Page 20 of To Save Him

Plus, we had the matter at hand to tend to.

Willing down my inner cougar, I said, “We’ll take it.”  I saw Brandon out of the corner of my eye getting ready to protest.  “But he also needs something for a more casual interview.  Something hands on—gardening, home appliances, that kind of thing.”

“Oh, we have the perfect selection of clothing for jobs like that.  Hold on a moment.”

The salesman scooted off with this new task to tackle, and Brandon got closer to me.  “Kimberly, I don’tneedthis suit.  I’ll just take something else for the interview.”

I raised an eyebrow and, well, he’d asked for it:  he was going to get mymothervoice.  “That suit wasmadefor you, Brandon, and I’m buying it for you.  As a gift.  And if youdon’ttake it, you’ll hurt my feelings.”

He was silent for a few moments before he said, “But I can’t repay you for it.”

“I don’t want you to repay me.  A gift shouldn’t be repaid.”  The salesman started heading back toward us, clothing in hangers draped over an arm bent at the elbow.  “You look amazing in it.”  I didn’t dare tell him he lookedhot.

“I do?”

“Here we go,” sang the salesman.  “A light blue cotton Oxford paired with understated light gray cargo pants.  Oh, and for shoes, I’d suggest either leather boat shoes or penny loafers.”

Brandon looked over at me.  I knew the question in his eyes.  This was a young man who’d worn sneakers and combat boots for most of his adult life and maybe dress shoes once or twice—and, chances were, the ones he’d worn had been standard military.  He had no idea about the shoes.  I didn’t, either, though—and that was why we were here.  “What would you recommend?”

“Hmm.”  The salesman handed the clothes to Brandon to try on.  “For this particular ensemble, I think I’d go with the boat shoes.  The loafers might come off as a little too dressy.”

“Could he try on a pair?”

I could see the enjoyment of watching his commission climb in the salesman’s expression.  “Certainly.”  To Brandon, he said, “Why don’t you go ahead and try those on?”  After Brandon walked in the dressing room, I half expected the salesman to say something about him being my son…for obvious reasons.  Instead, he said, “I do believe he could pull any look off.”

I grinned, tilting my head.  “I think you’re right.”

 

* * *

 

BRANDON AND I sat outside in the warm sun beside the little vegetarian restaurant.  It was the only dedicated veggie restaurant in town, and I liked to eat there once in a while because their food was so different.  Brandon seemed to be a bit of a foodie, whether he realized it or not, and so I thought he might appreciate it.  I knew my youngest son didn’t, and Annabel just wasn’t into food much anyway.  I usually came here by myself once or twice a year, so it would be nice to have company while appreciating a lovely meal.

There was a slight breeze on the back of my neck that I wouldn’t have been able to enjoy had I not pulled my hair up into a ponytail before leaving the house.  I closed my eyes and tilted my face up to the sky while waiting for our waitress to take our order.  Brandon was trying to decide between two different dishes, so I wanted to keep my mouth shut until he could make up his mind.

I heard him close the menu before he said, “Kimberly, I wish you weren’t doing all this.”

I opened my eyes and lowered my head.  “Doingwhat?  Helping out a fellow human being?  One who could use a hand?”

“There’s a difference between helping me and giving me a handout.”

“You’re helping me around the house.  A lot.  And you’ll be getting a job.  I don’t know why you’re so worried about it.”  A typical male.  Did he feel threatened or belittled just because I wanted to spend a little money on him?  Was it because I’d put the clothing on a credit card instead of paying for it outright? I saw that he was getting ready to respond, so I cut him off.  “Do you know anything about giving backrubs?”

What the hell was I thinking?  Talk about sliding down a slippery slope.  My hormones were causing me to losing my fucking mind.

Fortunately, the waitress arrived, drinks in hand, and she set them down in front of us while asking if we needed a few more minutes to decide.  Again, I could see the gears in Brandon’s head whirling, and I imagined he was going to tell her he did.  I had to nipthatin the bud too by saying, “I’m ready.  Did you have questions about anything on the menu, Brandon?”

“Uh, just one.  What would you recommend?”

The waitress flashed a disarming smile and I could see Brandon respond.  Was this girl his type?

And what the hell wasthatsimmering in the pit of my belly?

Jealousy?

Wow.  That was an emotion I hadn’t felt in ages.  How strange.

---