Fire & Brimstone
Page 14
“Thank you so much for covering for us, Rebecca,” Jane said with a warm smile as she placed the takeout box on the bar in front of Rebecca, which is where his focus may have shifted.
“You’re welcome,” he vaguely heard Rebecca say as he sat there, glaring down at the box, trying to figure out why he was smelling apples, cinnamon, pumpkin and vanilla.
“Melanie thinks that your brother is going to tell me that I’m diabetic,” she explained as she reached over the bar and grabbed some silverware.
“They would have already caught that,” he pointed out, wondering if it was some kind of Danish.
“That’s what I said, but she’s determined that’s what it is,” she said with a heartfelt sigh as she flipped the cover open and-
“Oh, God,” he groaned as he took in the beautiful sight before him.
Three, no four, large slices of pumpkin and apple pie topped with a massive amount of French vanilla ice cream. All that flaky, buttery crust just begging for his attention…
“Here,” she said, stabbing a second spoon in the ice cream.
Not needing to be told twice, and willing to overlook the fact that she expected him to share, he dug in.
Digging into a slice of pumpkin pie, she said, “She’s been going nuts on WebMD and is convinced that all my symptoms are a perfect match for Type II diabetes.”
“She’s that convinced, huh?” he asked as he stole a bite of her pumpkin pie.
God, this was good. He was going to have to find out where they got this pie from and start ordering from there for the restaurant.
“Yeah, she’s so sure that’s what this is that she’s promised to go on a diabetic diet with me, cutting down on the sugar and all that crap.”
“Doesn’t she have a sweet tooth?”
Shaking her head, she finished the bite of pie that she was working on and said, “No, she’s addicted to carbs, like cakes, cookies, muffins, donuts, that sort of thing. She’s decided to cut back on those if I have diabetes to be supportive.”
“That’s nice of her,” he said absently, not sure that he’d be willing to give up one of the five food groups for anyone.
“Yeah, I guess,” she said, absently breaking apart a small piece of crust as she sat there, gazing down at the pie, looking lost in thought.
“Is that why you’re binging on pie? Just in case it comes back positive?” he asked, watching her out of the corner of his eye.
She shrugged as she continued turning that piece of crust into a small pile of crumbs. “I have a tendency to eat too much when I’m stressed.”
“I see,” he said, wondering if it would be considered rude if he finished off the rest of the pie and ice cream and wondering why he suddenly cared.
“Yeah,” she mumbled, starting to look a little pale.
“Are you okay?” he asked when it became obvious that she wasn’t. He knew that look well enough to know that she was about to race to the nearest bathroom, making him wonder if Melanie was right about her being diabetic.
He reached over and pulled her stool out for her, nodding when she gave him a muttered, “Thanks,” and watched as she raced towards the back of the restaurant where the bathrooms and the backstairs leading upstairs were located.
Sighing, he returned his attention to the pie, absently stabbing it with his fork as he made the decision to kick his brother’s ass if he didn’t figure this out before it broke her.
Chapter 10
“Mojo, move,” she said weakly as she dropped on the bed and curled up on her side, not at all surprised when Mojo ignored her request and did the opposite, stretching out and nearly shoving her off the bed.
“Thanks,” she said dryly as she curled up, kicking herself for not grabbing a can of Coke on the way to her bedroom so that she could die in comfort.
“Mojo, go get Mommy a Coke,” she said as she closed her eyes and curled up into herself, thankful for the small space the dog allowed her.
Maybe she should look into obedience class again, but at nearly two years old he was probably set in his ways. Maybe if she promised to let him have all the leftovers in the fridge he’d let her have the bed? It was worth a shot, she decided as she mentally prepared herself for the grueling task of crawling off the bed and walking the thirty or so feet to the kitchen and back.
She really needed to look into getting a mini-fridge for her room.
Groaning, and no, she really didn’t care how pathetic she sounded at the moment, she opened her eyes and tried to roll over onto her back, but Mojo’s massive paws stopped her. Deciding that it was just too much work after all, she closed her eyes, curled back onto her side and tried to think about anything other than how much her stomach hurt.
“Mojo, move,” Lucifer, a man that she was pretty sure that she hadn’t invited into her bedroom, never mind her apartment, said.
Too sick to open her eyes, she grumbled, “He’s not going to listen,” just as she felt the massive dog that clearly didn’t understand the meaning of loyalty, move away from her. A few seconds later, she heard Mojo grunt as he climbed off the bed.
“How did you get in here?” she asked, although she had several questions, she decided to ask the only one that mattered at the moment.
“You left the door unlocked,” he said as she felt the bed dip next to her, which of course led to her next question.
“Tell me that you didn’t just climb in bed with me,” she said, praying that she was mistaken.
“Fine. I wont,” he said, but she knew that the large son of a bitch had done exactly that.
“Get out,” she said, too tired to play this game with him.
“Can’t do that.”
“And why’s that?” she asked, wishing that she’d trained Mojo to attack, but with her luck, he probably wouldn’t listen to her anyway.
“Because I’m not done with my pie yet,” he said around a mouthful of her pie.
That would teach her for sharing, she thought bitterly with a wince as her stomach cramped up, forcing her to wrap her arms around her stomach and try to breathe through the worst of the pain. You’d think that she would be used to this, but every time the pain hit, it felt worse than the last time. The only thing that even remotely helped was a hot bath, but right now it would hurt too much to try and climb into the tub right now.
