Page 14 of To Save Him

As I brought out what I needed, plus the bag of potatoes, I set them on the counter.  Brandon held a half-empty five-pound bag of carrots in his hand.  “You seem to be running low on vegetables.”  Not a surprise—shopping for groceries hadn’t been a priority in a long time.  “But we can make do with these.  Would you prefer buttered or glazed?”

“You know your way around the kitchen in spite of being a soldier most of your life.”  And, based on what he’d said about his home life, he hadn’t been surrounded by any foodies.  Brandon looked at me then, his eyes changing from humor to doubt.  He was struggling with something.  “What’s wrong?”

He blinked as he looked down at the counter.  “I’m not sure…but you’re right.  I have no idea how I know so much.  There’ssomething…but I can’t quite grasp it.”

Some hidden memory?  That was odd, but I wasn’t going to press the issue.  This was obviously upsetting him.  “I wouldn’t worry about it.  It’ll come to you.”

He let the air out of his lungs.  “Yeah, I guess.”  Spying the cutting board next to the knives on the counter, he grabbed both and then moved close to the sink.

We worked mostly in silence.  I wanted to ask him questions.  I wanted to get him to talk.  Neither seemed quite appropriate, because I could tell his mind was grappling with the strange almost-memory he’d experienced earlier.

But as our meal preparation progressed, his mood lightened in a way that was palpable.  The air in the kitchen felt breathable again and we chatted a little as he asked where certain things, like brown sugar, could be found in that space.  I wasn’t going to mention it again, but he most definitely knew his way around the kitchen.  He had both the carrots and potatoes boiling before I had the steaks frying in a pan.

As I was making gravy later, I made a frustrated noise before saying, “Damn it.  Too thin again.”  I stirred the saucy liquid and it was boiling, but I could tell it was as thick as it was going to get.  Once more, I’d added too much broth.

“Give me a sec.”  Brandon stirred the mashed potatoes that looked perfect from my vantage point—light, fluffy, and buttery (was JR in for a treat)—and then he put a handful of flour in a bowl.  After adding water, he whipped the mixture with a fork.

“You’re not going to add that to the gravy, are you?”  My attempts at that technique had always been disastrous and resulted in lumpy gravy.

“Trust me.”

I supposed a lumpy gravy would be better than one that was watery, so I moved a little, enabling him to access the skillet.  I also wanted to watch.  I was certain the gravy would be ruined, but he whisked the hot liquid into the skillet while slowly adding the mixture he’d created and, when he was done adding it, he continued to stir.

It looked smooth as silk.

Brandon turned his head to look at me.  “See?  Perfection.”

I got ready to say something but instead drowned in his eyes.  Suddenly, my mouth pooled with the saliva of craving…and it wasn’t for his cooking.  Something deep inside wanted me to grab this young man and consume him—all of him.

And I sensed a similar need in him.

It frightened me.  Not the look in his eyes but the power of the emotions raging inside me—in particular, the overwhelming urge. The need.  A desire I hadn’t felt in a long time.

Or maybenever.

But then the moment passed as he continued stirring the pan and looked down at it as if showing me the gravy.  As the seconds stretched into half a minute, I began questioning if that moment had really happened or if I’d just imagined it, born out of my buried yearning.

Did I dare speak?  I had to try, because the light scraping of the fork against the cast iron was too loud otherwise.  “It looks wonderful.  I stand corrected.”  He smiled and nodded but avoided my eyes.

Oh, God.  His lack of eye contact told me that the momenthadhappened but that it was all me—and surely I seemed like some vile predator to this sweet young man.

Best to pretend it had never happened.  I had to ratchet down those deep stirrings in my core.

“I’ll let JR know dinner’s ready.”  I figured it would feel safer with my son nearby.

Dinner felt surreal but comforting, and I hoped I had a grip on myself—acting more like a mom and less like a starving animal—when I told JRlights outby ten.  I practically begged Brandon to play videogames with my son, offering to clean up the kitchen alone.  Afterward, I took a long hot bath and retired to my lovely bedroom, because me in my bedroom alone meant Brandon was safe.

After all, that was why he was here, right?

 

* * *

 

THE ATMOSPHERE FELT almost normal at breakfast the next morning, and part of me was surprised that Brandon hadn’t left in the dead of night.  I’d half expected to see him gone.

“Kimberly, could you tell me where the Workforce Center is?  So I can start applying for work?”

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