Lucky Number Eleven

Chapter 22

"You have blood caked in your lashes. It must've bled while you slept." He looks up at me through those very same lashes like he's not sure what to make of me.

I sigh, frustrated at what I'm about to say. "Come on."

I stand and wait on him to follow. He doesn't. He just sits in the chair with a bewildered look on his face.

"What?" I ask. "You need a hot shower and I need coffee. Decaf. God, I hate decaf."

"Why are you drinking decaf if you hate it?"

"Because caffeine in the amounts I need to feel decent aren't good for my baby."

As soon as I say it, I realize it's his baby too. I also realize he picks up on my word choice, but chooses not to say anything about it. Instead, he cocks his head to the side.

"Are you mad at me?" he asks.

"Will you stop acting like a child?" I ask.

He stands, pulling his hat over his head to cover the messy blond locks sticking up every which way. "Fine. Lead the way."

I head to the house and hear his footsteps behind me. He shuts the door, the sound echoing through the house, as I enter the kitchen and rummage around in the refrigerator.

"Are you hungry?" he asks.

"Never ask a pregnant woman that."

"Okayyyy. So . . . what are you hungry for?"

"A hot ham and cheese, if it matters, and I don't have either thing."

The doorbell rings and Branch and I look at each other. Without saying a word, I walk by him and see Henry on the other side carrying a large cardboard box.

"Well, good morning," I say, taking the proffered carton. "How'd you know I was here?"

"Mrs. Brasher called from down the road. Said you came up alone and could probably use some groceries."

"Oh, Henry," I say, leaning on my tiptoes and kissing his cheeks. "You're so sweet. Rachel is a lucky woman."

"I'll tell her you said so," he chuckles. "If you need anything else, you call me. My number is pinned on the corkboard in the laundry room."

"I will. Thanks again, Henry."

"Is everything all right, Layla girl? I saw another car out front and Mrs. Brasher said you were alone . . ."

"I'm fine," I assure him. "If I need anything, you'll get a call."

"I'd better. Have a good day, darlin'."

Heading back to the kitchen, I plop the box on the counter. Pulling the items out one-by-one, I look up at Branch. "Guess we have things for breakfast."

He smiles at the implied offer and I kick myself for saying it so easily. "You have food delivery out here?"

"No. That was Henry."

"Who's Henry?"

"He takes care of the cabin when we aren't here. Mows the grass, maintains our dock, does little fix-it projects here and there. Basic stuff."

"I see." He leans against the chair, watching me unpack the box. "Can I help you with something? I can't cook worth shit, but I can pour juice like a champ."

"Why don't you get a shower?" I offer. "I'll put something together while you're gone."

"I can help you. You don't have to cook for me."