Page 23 of Red Hot Roaster

“Okay, okay,” I hissed. “If you insist on making a deal out of this, I will allow you” —he growled—“Er, rather, ask you to pay some rent. Let’s say five hundred bucks per month.”

I slid my eyes to the left. Rookie mistake.

Rafe barked out a laugh. It was so loud that the kid at the worktable jumped and jerked his head around.

“I don’t think so. I talked to your girl Jennifer yesterday.”

Uh-oh.

He pulled out a wad of what looked to be one-hundred-dollar bills rubber-banded together. He reached over and tucked it into the pocket of my Chocolate Lab apron before I could do anything.

“Yeah. No,” he grumbled. “She said that the going rate for a one-bedroom apartment in this part of Portland is at least fifteen hundred a month. So here’s thirty-five hundred for the rest of September, October and November. I’ll get you the rent for December when I know my schedule.”

My jaw must have dropped, because the next thing I knew, Rafe used two fingers under my chin to gently close my mouth.

When I tried to take the cash out of my pocket to give it back to him, he rested his hand on mine. “Rose. Please. You will be makingmefeel better if you take this. Ialwayspay my own way.”

What could I say to that? I totally understood. My family members, from my grandparents down to Finn, had always worked hard for everything we’d gotten. We didnotbelieve in free rides.

Plus, Rafe—unlike some dog butts I could name in my life—had shown up and stuck around when I’d needed help. He hadn’t run off when the going got tough.

In my book, that alone deserved a lot of gratitude…and a little treat.

So I stepped back, clapped my hands and said, “Thank you, Rafe. Happy that’s all settled.”

He looked puzzled at my sudden amiability. Before he could say anything, I went on to inform him, “Nowyouare going to makemefeel even better by accepting my invite to Sunday supper tomorrow. I’m making my grandma’s Swedish meatballs on mashies. You’ll love ’em!”

Rafe stopped looking puzzled and smiled instead. “Are you always this bossy?”

I probably should have paused there, but Rafe had to know. “Oh, no. Usually I’m pretty easygoing.”

Did I hear a snort?

“You’re getting the friends-and-family special.”

Before he askedwhich am I?I twirled smartly around to head down the hallway to the café.

Chapter 14

Rafe

Ihadn’t turned on the bedside lamp yet, so it was still dark, being five thirty and early October and all.

I didn’t need the light to recognize that the life-sized cardboard figure in the corner was Movie Elvis, not Vegas Elvis. I’d been going to sleep with and waking up to the damned thing the last few weeks.

He flaunted that sophisticated look I’d never aspired to—polished boots, black slacks, brown linen sports jacket, black tie, crisp white shirt, gold cufflinks (shit,cufflinks).

Frozen in time, maybe caught at thebesttime of his life, Elvis strummed his guitar, smiling that confident smile, flashing those bedroom eyes, singing directly to you.

Well, not me. I didn’t see the attraction of the music or the man.

But I wasn’t a woman…or a bitch. And by bitch, I meant the female dog type. I may have been growling under my breath, but I swore Princess had the hots for the King. At bedtime, I’d find her lying in front of the Elvis cutout, muzzle nestled between her front paws, gazing in adoration.

Females.

Without Rose’s permission, I wasn’t going to move cardboard Elvis into a closet, over to her house—or out to the garbage can. It might’ve been some too-sensitive reminder from her last days with her mom in the apartment. Why else would Jennifer have left it here when she cleaned out the place? And why hadn’t it made a guest appearance at her mom’s party?

I figured I’d ask Rose about it, maybe hear more about the Elvis backstory, when I went over for supper later today. I already had so many questions I wanted to ask her, things I wanted to find out about her.

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