Page 17 of Rival
This time, when Griffin eyes me, there’s a slight look of concern. “Oh? Didn’t know he went to your church.”
“I don’t think he does. At least, I’ve never seen him there before. But he stopped over after service let out. I think she strong-armed into it, but he didn’t seem to mind much.”
“Huh.” Griffin seems thoughtful. I want to ask why he’s surprised but bite my tongue. My father doesn’t like when I question him, so I assume most men are the same way. He thrums his fingers on his wheel a bit harder, then asks offhandedly, “You ever find that cat?”
I settle my hand on my empty bag, feeling guilty that I forgot to get food. “I did. I meant to go to the store for some food.” Even though we’re almost at my house, I turn to look at him. “Would you actually mind pulling over and letting me out? I need to go back to the gas station. I think they’ve got some there I could pick up. That’ll make do until I go to the grocery store next.”
Instead of stopping to let me out, Griffin just does a quick U-turn on the vacant road and heads back toward town. When he picks up speed, I feel even more guilty.
“You don’t have to drive me all the way there. I can just walk.”
Waving me off, he relaxes into his seat. “Don’t be crazy. It’ll take ten minutes if I drive you. I’m not in a rush. So, you convinced your daddy to take the cat in, then?”
I hesitate because I’m sure Griffin and his brother know my father isn’t a fan of the Cooper family. I also don’t want him to find out I’m hiding a kitten over there. Then I’ll have to explainwhyI was over there to begin with. But lying to Griffin feels wrong as well, so I go with a partial truth.
“No, he doesn’t know about him. I’m keeping him in a barn with food and water. It’s been long enough that I’m not sure his momma is around anymore.” There, that’s all truth, just missing a crucial detail which isn’t important to know, anyway.
“Makes sense.”
I look away to hide my smile when he winks at me. It’s playful but I’m positive it doesn’t mean anything beyond being friendly, but I like it no matter his reasoning. The quick trip to the gasstation happens in barely a blink of an eye before we’re already headed back to my father’s house.
We’re quiet this time for a few minutes. It feels a bit awkward, at least for me, since I have no idea what to say. My eyes flick to him and notice he’s relaxed, so maybe it’s just me. Without thinking, I blurt out, “Are you staying for dinner?”
His lips turn up at my question. “Well, I ‘spose that depends on if you’re cookin’ again. Doubt your daddy knows his way around the kitchen as well as you do. I’m guessin’ every time we’ve eaten at your place, it’s always been you makin’ the meals, not Clay. You invitin’ me to stay?”
“Oh…umm.” I stumble over my words, not sure how to answer. My question was more asking if he already had those plans, and I’m afraid if I did say yes, my father would be furious. “I-I guess it… Well, I mean my f-father might—”
My mouth snaps shut when Griffin’s hand covers my hand and squeezes. I didn’t realize I was digging my fingers into my thighs. “Relax,” he murmurs softly, then tightens his hold briefly before letting me go to grip the wheel again.
Wanting to explain, I ignore my blushing cheeks. “It’s not that I-I wouldn’t invite you. I just don’t know what he wants me to make for dinner or if there’s enough. But I’m sure if you ask him, he’d say yes.”
“I was just teasin’ you. Not that I wouldn’t want to eat your fine cookin’, but I’m not hintin’ at a free meal. Now, if Clay invites, I certainly won’t say no, but only if I know you’d be okay feedin’ an extra mouth.”
I’ve always envied the way people can smoothly unwind conversations when one of the participants is struggling through. His easy words immediately calm me, but I think it’s the lessened worry I may anger my father.
I turn away to watch out the window, unsure of how to respond. Griffin doesn’t leave me to myself for long, though. “Well? If he invites me, would you be opposed to it?”
Whipping my head around, I stare at him in surprise. “I didn’t realize you were actually asking me.”
His chuckle is light, and he lifts his chin to stress his words. “You’re not actually answerin’ me. ‘Course I’m gonna ask you. If you’re cookin’, you ought to have a say if you want to do the extra work.”
My lips press together for a moment, then I wet them with my tongue before answering. “I don’t mind cooking for you.”
He seems pleased, and the rest of our drive is done without conversation in a comfortable silence. I still feel like I should fill the silence, but since it’s only a few minutes, I bite my tongue to prevent any more embarrassing awkwardness on my part.
As soon as he parks and turns off the engine, I tuck the small bag of dry cat food into my bag and hurry toward the back door. It’s always unlocked during the day, so I hold it open for Griffin, following closely. It feels quite nice as we both kick off our shoes before heading into the kitchen, then wash our hands side by side.
I notice a half pound box of spaghetti noodles on the counter, so I check the fridge to find a thawing package of beef. My shoulders droop slightly when I realize that there won’t be enough to feed everyone with this, so I’m sure my father won’t ask Griffin to stick around. Chewing on my lip, I consider making an extra box of pasta. I could forgo the sauce and just claim that I prefer butter and garlic noodles rather than slathering them in sauce.
When a warm hand touches my lower back, I jump, not noticing he was still so close. Leaning down, he whispers, “Your daddy is snorin’ in his chair. You think you got enough for me to stick around?”
Turning my head to look up at him over my shoulder, I bite my lower lip and keep my voice as quiet as his. “There’s plenty. Looks like he wants spaghetti tonight. But you might want to check in with him first. He won’t be bothered much ifyouwake him.”
Griffin’s brow wrinkles, but then he flashes me that friendly smile again. His hand has stayed resting in the dip of my back the entire time. As he steps back, he lets it fall away slowly before disappearing to find my father.
I blow out a hard breath and hurry into the pantry to grab another box of pasta, just in case. Ignoring the muffled voices, I hurriedly get set up to brown the meat. Once it’s cooking, I dig out a pot to fill with water, setting it to boil before seasoning the now sizzling burger with garlic, salt, and pepper.
My father’s voice raises abruptly, and I hunch my shoulders out of habit. The door swings open, the noise of the television blaring momentarily before it slams shut. Griffin waves Corbin’s wallet at me before shoving it into his pocket.
