Page 4 of Grateful for You
“Well, your burgers will be right up.” Elsa smacked me gently with the dish towel that had been tucked into her apron, and as she walked away, Pumpkin’s gentle smile dissolved with a sigh.
“What are we gonna do?” she whispered, scratching the dog’s ears.
“I could take your dog for the night,” I offered. It wasn’t a perfect solution, I knew… but it was something. The least I could do.
Her hand was stroking along the dog’s back, and I had to admit, I’d never before been so jealous of a damn dog as I was then, watching her manicured nails dig into his fur in gentle strokes. “No. Thank you, though. But I can’t leave her with a stranger.”
“You could both stay with me. I have plenty of space.”
Her spine went rigid. She didn’t have a lot of options, and I could feel the fear emanating off of her. Her fear ofme. “I know it’s not ideal,” I said, quieter. “If I had a sister, I would get her to offer you her guest room… but it’s just my brother and me. And I don’t want to ask any of my officers the night before a holiday—”
“I know,” she nodded and lifted the steaming mug to her lips, sipping the black coffee. “I guess I’m just… cautious.”
I nodded. Cautious. And yet, desperate enough that she left on this road trip with only one bag, an unreliable car, and apparently not enough money to fix her broken vehicle. Something happened to this woman. Something bad. And I found myself drawn to protecting her. “You should be cautious. If I had a daughter, or a wife, I’d warn them to act as diligently as you.”
“Thank you, Mason,” she said, sagging in her seat. “I guess I don’t have much of a choice and… it’s really nice of you to open your home to a stranger.”
I gave her a smile. “I really don’t mind. And you should join us for Thanksgiving tomorrow, too. My brother and I usually have a small dinner—just us and a couple friends who don’t have anywhere to go for the holiday. We call it our Orphan Thanksgiving.”
“Orphan… that’s a little morbid.”
I shrugged. “We’d love to have you join us. Unless, of course, there’s someone expecting you who might be able to come get you—”
She shook her head quickly. “Just my sister. But with two kids and a husband, I don’t want to tear her away from their home on the holiday.”
I grinned as Elsa delivered our plates of burgers and fries. “So, you’ll join me on Thanksgiving?”
“I will.” She grew suddenly serious and pointed a finger in my face. “But I’m calling my sister with the exact address where I’ll be, and I swear to God, if I don’t check in with her every day, she will call the police and tell them you hacked up my body and hid it somewhere.”
Jesus. I put my hands up in surrender. “Tell as many people as you need to. I promise, Pumpkin, the only thing we’ll be hacking is a turkey carcass.”
She released a breath and smiled. “Actually… you can call me Piper.”
“Piper?” I feigned surprise that Pumpkin wasn’t her actual name. “I thought your friends called you—”
“Okay,” she interrupted me with a flourish of her hand. “Don’t make this a whole thing. People did used to call me Pumpkin. But it wasn’t a term of endearment, and they certainly weren’t my friends.”
“If pumpkin wasn’t a friendly nickname…” I let the words trail off. It was such a cute nickname, even if I thought Piper suited her more.
“Kids called me that because of my size, okay? Because I’m round… like a pumpkin.”
She huffed and unzipped her hoodie which was still damp from the freezing rain. Where was this girl’scoat?
My mouth went dry as she peeled the wet sweatshirt off her body, revealing a white t-shirt that fell off of one shoulder. The white cotton dipped and stretched across the mounds of her breasts in a delicious display. Even with her bra, I could see her nipples—hard, protruding against the material. Goosebumps rose on the strip of skin at her shoulder.
“Huh,” I said.
“What?” she asked, defensive. Ready to spar.
“I would’ve thought that nickname was ‘cause you’re sweet. Like pumpkin pie.”
She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Well, now Iknowyou’re full of shit. We both know I’m not sweet.”
I shrugged. “Oh, I dunno. You seem sweet to me.”
“Combative. Hard-headed. Opinionated…. Yes. But I’ve never been called sweet.”
I grinned as Elsa delivered our plates of burgers and fries. “Well, maybe that nickname will stick … for different reasons.”
