people get real mean when they’re titillated.”

That manages to draw a ghost of a smile from him. “They can eat somewhere else.”

Bobbing my head side to side, I’m not giving up on him so fast. “We could probably tone it down some. It would be nice to have a calming presence, though.”

“You mean a distraction?”

“You’re not that distracting.”

“Everyone in the world saw my injury. It’s all they see when they look at me.”

“I think you’re being a little dramatic. Not everybody in the world watches football, you know.” He cuts me a look. “Just around here, and you need to get out of this house.”

“I do get out of this house.” He presses on his knees, rising slowly. “I go for drives…”

“After dark, which is weird and stalkery. People are going to think you’re a serial killer.”

“I’m not a serial killer.”

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