Page 37 of Kiss Away Your Pain (Wounded Hearts 2)

“Kitchen?”

She closes the door behind me and locks it. “This way,” she says, grabbing an oversized, tan-and-brown plaid, flannel shirt off the sofa and putting it on over her tank top.

She rounds a wall into a vacant-looking kitchen. The only things on her countertop are a coffee maker and paper towel holder. This fits with the fact that she doesn’t cook much and it makes me chuckle to myself.

“The soup should be pretty warm still. But I can heat it up if you want.” I start unpacking the bags.

“No, I don’t like things too hot. Are you having some with me?”

“So I can stay?” I ask, hoping it was an invitation.

She looks at me with a weak smile and moves her head lethargically up and down. From what I’ve learned so far, it’s been a long time since anyone took care of her.

“Come on.” I pick her up in my arms and she drapes her arms around my neck, resting her head on my shoulder. Carrying her to a very comfortable-looking cream-colored sofa that’s loaded with puffy pillows, I set her down where it looks like she was under a blanket when I arrived.

She curls up her legs and I cover her with the heavy, fluffy blanket. Going back to the kitchen I hunt around for the things I need. I prepare our bowls of soup and bring them out, then go back for the crackers, water bottles, and flowers.

“I found this large glass. I hope it’s okay I put these flowers in it.”

She pushes a smile to her lips. “Mhm. They’re beautiful. Thank you.”

“I hope you like it.” I hand a bowl to her.

She adjusts herself so she’s sitting upright and takes the bowl from me. “It smells good,” she says then swallows a spoonful. “Mmm. Perfect temperature too.”

“Eat up. It’ll help you feel better.” I glance at the large TV hanging on the wall above an unlit fireplace. “What’re we watching?”

“Maid in Manhattan. I love J.Lo.”

“Want the fireplace on?”

“Sure.”

I walk over to the fireplace and turn it on, eyeing a picture of a little girl with long, dark pigtails cuddled into a woman who shares her features. It’s next to an old oil lamp. She has several around the living room. “Is this you?” I ask, holding up the picture.

“Yeah, that’s me and my mom when I was around five years old.”

“Cute. I like these lamps you have around,” I say, putting the picture back down and returning to sit next to her.

“Thanks. They were hers. I got them when she passed. She loved these old lamps. She collected them. When I was little and I was allowed to stay up later on Saturday nights, she’d pick one and tell me it’s story. Of course, I thought she actually knew the story behind each one. When I got older, she told me they were all made up.” She giggles. “But I believed them. There were always so many elaborate details about who owned them and their journey in life and how the lamp played a role.” She shakes her head with a sweet, reminiscent smile on her face. “She was a great storyteller.” She pauses. “I went through a period of photographing some. I love the intricate ones. They’re so pretty.”

“They’re really cool.” I pause, looking around. “I like your place. It’s not what I expected.”

“No? What did you expect?” she asks, putting a spoonful of soup in her mouth.

“I don’t know exactly. You’re this bold, bright woman with a big, sassy personality. I guess I thought it would reflect that more. This is…subdued.”

She rustles a chuckle. “Yeah. I’m all those things. With my on-on-on job and my traveling and adventures, when I come home, I want calm, cozy, serene. It’s my haven to unwind.”

“It’s definitely that. I like it.”

We watch the rest of the movie while we finish our soup.

“I brought some peppermint tea and honey. Can I make you some?”

“Oh I’d like that.”

“You stay put.”

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