All I Want Is You (A Chester Farms Novella) (3 page)

He glanced around the room. "I'm impressed. I don't know that I could manage it."

"It's not so bad. Whitney's been letting me wash my clothes at her house the last few weeks since I've gotten to know her. That's nice since I don't have to go to the Laundromat anymore."

His brows slashed down. "That probably wasn't safe."

The tumbling hum of that old drier seemingly taking forever still haunted her dreams as she'd spent hours watching the road outside. Half the time, she'd hoped for company. The other half, she just wanted to get in and out and back home. Being in the middle of nowhere where she didn’t know anybody sucked hard enough. Being in the middle of nowhere and in a new town just sucked the sweat off a dog's butt. She rubbed at coolness on her arms that had settled in when she took off on her own. Eventually, that unsureness had to go away. "Clean clothes are kind of required to serve the public."

"True. Glad Whitney is letting you wash at the house."

"She's sweet and her Mom is really helpful. She'll watch my clothes for me if I have errands to run."

He nodded. "You can't beat Mrs. Jana. She's gold."

"Absolutely. She always makes me take leftovers. It's nice since I get actual meals sometimes instead of something microwaved."

He looked around. "I just realized you don’t have a stove."

"No stove. I have a waffle iron to make the waffle cones, so I eat a lot of waffles."

"That's not a bad deal." He looked across the walls. "I don't see a TV either."

"I've gotten used to the quiet. I don't miss it like I thought I would. The radio takes the place of the TV and I get so much done." She lifted a shoulder. "Really, the hardest problem is bathing."

"Why is that?"

Heat went in her cheeks all over again. Right. Subject of her baths. Not what she wanted to talk about. She pointed at the washtub by the back door. It was supposed to be for washing mud off boots or something. It was a huge sink that came with the building. She attached a hand-held sprayer to the spout and made do. "I just kind of manage."

His brow was back to lifting again. "In that sink?"

"That's not where I wash dishes from the store. There's one behind the counter for that."

He looked at his bowl with a frown and back to the tub. "Good to know, but you fit in that thing?"

A toddler could probably use it as a hot tub. Not that she was toddler size. "I stand up. It's basically like a shower."

He put his spoon down in the half empty bowl and leaned back in his chair as he stared toward the spot she wished would vanish in a puff of smoke. "Doesn't water get everywhere?"

"A little. I put towels down, but I've gotten better about it."

"I guess a shower curtain would be hard to manage."

She leaned forward. "I tried to tape one to the ceiling, but I'm just barely tall enough to stick it up there. It was completely crooked and looked like crap."

Because yes, when she lived in a tiny room with a wall separating her from the public, worrying about something looking like crap was important. She glanced to his bowl hoping he was almost through so this night could end. It couldn't possibly get any worse. The moment he’d walked in, her heart had just kind of taken off in a fantastic kind of way. She’d been here a couple months and she didn’t really know anyone besides Whitney and Mrs. Jana. But Whitney talked about Patrick a lot. It was almost like she knew him, when she really didn’t.

But now, talking about her bathing—heaven help her!—her excited heart slowed to a dull thud accompanied by what felt like sweat under her arms. She wasn't lifting them to find out.

Something hummed in the room and he turned and angled his phone from his belt. He frowned.

"Is everything okay?"

He released his phone and looked back to her. "Yeah. One of Whitney's brothers. I was trying to find out where she was and he said she's asleep in front of the TV."

Oh, right. Whitney was supposed to be coming. Whoops. Completely forgot about her. Go ahead and add a horrible friend to this evening. Being an awkward girl who blurts things clearly wasn't good enough to make this night worse. "That answers that question."

He shook his head. "I wonder what she wanted."

"I don't know. She just said she'd meet me here later. It was Whitney, so I didn't ask."

"Me either." He pushed up from the table. "Since she's not coming, I'm going to get out of your hair."

Wait! No! Don’t go! But, then yes, he should probably go, but then, no, again, because he was so easy to talk to. She forced a smile and walked with him to the front since she couldn’t keep him. "Thanks for stopping by.”

"Glad I didn't spoil your evening."

"No. Of course not." She unlocked the door and pulled a few loose hairs away from her eyes and put it behind her ear.

"Thanks for the ice cream."

"Anytime."

The corner of his lips tipped up. "What days are you closing next week for Thanksgiving?"

"Just Thursday."

"Are you going home?"

A chill that was hard and lump-like settled in her chest. "No. I don't think I can face my parents yet. I would like to know my shop is going to survive before taking that step. Luckily, I had a wicked earache last week and they think it's still bothering me. Whitney invited me to eat with them."

His brows lifted. "Ah. I guess I'll see you Thursday."

"You won't go see your family?"

"We always eat Wednesday evening. It's not a big deal in our family, so we eat early and then everyone can see other sides of their family on Thursday."

"Oh, I see." She rubbed over her hips, trying not to look too excited that he wasn’t going to be with his family on the holiday.
Terrible, Tasha. You’re a terrible person.
"I'll see you there."

With one foot out the door, he glanced around the inside of the store. "Congratulations, by the way. It'll be good.

Chapter Three

Patrick parked at the front of Chester House and took quick strides around to the back where he knew the door would be open. Light glowed through the screen and with it was a sweet smell promising something tasty was being fried. Not many things in life beat Mrs. Jana's cooking.

The wooden door squeaked open and he reached back and caught it against his hand before the old spring jerked it against the door frame. "Evening, Mrs. Jana."

