Page 8 of Comforted By The Mountain Man
Ryder’s giggle fills the kitchen. “Mommy, your tummy made a noise.”
Leave it to him to break through the fog and infuse his light. A small smile tips my lips. Asher’s eyes track it, then quickly goes back to the sandwiches which he closes up.
“You hungry, baby?” I ask my boy.
His excited nod wasn’t necessary. I already knew the answer. Asher hands me one sandwich, which is still warm. I cut it up into pieces, setting it on a plate in front of Ryder with a few of the canned peaches on the side.
“What do we say?” I ask.
Already, mouth full of gooey cheese and eggs, he mumbles around it, “Thank you,” to Asher.
The stoic man actually cracks the smallest grin before handing me the other sandwich.
I hesitate. I can save that in the fridge, and Ryder can have it for dinner tonight.
As if reading my mind, he says, “One of my brothers loves to cook enough to feed an army. He dropped off tons of meals I put in the freezer last night. I can never get through them all. Would you guys maybe want to take some until you get settled?”
I stare into those green eyes, asking questions in my mind, hoping he could read those too. I want him to ease the suspicions that I’m purposely piling on to counteract this weird ease I feel in his presence.
Without answering, I take the breakfast sandwich and bite into it, leaning back against the counter, facing Ryder. Or perhaps it was answer enough because Asher nods, unwraps his own and starts eating.
The three of us quietly partake in our meal, and for a few minutes, there’s peace. Ryder hums in appreciation of his bites, making a show of popping a peach into his mouth. Smiling, I take another bite of the best damn sandwich I’ve ever had. Which is kind of sad if I think about it too hard, but at this moment, I don’t care.
Small gifts. I have to take them when they come.
A ringing breaks the bubble we settled into.
“Scuse me,” Asher says, popping his last bite before answering his cell. “Yeah.”
He walks off to the living area, which is just a few feet away. I take Ryder’s plate and set it in the sink. Again, second nature has me turning on the faucet to rinse it. Rolling my eyes, I leave it there for now but take the gallon on the counter, wet a paper towel, and wrestle with a whiny Ryder who hates when I clean off his face and hands.
“What do you mean, they’re not balanced?” Asher’s voice grumbles.
I pick Ryder up and set him on the floor. “Hey, baby,” I finger-comb his wild curls off his forehead. “All of your toys are in your Hulk bag in your new room.” He’s already bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Why don’t you go play while I clean up in here?”
“Is Mr. Hulk staying?” he asks.
“Who?”
He points at Asher, who’s still on the phone. “Hims. Mr. Hulk?”
“His last name’s Hunter, honey. And no, he’s not staying long.”
Ryder’s face falls into that stubborn expression, which unfortunately he totally gets from me. “But I want him to stay.”
“Ryder,” I use my maternal tone. “Be happy he brought us breakfast. That was kind of him. He’ll be around for a little bit, but then he has to go home. Okay?”
Grumpy-faced, he concedes and nods. I kiss his head and love tap his butt. “Go play, baby.”
Ryder heads to the smaller bedroom I set him up in last night. “Don’t leave without goodbye,” Ryder demands as he runs to the room.
Asher waves at him, still deep in his conversation. I pretend to ignore it while I clean up the best I can.
“But you recorded the correct amounts, so why are they saying it’s wrong?”
My mind latches on automatically to the familiar dilemma.
Sighing, Asher rubs his forehead, frustrated. “Ezra, I don’t know. Ma handled the books. If the amounts match what’s on the ledger, the fuck up can’t be ours.”
