Page 20 of Bone Dust

“I’m fine, Chickadee. This is how elephants rest. They fall to their sides.”

“Oh. Okay.” Gigi, now having lost interest turns away and heads toward the family room once again.

“I wish I had her energy.”

“Me, too.” Sam pushes up off the floor and brushes off his pants.

“If I haven’t said so lately, I love you. I’m so glad we have you in our lives.”

“The feelin’s mutual. I love you both like you’re my own.”

I wipe away unexpected tears.

“Are you crying?”

I look away, embarrassed, and dismiss the emotion as fluctuating hormones.

“You’re turning into an old fart, Savi,” he laughs.

“Stop. I can’t help it. I, honestly don’t know where Gigi and I would be without you.” He hands me a napkin.

“I’m gonna make a salad. Stir that sauce for me, will ya? I don’t want it to burn on the bottom of the pot.”

I do as he asks, stealing glimpses of him over my shoulder. He’s texting someone. Sufficiently stirred, I set the utensil down and go back to my seat.

His brow lifts. “Why are you lookin’ at me like that?”

“What are you doing?”

His forehead wrinkles. “Texting on my phone, nosey. You writin’ a book?”

I dismiss the comment and roll my eyes. He’s impossible.

“Savannah, let’s talk about somethin’ more important, like, what’s up between you and Ian?”

I look away. “There’s nothing between me and Ian.”

His expression turns to stone. “Uh-huh. Right.”

We’re interrupted by a knock on the door and I’m grateful for the interruption. “You expecting somebody?”

“Yep.” A sly smile slides across his lips. “Savi, why don’t you go let Ian in and I’ll set the table.”

CHAPTER NINE

Ian

Ipress the Velcro wrist catch of my riding gloves against the inside of the helmet, then place them in the trunk of my Harley. Not wanting to come to dinner empty-handed, I stopped at Sweetcakes Bake Shop for a full box of fresh pastries. I hook my fingers in the red cord securing the white cardboard box and walk toward the front door, glancing over at the driveway.

Two cars? Shit!

A quick refresh of my memory and I recall Sam and Savannah’s talk about Sunday dinners.

My mood plummets. Once she sees me, it’ll take more than pastries to sweeten the room.

I knock on the door and a few seconds later it opens. Savannah backs up. “He’s in the kitchen,” she says, her tone clipped.

“Can you show me the way? It’s my first time here.”

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