Mrs. Jana glanced up from a metal pot in her hands. "Hey, Patrick. You hungry?"

He patted his stomach. As good as her cooking was, Tasha's ice cream was still sitting heavy on his belly. Then just her on his mind. "I just had two huge scoops of ice cream."

Mrs. Jana grinned and sat the pot down and reached for a little red bottle. "That sounds like a winner for supper. I'm going to have chicken fried steak ready in about half an hour if you're still around and hungry by then."

Thirty minutes? He rubbed his belly. He could swing that. "Yes, Ma'am. I was looking for Whitney."

"Last I saw her, she was asleep in front of Andy Griffith."

That explained why she fell asleep on him. Her dad's favorite show and she'd likely seen every episode no less than ten or fifteen times each. "Sam's got the remote, I guess?"

She grinned. "He did. I think Sam went up for a shower. Go on down there."

"Thank you." He crossed through the hallway and followed the sound of whistling. Not that he needed any sort of direction to tell him where to go. He’d been in and out of this house since he was a kid. He stepped through the archway under the stairs. The old black and white show flashed on the TV as Andy walked with Opie. Slumped there on the couch with her feet up on the ottoman was a sleeping Whitney.

He kicked the bottom of her tennis shoe. "Morning, Sunshine."

She moaned and stretched. One eye at a time peeked open, then she blinked. A smile worked over her lips as she reached forward. "How'd it go with Tasha?"

"A lot better had you not stood us up. What did you want?"

Her grin was all toothy and Patrick got that feeling. It was one of those feelings that decided he and Whitney should do less dating and more just friends. This particular feeling also made his shoulders tight and uncomfortable as it usually came with some version of
I meant well
in her explanation.

Whitney pushed off the couch and bowed. "You're welcome."

Feeling got stronger. Not just in his shoulders now, but his legs were twitchy and he shifted his weight. "For what?"

"For setting you up."

There it was. He rubbed the pound starting in his temples. That awkward moment when Whitney figured out what was on his mind and decided to do something about it, instead of letting him handle it. He loved her to death, but he often wanted to ring her neck. "Your middle name should be Meddler."

She shook her head. "Don't even start acting like you're mad. I know you like her. I did you a favor."

Mad? No. Furious? Possibly. They weren’t the same kind of people, and damn Whitney that now he would have to explain it to her. He didn't come from a rich family. He didn't work for the family business like she did. He didn’t make a good salary while still living at home. He scraped by for a living and avoided Tasha because he couldn’t afford a girl. Now he was cozy with her. And just as quick as her name passed through his head, the room heated up a thousand degrees. "You sent me on a blind date without telling me."

She grinned. "Yes! Not just you. Tasha too!"

"I...." No matter how much he wanted Tasha and how much he respected her after tonight could change the fact that he absolutely could not afford to date anyone right now. Instead of waiting to make a move when he could afford it, Whitney shoved him in the damn arena and left him with no choices. What was he supposed to do, go back to the way they were and let Tasha believe he was brushing her off? Hell no. Not an option. Eat ramen twice a day so he could afford to take her out on weekends? He turned and walked away before the tension gritting his teeth together cracked them all out of his head. He wasn’t far from ramen everyday just so he could pay the water bill. "Not okay, Whitney."

"Wait!" she called after him. "Patrick, stop!"

He didn't and went out the front. The cold night breeze rolling across the empty fields of Chester Farms did little to cool the heat causing sweat to run down his back. She caught him by the arm as he headed down the front steps, but he pulled away from her. "No. It was not okay for you step in my personal life without asking."

"I'm sorry." The big grin on her face said she wasn’t even close to sorry.

"No, you're not."

"Fine." She let him go as she threw her hands up and then rested them against her hips. "No, I'm not sorry, because I did you both a favor that neither of you have bothered to do yet!"

It was right there on the tip of his tongue to explain why she should have stayed out of it, but that
both
and
yet
stopped him. Not enough to turn around and all, but he did look over his shoulder. Another breeze went across him and eased the tight pull of tension strung in him. The wind chimes tickled and he let out a long breath. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Whitney crossed her arms under her chest and her hip was kicked out to the side. "It doesn't matter. You're mad and ungrateful and I'm just a meddler so it doesn't matter."

A groan worked through him.
Hell
. How in God's name they remained friends, he didn't have a fucking clue. "Whitney."

She turned back and walked up the steps. "I think I hear mom calling me for help.

"Whitney."

She didn't stop, and instead forced him to chase after. He caught her before she could get in the front door. "You are such a pain in my ass."

She was still grinning. "I know you like her. You look at her all the time. And you say maybe two words to her when we go in there. I did you a favor. And I think she likes you too."

"You think." Oh, God. Another one of those feelings. This one was more sick-like in the darkest pit of his stomach.

She lifted a shoulder. "I just know when I go in by myself, she's chatty and bouncy and fun. When you go in with me, she quieter, watchful, and she glances around a lot. Maybe if you didn't spend so much time staring at your shoes in there, you'd notice her staring at your ass as you go out the door!"

"That is not true." Even as he said it warmth filled in his cheeks that he knew good and well was a blush in the making. Thank goodness for small favors and the light was dim.

"Don't believe me? Fine. You don't have to." She turned and marched toward the house.

He fisted his hands. “I’m sorry.”

She stopped. She didn’t look back, but she did stop. “Thank you.”

“I just.” He shook his head. “Now isn’t a good time for me to start dating.”

Finally she faced him again. “You say that like you just got out of a long relationship and I know you haven’t.”