Page 27
I need a bucket of caffeine to handle whatever tirade Parker is getting ready to deliver.
A door closes, then Talia appears at the top of the stairs, dressed for a day at the office. I was hoping for a glimpse of her sleep-heavy eyes and tousled hair, but this is so much better.
A navy pencil skirt skims her luscious curves, accentuating the dips and valleys I’ve mapped out with my hands and mouth. A white silk blouse, buttoned just enough to reveal her delicate collarbone and hide the swell of her full breasts. Simple makeup, tamed curls, and eyes shooting daggers my way.
No evidence of the tears from the other night.
She usually splits her time between working at home and at the office, but since I’ve returned, she’s stayed here, making sure I take my meds and I'm staying hydrated, and keeping me fed. I’d say it’s like the good old days when she used to look after me following an episode, but outside of seeing to my basic needs, she’s hardly spoken to me and has hidden away in her office with the door closed. She works too late, hardly comes out to eat herself, and if I wasn’t drained and useless, I’d do something about it. Hopefully it will only be another few days until I’m myself again.
It seems she’s headed into the office today.
“We came to see how you are.” Harriet speaks first. “We, um, didn’t know you had company.”
Talia slowly descends the stairs, heels dangling from her fingertips. “He arrived the other night. I didn’t have much say in the matter.”
“No fancy hotels you could’ve stayed in?” Parker challenges.
“The doctor suggested somewhere familiar,” I offer with a shrug.
“Did they?” Talia narrows her eyes.
“Yes.” Doctor Tate Brooks.
“Mm-hmm.” She takes the final step, putting as much space between us as possible. That won’t do. Not one bit.
She stares at the blanket and pillow on the couch. “Did you sleep down here again? I told you to go upstairs. You’ve just had a seizure, Tate.”
I scratch my jaw before reaching toward the ceiling. I don’t miss the way Talia’s eyes drop to where my T-shirt rides up. “I have my reasons.”
“You’re supposed to be resting. In a bed.”
“Yeah, that’s not going to happen. I don’t like sleeping alone.”
“Since when?” She folds her arms. The girls watch our verbal match, heads bouncing left and right.
“About three hundred and, what’s it been, sixty-eight days?” She narrows her eyes at me. Even pissed off, she’s the most beautiful thing in the world. “Anyway, I was thinking of paying Jimmy a visit and shooting the shit like the old days.”
“Oh, hell no,” Parker protests. “You’re not coming to the distillery. Keep whatever circus you’ve brought with you away from my place of work.”
“It was my work once upon a time.”
“Exactly. Was.” She huffs. “What makes you think Jimmy will even want to see you?”
Jimmy Forrester is the owner of the Smokey Barrel, Iris Meadows’s very own whiskey distillery, founded by his family fifty years ago. Parker is the lead distiller, and was one of the first people Talia and I met when we moved to town. She was also the person who encouraged me to get up on the stage and play a few of my songs.
Some might say I have her to thank for my newfound career.
I level Parker with a look. Jimmy loves me like a son. “I know how to be discreet.”
Talia snorts. “Most of North America knows your face.”
“You calling me pretty?”
“Jesus H. Christ. I’m going. You’re supposed to be resting, not off gallivanting around town. That’s why you’re here. The sooner you’re feeling better, the sooner—” she cuts herself off and turns to her friends. “Let’s talk…later.”
Harriet cuts me a look. “Yeah. I think we have a lot to catch up on.”
Translation: they’ll be talking about me. I’d be flattered if I wasn’t certain they’d be cursing my name. I’m curious what Talia has actually told them.
