Page 35 of Patch's Bride
Once we’re home, I open the front door and, on an impulse, I swoop her off her feet and carry her over the threshold. Setting her down on my massive sofa, I pull off her shoes and wrap a spread around her smaller form. I pull the curtains closed, turn the thermostat up a couple of degrees to get the chill off the house, and make us a couple of mugs of hot chocolate. I press one into her hand and watch her drink half of it as I sip my own. Soon, the color returns to her lips. It reminds me that women need more caretaking than men, and I’ve been falling down on the job with Beth.
“What would it take to make this day better for you?” I ask.
She peers up at me and says the last thing I imagined, “Ice cream would be nice.”
My eyebrows fly up because life cannot be this easy.
“Seriously?”
She gives a weak smile, “Whenever I was upset as a kid my mom would take me and Lila out for ice cream. That was before she got too sick. I guess it’s my comfort food.”
“Well, luckily for you, I might just have what you’re looking for.”
I ease her off my lap, grab a pint of chocolate ice cream from the freezer, and come back with two spoons.
When I sit down beside her, she clamors back into my lap and watches me tear the top off the carton. I give her one of the spoons and hold the container for her. We eat and talk about how her stepfather is a cruel asshole and how she didn’t deserve the things he said today.
Eventually, she calms down, and our conversation smooths out.
“Do we have to go to mediation with him?” she asks. “In the same room?”
“Serena will set the rules,” I say. “If you want him in the other room, he’ll have to sit in the other room.”
“Do you think it’s terrible that I wish he’d dry up and blow away on the wind?”
I snort a laugh. “No. Do you think I’m terrible for fantasizing about killing him?”
“Yeah, kinda,” she says slowly.
I shrug. “Me too. It’s the reason I’ve created a long list of very restrictive justifications for killing him. It’s my way of eliminating that as an option in my mind as much as possible.”
“I don’t think you’re a killer,” she tells me.
“Everyone is a killer if the situation calls for it.”
She nods. “I’ve gone through these thought experiments before, and you’re right. We would all kill to save ourselves or a loved one.”
“That’s exactly why I would kill to protect you, Beth.”
Her eyes get wide. “You love me or you’re in love with me?”
“Both,” I say, not quite believing that I’m saying out loud what I’ve been thinking for a long time.
Poking the spoon back down to scoop out more ice cream, she reminds me, “But you don’t want me because I’m too young. Remember that?”
“Yeah, but you turned out to be irresistible, so here we are.” Taking a bite of ice cream, I tease her, “Don’t try to pretend like you don’t feel the same. I’ve seen you crushing on me for years.”
She wrinkles her nose in a delightfully pensive pose. “Yeah, but that was before I knew you were a potential killer.”
I choke on my bite of ice cream, not quite able to believe how easily she zinged me back.
By this point, we’ve dug out all the ice cream, getting chocolate on our knuckles in the process. When we toss our spoons into the empty carton, I take her hand and start licking the ice cream off her fingers. That makes her giggle.
When I’m finished, she says sincerely, “Thank you.”
“No need to thank me for cleaning you with my tongue. It’s what primates do.” When she smiles at me, I add, “Plus, you’re delicious, so it was no hardship.”
“Not for that. For making a wall between me and my stepfather outside the courthouse today.”
