Merlot. I need a drink.”
Tom smiled. “Now that’s the best goddamned idea I’ve heard all day. Let’s go.”
T he kitchen.
Oh God! The kitchen.
Bev squeezed her eyes shut and made three wishes. Maybe it would work.
When she opened her eyes the kitchen was still a mess. She whimpered.
“Bev?”
Sniff.
“What? This isn’t so bad. They cleaned up and went away. That’s what you wanted, right?”
“This is clean?” Beverly winced at the shrillness of her voice.
“Looks pretty good to me.”
“Clearly you and I have different standards for cleanliness.”
He chuckled. “I promise I’ll help get your stations reorganized later. Come on. Let’s go into the living room with some cheese and crackers and wine.”
She nodded. She was afraid if she opened her mouth to answer, she would wail.
Tom tugged her into the living room. He thrust a giant glass of red wine into her hands and pushed a plate of food to the edge of the coffee table.
“Eat that. You’re getting shaky. You need some food.”
Beverly looked down at the plate. Ritz crackers, pre-sliced cheese, and a few strawberries. She took a big sip of her wine as she settled on the couch.
“Are these from the farm stand?” She picked up a berry and nibbled.
Tom sat across from her and poured himself a bourbon. “Yep, they’re good. How about we serve turkey and strawberries tomorrow?”
Bev laughed. She couldn’t help it. Tom sure was trying hard to cheer her up.
She bit into the strawberry and focused on that one bite. Sweet, juicy, simple. Why did Thanksgiving have to be so complicated?
She let out a long sigh. “I’ll take care of it tomorrow morning. The cleaning, the cooking. I just can’t face everything right now. I’ll do it in the morning.”
“No.”
Bev glanced up to see Tom looking more irritable than normal.
“What do you mean no ?”
“Sorry, Bev, but you’re not doing all this by yourself. The cleaning. The cooking. I’m helping whether you like it or not. You might not approve of the way I do things, but I’m officially your partner-in-crime for Thanksgiving. Got it?”
She took another generous sip of wine. “I’m not used to…you know. Having a partner.”
“I know. Roger watched TV while you worked your ass off. I noticed.” Tom sipped his bourbon.
“Well. That’s how it was.”
“That’s how it was with him, because he was a royal douchebag. Bertie and I always divvied up the chores for holidays. I might not be Miss Fancy Pants Martha Stewart, but I manage to feed myself on a daily basis.” He reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “Partners.”
How tempting to share the burden. How tempting to let down her defenses. To let Tom in. Did she dare?
“I can only imagine what you would prepare for Thanksgiving.”
Tom chuckled. “How do you feel about beer can turkey on the grill?”
Bev barked out a half laugh/half cry and spit out the berry. It landed on the table, right next to her plate. Horrified, she covered her mouth. “Excuse me.” She could feel her cheeks flaming.
She reached over with a napkin to pick up the offending piece of food, but Tom beat her to it. He snatched it up and popped it into his mouth.
“Well, isn’t that tasty?” He chewed the strawberry slowly and smiled at Beverly.
Her mouth hung open, stunned into silence.
“No use wasting a perfectly good strawberry,” he said.
“Tom! You are insane! That is…that is…I don’t even know what to say. I spit that out!”
“So what. I’ve already been inside your mouth.” The heated look he sent her shocked her senseless.
Beverly didn’t think it was possible, but she felt her blush intensify.
“That is…oh my God!”
He stood up and took another gulp of bourbon. Then moved to the sofa and sat down perilously close to her, crowding her into the corner.
“Tom? What are you doing?” She could feel the heat of his leg pressed up against her. Hard as a rock.
“I’ll bet you taste like
Tom smiled. “Now that’s the best goddamned idea I’ve heard all day. Let’s go.”
T he kitchen.
Oh God! The kitchen.
Bev squeezed her eyes shut and made three wishes. Maybe it would work.
When she opened her eyes the kitchen was still a mess. She whimpered.
“Bev?”
Sniff.
“What? This isn’t so bad. They cleaned up and went away. That’s what you wanted, right?”
“This is clean?” Beverly winced at the shrillness of her voice.
“Looks pretty good to me.”
“Clearly you and I have different standards for cleanliness.”
He chuckled. “I promise I’ll help get your stations reorganized later. Come on. Let’s go into the living room with some cheese and crackers and wine.”
She nodded. She was afraid if she opened her mouth to answer, she would wail.
Tom tugged her into the living room. He thrust a giant glass of red wine into her hands and pushed a plate of food to the edge of the coffee table.
“Eat that. You’re getting shaky. You need some food.”
Beverly looked down at the plate. Ritz crackers, pre-sliced cheese, and a few strawberries. She took a big sip of her wine as she settled on the couch.
“Are these from the farm stand?” She picked up a berry and nibbled.
Tom sat across from her and poured himself a bourbon. “Yep, they’re good. How about we serve turkey and strawberries tomorrow?”
Bev laughed. She couldn’t help it. Tom sure was trying hard to cheer her up.
She bit into the strawberry and focused on that one bite. Sweet, juicy, simple. Why did Thanksgiving have to be so complicated?
She let out a long sigh. “I’ll take care of it tomorrow morning. The cleaning, the cooking. I just can’t face everything right now. I’ll do it in the morning.”
“No.”
Bev glanced up to see Tom looking more irritable than normal.
“What do you mean no ?”
“Sorry, Bev, but you’re not doing all this by yourself. The cleaning. The cooking. I’m helping whether you like it or not. You might not approve of the way I do things, but I’m officially your partner-in-crime for Thanksgiving. Got it?”
She took another generous sip of wine. “I’m not used to…you know. Having a partner.”
“I know. Roger watched TV while you worked your ass off. I noticed.” Tom sipped his bourbon.
“Well. That’s how it was.”
“That’s how it was with him, because he was a royal douchebag. Bertie and I always divvied up the chores for holidays. I might not be Miss Fancy Pants Martha Stewart, but I manage to feed myself on a daily basis.” He reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “Partners.”
How tempting to share the burden. How tempting to let down her defenses. To let Tom in. Did she dare?
“I can only imagine what you would prepare for Thanksgiving.”
Tom chuckled. “How do you feel about beer can turkey on the grill?”
Bev barked out a half laugh/half cry and spit out the berry. It landed on the table, right next to her plate. Horrified, she covered her mouth. “Excuse me.” She could feel her cheeks flaming.
She reached over with a napkin to pick up the offending piece of food, but Tom beat her to it. He snatched it up and popped it into his mouth.
“Well, isn’t that tasty?” He chewed the strawberry slowly and smiled at Beverly.
Her mouth hung open, stunned into silence.
“No use wasting a perfectly good strawberry,” he said.
“Tom! You are insane! That is…that is…I don’t even know what to say. I spit that out!”
“So what. I’ve already been inside your mouth.” The heated look he sent her shocked her senseless.
Beverly didn’t think it was possible, but she felt her blush intensify.
“That is…oh my God!”
He stood up and took another gulp of bourbon. Then moved to the sofa and sat down perilously close to her, crowding her into the corner.
“Tom? What are you doing?” She could feel the heat of his leg pressed up against her. Hard as a rock.
“I’ll bet you taste like
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