Page 15 of Never Say Yes To Your Brother's Best Friend

“Are you going to order some other furniture?” I ask.

This time, the look he gives me is completely mystified and baffled. Like he hadn’t even considered it.

“The house might sell better if it’s furnished.”

His shrug is followed up with a humorless laugh. “Then I have time.”

“Do you have time to stop and have breakfast?”

“Nope.”

Now, I give him the same snort he gave me a few minutes ago. “I’ll wait until you’re finished then before I make us something.”

“Not hungry,” he grunts.

“Did you eat?”

“Nope.”

Now isn’t the time for a hunger strike. Or being too busy to eat or sleep properly. I’m still not convinced he does. Sleep, I mean.

“Okay, well, I’m going to make us something. You can keep going, and I’ll make sure it’s portable and quick. And I’ll brew coffee.”

“For the love of snake bottoms, do not brew coffee. I’ll do that.”

Is this man acoffee snob?He took his time with it yesterday. But whatever he made was hands down the strongest, darkest, and best coffee I’ve ever had in my life.

Technically, that’s not a hard no on the breakfast, so maybe he’s hungry, and he just forgot. Or he’s used to going without, denying himself, and not attending to his body’s needs. I know what he did for a living. I get how those habits can become so ingrained that they’re hard to break.

It still gives my chest a little pinch that I can’t work out, even in the kitchen.

I bought fresh bread yesterday. I also bought condiments and stuff for the pantry, the fridge, the freezer, and cream for coffee, thank sweet snake butts. Do snakes even have butts? I suppose they must because they need to poop somehow. They don’t just shed it like their skins. Rick gave me his credit card yesterday. I had to ask him for his car keys, and when he found out what I was going to do, he insisted on paying for the stuff, so I wasn’t shy about restocking.

I could make something gourmet, but I promised fast and portable, so I go for peanut butter and banana sandwiches with strawberries on the side. I can eat a whole sandwich, and Rick is a big guy, so I make his sandwich a double-decker with four slices of bread and layers of peanut butter and banana slices in between.

Part of Jace’s letter comes back to me as I layer on the peanut butter goodness.

He’ll act tough. So tough. Sometimes it’s legit, and sometimes it’s not. Don’t believe him when he says he’s okay. Don’t believe him when he pretends to be a jerk. He’s good shit through and through. Salt of the earth, if I’ve ever known salt. And I know salt. It’s the spice of life. Please. I know it might not look like he needs it, but he does. If all else fails, promise me you’ll still look after my best friend because if you’re reading this, then it means I can’t. I love you, Ass-pen, more than you could ever know. I’m so proud of you. I know you’ll keep me alive in your memory, forever and always, and I’m so sorry you have to do that. That you all have to do that.

Shit,I curse mentally.

I don’t want this sandwich to turn into peanut butter, banana, and tears. I don’t know about the salt of the earth where I’m concerned, but we’re probably salty enough without an extra helping of it.

I got out of bed in a hurry this morning. Today, there was no time for anything, and since I don’t normally bother with makeup, it makes it easy to splash water from the tap on my face. I blot it dry with a tea towel.

“Here.” I present Rick with a dry face, a shaky smile, and one mother-of-a-beast sandwich. It’s almost as big as that pile of furniture.

He freezes and eyes the sandwich like it’s a monster he’s going to have to slay. I’ve cut it into four pieces. He takes the first huge piece and opens his mouth.

“No!” I exclaim. He nearly drops it because I’ve startled him so badly.

“Good…just—what?”

“Don’t ram it down your gullet like yesterday. This isn’t nasty old bread, and there’s no hurry. Take a breath, taste it. It’s good. Plus, the peanut butter might stick when you try to force it all down in a single gulp, and if you choke, I don’t know how to perform the Heimlich.”

I prepare myself for an argument, but he takes the smallest bite right from the middle. There’s no crust. It’s just all peanut butter and bananas. He makes a sound. A grunt. I think it’s a good sound.

“Right? It’s pretty much heaven. My mom used to make this for me. Sometimes, she’d grill it in the frying pan and then give me chocolate sauce to dip it in, but that’s not quick or portable, so you get this version.”

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