Page 8 of Garnish with a Candy Cane
More than just my neglected body and battered heart, both of which respond to his abundant affection and attention in ways my mind knows I shouldn’t allow. That I refuse to accept and become distracted from what I need to focus on – my grandmother.
As soon as we pull up in the half circle drive, I slide my hand out of his and grasp the handle, eager to hop out of his fancy car. He’s next to me as soon as my feet touch the curb, following me just like this morning. I need to end this before I don’t have the strength to resist him anymore.
I pause in front of the entrance, anxious about the best way to say good-bye. Debating a handshake or a hug or a…nope, nothing else. Touching him again would be too dangerous. “Thanks for–“
But he doesn’t seem interested in leaving. Instead, he pushes the handle, holding the door open for me. “I’m coming in.”
This can’t be good. “That’s okay. I can make it from here.”
“I want to make sure it’s safe.”
It’s a nursing home. How dangerous can it be? Very, I guess, the way Duke holds me tight against him as we walk inside. A reminder of how striking he is when the ladies at the front desk focus their attention on us, with the usually sullen red-head smiling and calling out a greeting this time. More for him than me. I’ve been coming here for three years, and she’s never spoken to me once. Obviously a drop-dead handsome man earns her boisterous welcome.
A pleasant shock warms me from his absolute disinterest in her. All of his focus remains on me, somehow guiding me down the hallway even though I’m the only one who knows where we’re going. Intriguing me with his dominance and determination. I’m more of a blend into the wallpaper kind of person, while he owns the corridor. Heck, the entire building.
Nana’s door is open, signifying she’s having a good day, and I smile too. He releases me without protest as I race straight into her arms, held out to bring me as close as possible to her. I hug her tight, thankful for another visit with her when she’s lucid enough to remember me. “Good morning, Nana.”
“Oh sweetie, I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve missed you. It’s been too long.”
My chest aches from her confusion. I would never abandon her, and I hate that she thinks I would. “I was here for dinner last night, remember?”
Bewilderment lines her face from my assertion. No, she doesn’t remember, and I shouldn’t try to force her. I know better. The ambiguity upsets her, and then I spend our visit trying to soothe her worry rather than enjoy our already limited time together. “Or maybe it was last week. I’ve been so busy I can’t keep track.”
I shrug off my uncertainty as if I’m joking and laugh just to add a bit more nonchalance. She giggles too. I’m not sure if she even understands why we’re so amused but at least she’s smiling again. Especially when her attention lingers on something – or someone – behind me.
Duke.
He’s still here, and despite the good sense I know I should have not to be, I’m happy he didn’t leave. I turn back, and find his interest absorbed with the enormous Christmas tree in the corner of her room. Yet, he doesn’t question the decoration prominently displayed during the wrong season. He just smiles a seemingly genuine smile that matches hers.
Grasping her frail hand, I motion to him with my free one. “Nana, this is my friend Duke. He gave me a ride over.”
“It was my pleasure Duchess.”
Embarrassment warms me almost as much as the fire engulfing me from his deep voice insinuating so much with a single word. I should not be feeling tingly in my lady places with my elderly grandmother bed-ridden next to me.
He offers her a slight bow, tipping his head in deference that’s unbelievably sexy for a man of his stature to offer a poor older woman. She must agree from the blush blooming on her pale skin.
“It’s an honor to meet you ma’am.”
She plays coy and looks away, beaming with the brightest grin I’ve ever seen on her pale lips. What in the world? Nana is actually flirting. “Please call me Merry.”
Just like her, I feel strangely giddy from his presence. After awkward introductions attempting to explain a new friend that I just met yesterday yet like well enough to bring him to meet her, the joy never leaves her radiant face while they chat. Real conversation flourishes between them. He doesn’t patronize her like most people do, never talking down to her as if she’s a child rather than a grown woman who deserves respect.
He takes her questions asking if he’s finished his Christmas shopping yet in stride. He waits patiently while she searches for the word she can’t seem to utter. He refills her drink to the top and takes the glass back without irritation from the milk dribbles dropping to his skin from her shaking hand. He leans in and genuinely listens while she charms him with stories from when I was little of her and grandpa staying up all night on Christmas Eve to assemble a dollhouse and the time they took me sledding on Ritzer hill and she bounced so hard on the wooden rails she cracked her tailbone.
Glowing with enthusiasm, despite the nasty powdered eggs and limp bacon they serve her, she encourages him to tell her what he wants for Christmas because Santa’s always listening. When he winks at me and tells her he’s already received his gift, I flush harder than she does. Until finally the aide comes in to take away her tray and give her some medicine and exhaustion overcomes her. Sighing with delight once she quiets down and drifts off to sleep with Duke still keeping vigil by her bed while she snores softly.
His gaze shifts from her to me, and my pulse sprints through my veins from the intensity of his stare. In the short time I’ve known Duke, I’ve learned quickly that he always gives me his full and undivided attention. Whether I can stand his scrutiny or not. “Thank you for being so kind to her. Not everyone is as patient as you are.”
Fury so hot and strong explodes across his expression I instinctively step back, bumping into her side table and jostling her glass. Luckily the cup is empty so only my confused feelings make a mess.
“What did I tell you last night?”
My mind attempts to filter through the haze to remember our conversation that obviously impacted him. What did he tell me then that makes him so angry now?
“I don’t ever want to hear about your bastard ex again.”
The memory of me in his arms and his commanding voice bursts into my mind.