“You’re welcome,” he vaguely heard Rebecca say as he sat there, glaring down at the box, trying to figure out why he was smelling apples, cinnamon, pumpkin and vanilla.
“Melanie thinks that your brother is going to tell me that I’m diabetic,” she explained as she reached over the bar and grabbed some silverware.
“They would have already caught that,” he pointed out, wondering if it was some kind of Danish.
“That’s what I said, but she’s determined that’s what it is,” she said with a heartfelt sigh as she flipped the cover open and-
“Oh, God,” he groaned as he took in the beautiful sight before him.
Three, no four, large slices of pumpkin and apple pie topped with a massive amount of French vanilla ice cream. All that flaky, buttery crust just begging for his attention…
“Here,” she said, stabbing a second spoon in the ice cream.
Not needing to be told twice, and willing to overlook the fact that she expected him to share, he dug in.
Digging into a slice of pumpkin pie, she said, “She’s been going nuts on WebMD and is convinced that all my symptoms are a perfect match for Type II diabetes.”
“She’s that convinced, huh?” he asked as he stole a bite of her pumpkin pie.
God, this was good. He was going to have to find out where they got this pie from and start ordering from there for the restaurant.
“Yeah, she’s so sure that’s what this is that she’s promised to go on a diabetic diet with me, cutting down on the sugar and all that crap.”
“Doesn’t she have a sweet tooth?”
Shaking her head, she finished the bite of pie that she was working on and said, “No, she’s addicted to carbs, like cakes, cookies, muffins, donuts, that sort of thing. She’s decided to cut back on those if I have diabetes to be supportive.”
“That’s nice of her,” he said absently, not sure that he’d be willing to give up one of the five food groups for anyone.
“Yeah, I guess,” she said, absently breaking apart a small piece of crust as she sat there, gazing down at the pie, looking lost in thought.
“Is that why you’re binging on pie? Just in case it comes back positive?” he asked, watching her out of the corner of his eye.
She shrugged as she continued turning that piece of crust into a small pile of crumbs. “I have a tendency to eat too much when I’m stressed.”
“I see,” he said, wondering if it would be considered rude if he finished off the rest of the pie and ice cream and wondering why he suddenly cared.
“Yeah,” she mumbled, starting to look a little pale.
“Are you okay?” he asked when it became obvious that she wasn’t. He knew that look well enough to know that she was about to race to the nearest bathroom, making him wonder if Melanie was right about her being diabetic.
He reached over and pulled her stool out for her, nodding when she gave him a muttered, “Thanks,” and watched as she raced towards the back of the restaurant where the bathrooms and the backstairs leading upstairs were located.
Sighing, he returned his attention to the pie, absently stabbing it with his fork as he made the decision to kick his brother’s ass if he didn’t figure this out before it broke her.
Chapter 10
“Mojo, move,” she said weakly as she dropped on the bed and curled up on her side, not at all surprised when Mojo ignored her request and did the opposite, stretching out and nearly shoving her off the bed.
“Thanks,” she said dryly as she curled up, kicking herself for not grabbing a can of Coke on the way to her bedroom so that she could die in comfort.
“Mojo, go get Mommy a Coke,” she said as she closed her eyes and curled up into herself, thankful for the small space the dog allowed her.
Maybe she should look into obedience class again, but at nearly two years old he was probably set in his ways. Maybe if she promised to let him have all the leftovers in the fridge he’d let her have the bed? It was worth a shot, she decided as she mentally prepared herself for the grueling task of crawling off the bed and walking the thirty or so feet to the kitchen and back.
She really needed to look into getting a mini-fridge for her room.
Groaning, and no, she really didn’t care how pathetic she sounded at the moment, she opened her eyes and tried to roll over onto her back, but Mojo’s massive paws stopped her. Deciding that it was just too much work after all, she closed her eyes, curled back onto her side and tried to think about anything other than how much her stomach hurt.
“Mojo, move,” Lucifer, a man that she was pretty sure that she hadn’t invited into her bedroom, never mind her apartment, said.
Too sick to open her eyes, she grumbled, “He’s not going to listen,” just as she felt the massive dog that clearly didn’t understand the meaning of loyalty, move away from her. A few seconds later, she heard Mojo grunt as he climbed off the bed.
“How did you get in here?” she asked, although she had several questions, she decided to ask the only one that mattered at the moment.
“You left the door unlocked,” he said as she felt the bed dip next to her, which of course led to her next question.
“Tell me that you didn’t just climb in bed with me,” she said, praying that she was mistaken.
“Fine. I wont,” he said, but she knew that the large son of a bitch had done exactly that.
“Get out,” she said, too tired to play this game with him.
“Can’t do that.”
“And why’s that?” she asked, wishing that she’d trained Mojo to attack, but with her luck, he probably wouldn’t listen to her anyway.
“Because I’m not done with my pie yet,” he said around a mouthful of her pie.
That would teach her for sharing, she thought bitterly with a wince as her stomach cramped up, forcing her to wrap her arms around her stomach and try to breathe through the worst of the pain. You’d think that she would be used to this, but every time the pain hit, it felt worse than the last time. The only thing that even remotely helped was a hot bath, but right now it would hurt too much to try and climb into the tub right now.
