Page 41 of Smooth Sailing

“Cereal,” he said, shoving the pot back in.

“Cupboard over by the wall,” I replied.

He spooned two sugars into his coffee then wandered over to the cupboard.

He sipped as he opened it.

He then whistled low and added, “Shee-it.”

I was not confused by this response.

“I’m a grocery store aficionado,” I informed him.

“I can see,” he muttered, ignored the Fruity Pebbles, the Cap’n Crunch, the Lucky Charms, the Cocoa Puffs and the Cinnamon Toast Crunch, and homed right in on the Trix.

I approved of this choice.

“Bowls in the cupboard by the dishwasher,” I said as I set up the Crock-pot.

He went there and I watched as he got down a pasta bowl, not a cereal bowl.

I almost said something, just to give him shit, but decided against it and instead just smiled.

He didn’t need instruction on where to find the milk.

He’d just poured and put the milk back, when he pulled his phone out of his back pocket, looked at it then looked at me.

“Big Petey’s here. Whatchu gotta do to let him up?”

“Buzz him in. It’s that console over there.” I tipped my head to the wall. “Hit the green button, that’ll let him in to the vestibule. Then hit the blue one. It gives him five minutes to call the elevator and will allow him to tag my floor.”

He went and hit the buttons. He returned to his cereal.

I went to the refrigerator to get the chicken breasts.

When the doorbell rang, Hugger moved to answer it.

He came back as I was arranging the breasts in the bottom of the Crock-pot.

I froze for a second time that morning when I laid eyes on Big Petey.

He looked like a biker grandpa, with emphasis on the grandpa.

The good news about this was, it was unlikely Suzette would have any issue spending time with him. Like all the other guys, he was rough around the edges, but the kindness in his eyes was not hidden.

The bad news was, if trouble came calling, I was pretty certain Big Petey wouldn’t be much of an obstacle to it finding its prize.

“Pete, this is Diana. Diana, Big Petey,” Hugger said on a series of grunts before he went back to his mug and his bowl.

“Sorry, I have chicken juice on my hands, just a sec,” I said, dashing to the sink to wash off the juice.

After I got that done, I approached Big Petey with hand raised. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too, doll,” he replied, taking my hand, squeezing it firm and friendly, then letting me go.

“Have you had breakfast? Coffee?” I asked.

“Got covered on the way over,” he said.

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