Page 99 of The Woman in the Warehouse

“I bonded with her,” Keith said, still pouting.

“Just think how much a dog that you literally rescued is going to love you,” Saylor reasoned. “We’re going to go pick you out your new best friend, so stop looking so fucking glum,” she demanded as Fury bounced over toward me, jumping effortlessly up onto the couch to sniff at my chest, smelling the wound even through my shirt.

“Can I see the bullet hole?” Keith asked.

“Depends,” Saylor said.

“On what?”

“If you’re the kind who throws up easily or not. I’m not in the mood to clean up your puke.”

Giving the poor kid a break, I pulled the material to the side, and realized real quick that Saylor was right in asking that question. Because the fucking kid went white as a sheet.

“Okay, enough show-and-tell,” Saylor said, pushing Keith back a few steps. “Let’s go get you a new friend. You,” she said, walking backward up the step to the sunken living room without so much as a stumble, “stay your ass on the fucking couch. I mean it.”

“What if there’s a fire?” I asked, smirking.

“Then you keep your ass on that couch and wait for the tall, hunky fireman to come, whisk you off your feet, and carry you to safety,” she said. “Oh, thank God,” she said as she was walking out into the hallway to find my mother coming in with another tray of food. “Keep an eye on him. I’ll be back in an hour or two,” she said.

“Have I mentioned that I love her for you?” my mother asked as she put the tray in the fridge.

“You’re only saying that because she saved my life,” I teased.

“That certainly helps,” she said, kissing my cheek. “But it’s not just that. She really cares about you. And I think you would do well with a strong woman like that in your life.”

“She doesn’t know how to cook,” I told her, not because I wanted to turn her off to the idea of Saylor, since I did plan on being with her, but just to give my mother the whole picture, so she didn’t go creating ideas in her head that would never come true.

“Well,” she said, walking around, fluffing pillows, “there’s time to learn if she wants to. Or you can do all the cooking. I hear Sam’s husband was the cook in that family. Besides, you guys would never starve as long as I am alive.”

“That’s true,” I agreed.

“I heard a rumor that she is thinking about retiring from… her current profession,” she said, choosing her words carefully since this wasn’t a residence that belonged to someone in the Family, so there was no guarantee that it was safe to speak plainly.

“She is. I think this was enough for her. She never planned to do it long-term anyway. We were thinking about opening a business together. Make use of that warehouse of hers,” I said.

“Something that can practically run itself,” my mother said, sweeping crumbs from the coffee table into her hand, then walking into the kitchen to dump it in the garbage. “That way, when you two have children, you don’t have to spend too much time on business.”

“We haven’t discussed kids yet, Ma,” I warned her.

To that, she whipped around, eyes borderline panicked. “You think she wants them, though, right? You want children.”

“I do,” I agreed. “But we just started seeing each other, Ma. I don’t want to freak her out by bombarding her with questions about marriage and motherhood when I don’t even know her favorite color yet.”

“It’s sage green. Where do you guys keep the broom and dustpan?” she asked, starting to open cabinets that, objectively, no broom could fit inside. “Never mind. Found it,” she said, opening a closet, and starting to sweep.

My mother had always been the kind of woman who always seemed to have boundless energy to spare. I don’t recall often seeing her just sitting down with her feet up, watching TV. She was always on the move. Cooking, cleaning, running after kids, taking off on errands, making time for family and friends.

Whenever someone tried to get her to relax, she would sit for ten minutes before popping up again and moving around. She liked to claim that it was likely how she’d maintained her figure even after four kids and eating cheese and pasta at damn near every meal.

“You don’t need to clean, Ma,” I said, even though I knew she was going to do it no matter how much I protested.

“You and Saylor need to be taking it easy,” she told me as she started to sweep. “Oh, it’s okay,” she cooed at Fury who started to growl and lunge at the broom. “Just you wait until you meet the vacuum. You’ll be missing the broom. Is she protective?” she asked, glancing back at me.

“Of the warehouse and Saylor, yeah,” I said, nodding. “This is the first time she’s been in the condo, but she’ll learn that it’s hers to protect eventually.”

“Good. I like the idea of Saylor having someone here when you’re not around. So, who was the young man she left with?”

“Keith. He’s a hacker. Who wanted to keep Fury for himself. So Saylor took him to the pound to get him his own dog. He’s a pain in the ass. Who only eats pizza rolls.”

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