8. Davien

Chapter 8

Davien

"I'll be back soon to say good night, Grams." Errol closed the bedroom door and followed me outside.

The temperature had dropped, and there was a bite to the air, which was nice, as it had been hot during the day.

I dithered over what to say to Errol about Grams. She was a sweetheart, one who loved life. Maybe a tad eccentric, but there was nothing wrong with that. Much better than being bland and boring.

But she needed help.

Errol and I had met in an unusual way, and I shouldn't be butting into his home life. But if I didn't, who would? Maybe people were flocking to assist him, but what I'd witnessed at the police station suggested otherwise.

"Hey, can I talk to you for a minute?"

His head shot up, and his eyes were wary. He was thinking we were a one-date-and-done couple. That was what I saw in his expression.

"Look, I know you were thrown into my life by that phone call." He brushed his fingers through his hair. "Though it was more I yanked you into my world by phoning the wrong number, but?—"

I silenced him with a finger to his lips. But as we stood, studying one another, not saying anything, I was struck by the thought that maybe he'd been going to tell me to back off. Hmmm. But he hadn't flung my hand away or stomped off yelling, so there was that.

"Does Grams take meds?"

Errol rolled his eyes. "She has a pharmacy in the kitchen drawer, more than she had even a month ago."

It was a heavy load for a young guy to carry, but she had looked after him growing up, and now it was his turn.

"Were they all prescribed by the same doctor?"

He sighed. "No, some were, but others were from the ER at the nearest hospital, and Grams took herself to another doctor one day." He'd given that doctor his grandmother's history the next day, but her meds were a hodgepodge of different physicians prescribing drugs for different ailments.

Bingo. I was sure that some of the meds were contraindicated.

"When you have time, maybe make a list of everything she's been prescribed and take that to your doctor."

"Errol, time for your bedtime story." Grams's voice echoed onto the street.

"Be right there." His shoulders sagged, the exhaustion evident in his body and face.

I made a decision, maybe the wrong one, but I was being bold. What was that famous quote? Fortune favors the bold. Yeah, that was me.

"I don't have to go just yet. Maybe once Grams is asleep, we can watch TV."

He grinned, his eyes crinkling adorably.

We traipsed back inside, and I made tea and found some store-bought cookies while Errol tended to his grandmother.

"She's asleep." He tiptoed out and closed the door, before sinking onto the couch beside me.

"You sure this is okay?" Maybe I should have left and let him go to bed.

"Nah, it's fine. Too early to sleep." He munched on a cookie, and the crumbs spilled over his chest.

"Can't take you anywhere." I brushed them into my hand and sat there, holding them, not wanting to get up and go into the kitchen. Errol took my hand and upended the crumbs onto the glass-topped coffee table.

"I'll trash them later."

He didn't let go of me, and I worried my palm was sweaty. But if it was, Errol didn't say anything.

"Wanna watch TV?" he asked.

I would have preferred a kiss, but we were together and still holding hands, so maybe that was enough for now.

He turned on the TV and scrolled through the programs until we both agreed on a horror movie. Why not scare ourselves shitless after our first date, first home-cooked meal, and hopefully, first kiss.

Errol's hand was clasped in mine, but when something scary happened on screen, he'd squeeze my fingers and yelp. I asked if he wanted to change the channel, but he insisted he liked horror.

During the commercial break, he said he questioned Grams about the number she gave him—my number—and she told him it was a number from her memory.

I was intrigued, wondering who had that landline number before me. But whoever it was, I thanked them for leading me to Errol because it was a sign. Convinced he would be in my life, I hung on tight and put my arm around him when he covered his eyes with his hands.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

Errol had his hands over his eyes, but he splayed his fingers so he could see the screen. "Seems less creepy somehow."

I handed him a cushion so he could hide behind it, but he tossed it aside, saying he didn't know what was going on.

"Isn't that the point?"

"No, I love being scared." He waited until the ads came on and said, "You don't seem bothered by the blood and gore and guys popping out from behind the curtains."

I was, but not at fake-ass movies. I was worried I'd be alone for the rest of my life. Besides, when you've witnessed a wolf shifter fighting to the death, with a fox shifter or a bear shifter ripping out another shifter's throat, interactions with humans paled in comparison.

"Of course I am, but my fears have more to do with people I care about being hurt." I shook my fist at the TV. "Not actors reciting lines."

"Roller coasters?"

My unicorn wasn't a fan of heights, but I couldn't say that. "Never been on one."

Errol responded that our next date would be at an amusement park. I had to get out of that unless we sat on the carousel. Whatever, I'd figure it out beforehand or pretend I was sick.

Errol muted the TV. "I'm going to ask rapid-fire questions. No thinking or pondering, just answers."

Is he going to ask about me? My unicorn couldn't fathom that line of questioning.

No, this is a combination of something fun and informative .

"Ready?"

I nodded.

"Favorite color?"

"Pink."

Yay! My unicorn was silver and pink.

"Pineapple on pizza?"

Was this a trick question? No matter how I answered, would Errol be horrified?

"I get that it's not traditional, but I love me some pineapple with melted cheese and pepperoni on a thick crust."

"Me too."

Glad we agreed, or our relationship might have been over before it began.

"Favorite dessert?"

This was less controversial than the previous question but harder. How to choose which overly sweet concoction was my favorite?

"A soft gooey in the center brownie." Now I wanted one so bad, and I stuffed a cookie between my lips. Nice as it was, it couldn't compare to a fresh-baked brownie.

"Grams makes a mean brownie." He tapped his head. "The recipe is in here. She refuses to share it with anyone."

"Maybe if we act as kitchen assistants, she'll allow us to help while she bakes her famous brownies." I had no intention of stealing Grams's recipe, but if she was cooking, she needed a bodyguard.

"Sounds good."

"My turn." Errol had the deets on my favorite color, pizza, dessert and that I hated heights—or my unicorn did. "What's your comfort food?"

"Fried rice," he answered without hesitation. He clarified, saying there'd been a Chinese restaurant close by when he was a kid, and he got their recipe. "The family that owned it were amazing cooks, but the simplest dish was the one I adored."

"I love fried rice too." Maybe he could share the recipe and we could make it together. I pictured a lifetime of us in the kitchen, giving one another a taste of whatever we were cooking.

"Are you a morning person or night?"

"Morning, but lately, I've had to be a twenty-four-hour person."

Poor Errol. If he and Grams were in agreement, I could give him a break. He could stay at my place, and I'd sleep on the sofa here. My unicorn would sense if anything was wrong with Grams and wake me.

"I might be able to help you out with that."

He smirked, and his cheeks colored a delicious shade of pink. "That sounds like fun. Tell me more."

Relaxing for him? Yes. Fun? Nope. We'd be in two different places, so no fun to be had.

"I can think of something that's much more fun than sleeping apart." I rested my brow on his.

"Sleeping together?" he squeaked.

"Eventually." Not tonight sadly. I tucked strands of hair behind his ear and trailed a finger over his jaw and around his lips. But Errol wasn't a fan of my slowly, slowly approach and he slammed his mouth on mine.

I was bombarded with a multitude of sensations; the sweetness of chocolate chips, the intoxicating scent that drew me to him in the police station, his cologne, his soft lips, and his panting as she stuck his tongue in my mouth.

I lost myself in my feelings, never wanting to find a way out.