Page 29 of Sweeter Than Honey
There was a colander of salad greens in the sink. He removed them too quickly and the colander nearly tipped. A few greens splashed onto the floor.
“Ok, got it. You don’t want salad.”
He couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. His brain wasn’t processing correctly. It felt sucker-punched.
“No, no, it’s not that. Sorry. I’m just going to wash these and take them back out.”
She moved to the side as he went to work on the jars, taking each one out, rinsing it and plopping it back in the crate. He let the rush of the running water fill the silence as he tried to gather himself. This was fucking stupid. He was freaking out because she’d cooked.
Cara took a bowl from the microwave and set it next to the roaster. Mashed potatoes. Then she dumped the salad greens in a bowl and topped them with some sliced radish and shredded carrots.
“I should have asked you before I did any of this,” her soft voice filled the silence as he shut off the water. “I’m sorry.”
God. Look what he’d done now. Jett turned to her and propped a hip against the counter while he wiped his hands on a towel. “No, no, no. You’re more than welcome to make yourself at home. I told you that and I meant it.”
Her smile was tinged with sadness... no, sympathy. “Yes, but I can tell you’re paying a price for offering that. And I don’t want you to feel weird in your own home.”
He wasn’t sure how to respond to that but found himself making a half-assed gesture to the tablecloth. “I’ll admit, seeing that set me off a little. Not your fault. It’s just, you’re the first person to, you know, be in this house since my wife died.”
She nodded softly. “How long ago did she pass?”
“Going on three years. She and our daughter were killed in an avalanche on Heeder’s Pass, a road about half a mile behind my house. They were almost home when a flash flood caused the avalanche. They never had a chance.”
Oh, did the words burn and claw at his throat as he forced them out. Needing something to do, he lugged the crate onto his hip and headed to the door. He set the jars just outside on the porch, then closed and locked the door.
Cara was doing busy work at the counter. “I’m very sorry for your loss,” she tossed over her shoulder. Her tone was thick and bruised. “I can’t imagine what you’ve gone through.”
No, but she would if he didn’t keep her safe. If he didn’t, someone could rip her child from her and put her through the same torment he lived with every breathing second of his life.
“Thanks.”
She produced some slices of meat on a plate and carried it, along with the potatoes, to the table. “You know, Jett, we should create some ground rules. I want to pay you for room and board, which is absolutely non-negotiable. I will pay you something. And you need to tell me what is acceptable to you and what’s not. I want to be here as a paying tenant and, I suppose, as a friend. Let’s make it comfortable for both of us.”
He washed his hands and considered her words. Friends. He could do that.
“Friends is good.”
“Great, then have a seat,friend. And try not to die from my cooking.”
Glad that the tone had changed to something lighter, he tucked into his seat. “I recall having prior worries about that.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She put down the salad bowl and then pressed a hand to her middle. “You’ll have to get your own salad dressing. Enjoy.”
Cara wiped her hands on a kitchen towel and turned to leave. His insides jumped. She wasn’t going to stay?
“Aren’t you going to eat, too?”
She gave an exaggerated shake of her head. “Oh no. Seems the baby has dedicated late afternoon as puking time.” Her face wrinkled. “Sorry. Not good suppertime conversation.”
Jett got to his feet and pulled the chair out opposite him. Gently taking her shoulder, he positioned her toward it and encouraged her to sit. “Stay there.”
Rummaging around the kitchen, he grabbed a few things and turned the stove on to heat the water kettle. Returning to the table, he set a gelatin cup and some saltine crackers in front of her, a can of spray whipped cream that was probably expired, and a clear glass mug. He plopped a lemon ginger tea bag into the mug—he didn’t dare check the expiration on that. Did tea expire? The tea bag felt a little brittle, but it was all he had.
“The baby can’t say no to gelatin, right? Oh, let me get you a spoon.”
Something flickered in her eyes, but he didn’t stand there long enough to see what it meant. Then it hit him. Maybe it wasn’t so much the taste of the food that would upset her stomach but the smell. Didn’t Frannie used to complain about smells when she was pregnant with their daughter?
Jett paused midway from pulling a spoon from the drawer and gave her a slow look. “You don’t have to stay.”
