HAYDEN
I sit at breakfast and sip my coffee as Eddie tells me in great detail all about his shift behind the bar last night. “And then this other guy threw ice, and it started another fight.” He continues on with the huge elaborate story.
I smile as I listen. I never realized how much of a chatterbox he is, or perhaps it’s just that I’m only now noticing it because we are spending so much time together.
It’s been two weeks since Christopher left, and it’s been nice having one-on-one precious time with Eddie.
I glance at my watch. Christopher will call him soon. He does every morning, and at the end of their conversation, he will ask to speak to me.
And the five-minute conversation I have with him will make my entire day.
Our chats about nothing mean everything.
Like clockwork, my phone rings, and the name Christopher lights up the screen. I pass it to Eddie, and he smiles broadly and answers it. “Hello, Christo.”
I watch as they speak, and Eddie talks, all animated, with a huge goofy grin. Christopher’s calls make his day too.
I sit patiently and listen to them talk about the last twenty-four hours and what they did.
My turn.
Christopher chats away, and Eddie smiles as he listens.
My turn.
It’s all I can do not to snatch the phone off him.
“Today?” Eddie says. “We’re going to the fruit market, and then Hazen wants to buy a dress, so I guess I’ll have to take her.” He rolls his eyes as if it’s a hassle.
I smile. The truth is he loves doing anything that’s normal. Whatever we do together is fun for him.
Eddie holds the phone down. “Christopher says no white dresses.”
I laugh. “Tell him about our reading,” I mouth.
“Oh yeah.” Eddie smiles excitedly. “Hayden and I started reading lessons. She’s teaching me.”
I hear Christopher’s voice elevate louder. He likes the sound of that.
“And we bought some pencils, and we’ve been drawing in at the beach,” he says proudly.
I smile as I listen in.
“And Hayden bought me some little-kid books.” He rolls his eyes. “About baby animals and cars and stuff.”
“Which you have already memorized,” I tell him. “We have to go back to the beginning, remember?”
They chat and chat, and damn it, my turn.
Finally, Eddie holds the phone out to me. “He wants to speak to you.”
My heart somersaults in my chest. “Hello.”
“Hi, Grumps.” His voice is deep and sexy. It instantly makes me feel warm and fuzzy. “How are you?”
Good now.
“I’m good, and you?”
“I’m okay.”
We stay on the line as if we have a million things to say . . . but are unable to say them.
“How was your day?” I ask.
“Busy. I’m trying to get as much done as I can so that I can clear my schedule when he arrives.”
“That’s a good idea.”
“I spoke to the embassy today. Looks like it will be another two weeks.”
“Oh.”
“Is that okay?” he asks.
“Can you fly over for a weekend to see us . . . him,” I correct myself.
Shit.
“I can’t, babe. I have to work.”
Babe.
“Of course.” I stay on the line, trying to think of something intelligent to say. “Have you been going out?” I ask nervously.
“I haven’t been out since you left.”
“You haven’t?” I whisper.
“Out has nothing I want.”
I smile. We stay on the line some more. There’s a magic swirling between us when we speak now.
Deeper than sex, more special than love. An understanding that even we don’t understand.
“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you doing this for me, Grumps,” he says softly. “Maybe Eddie and I could come and visit you at the farm someday?”
“I’d like that.”
My heart constricts . . . I want more than a visit.
“I should let you go,” I reply.
“No, don’t go,” he splutters before catching himself. “I mean . . . sure, okay.”
“You could call me tonight if you want?” I shrug.
“Really?”
“Uh-huh. I mean, Eddie is working . . . but . . . if you wanted to talk or . . . anything.”
“I’ll call you tonight.”
I smile hopefully. “Goodbye.”
“Bye.”
We stay on the line, both waiting, and there’re three words missing from our goodbye.
Three words I desperately want to hear.
“Speak tonight,” he eventually says.
“Bye.” I hang up, and Eddie rolls his eyes.
“What?”
“Why do you pull that face whenever you talk to him?” he asks.
“What face?”
“That gooey and gushy face.”
“I do not,” I scoff.
“Do so.”
“Eat your breakfast.” I point to his food. “We have coloring in to do.”