Page 26 of Crimson Love

Clive slaps me on the shoulder. “I like you. Heard about you from Winnie. She told me about your pets that she’s sittin’ for since you rolled into town. You’d better treat that kidney right. Everyone around these parts is a big fan of Harlow Madison.”

“I’m headed over to the Combover to see the hellions after this. I’ll have to find a ride back to the manor later.”

“You just call Donnelly. He’ll send a car your way. He’d probably send you a damn chopper if you asked for it. He’s fancy like that.”

“That he is,” I mutter. “How long do you think this project is going to take?”

He shakes his head, and his words come as slow and drawn out as it seems he works. “This is going to be something. You just can’t rush perfection. And my granddaughter has a piano recital tomorrow.”

I pluck the pink sticky note from his fingers and the pen from his breast pocket. “Here’s my number. I’ve got some explaining to do to Lennon on why she won’t have a car, but it needs to be done. Keep me up to date.”

“Yippee,” he states with about twenty percent enthusiasm. “I’ll give you a ring. Is there a budget? I’m going to have to order a shit ton of parts. I don’t get many dead-on-arrival projects like this one.”

I think about the trust fund I didn’t ask for. This won’t make a dent in one zero of the damn thing. “Nope. And throw in the good wiper fluid too.”

He whistles again and holds up a hand to high-five me. “Put her there, partner. I’ll do it up good for you. But if you could get me a key, that’d make my life easier. I haven’t hotwired a car in years. Promised the missus I’d stop.”

I need to get out of here before I become an accessory to something I have no clue about. “I’ll get you a key. Thanks again, Clive.”

As I leave the Grease Me Up, Clive doesn’t get to work. He goes straight to the fridge, grabs a bottle of beer, and cracks it open. He takes a long pull as he stares at the piece of shit I just left him to resuscitate. I’m not sure, but it looks like he’s meditating.

Who am I to question the way the man works?

I turn away from the mess, don’t look back, and head straight for the Combover Diner. When Harlow convinced me to give Winslet a try and move into the manor, the only thing holding me back were strays who adopted me as their human. Devon made a call and found them a place to stay in town. His friends, Winnie and Carl, who own the diner on Main, jumped at the chance to keep Panther and Smoke. From what I heard, it was Winnie who jumped, not Carl.

I try to visit them every day, because let’s be real, I do miss them and have nothing else to do.

I slide my sunglasses on, walk the three blocks to the diner, and think about how normal this is. Aside from the slew of meds I take daily to remind me of my new organ, there are moments I forget about the PK-fucking-D. Those moments are few and far between, but they’re there.

The bell jingles over the diner door. The smell of bacon and coffee hit my senses, all without the scent of gasoline mixed in.

Winnie is at the counter pouring coffee for the Chief of Police, Dean Moretti.

“Jett-man, it’s good to see ya’,” Winnie calls over the late breakfast chatter. “Your fur-babies are gonna be excited to see you! Panther was ticked off this morning when I didn’t let her go outside with Shadow, but I had to get here to start the biscuits. It’s not my fault the dang feline won’t come back when I call her.”

The local diner is a hub for the community. When I sit at the counter, I’m open game for conversation. “I’m going to visit them after this. You spoil them. I doubt they’re going to want to come back to me after their extended vacation.”

Carl yells that an order’s up from the kitchen, and Winnie sets the coffeepot down. “Don’t you worry that handsome head of yours. I’m not gonna steal your pets. I don’t want Dean to throw me in the slammer.”

“Don’t tempt me. I can’t remember the last time we had a theft around here,” the chief says and lifts his chin in lieu of a greeting as he puts his mug to his lips for a sip.

I claim the barstool next to his. “What’s up?”

His mug hits the counter. “Not crime in Winslet, which means I have time for breakfast. How’s life at the fancy-ass manor?”

“Something I’ll never get used to,” I mutter.

“How long have you been in town now? Feels like a year,” Dean asks as he stands and reaches over the counter for a mug and the steaming pot of brew. He pours me a cup, and the coffee almost sloshes out as he does. “I know you’ve been here long enough for Winnie to memorize your order, though that doesn’t mean that’s what you’ll get if Carl gets a wild hair.”

I take the mug. “Thanks. Feels like I’ve been here a year. And Carl knows there’s no fried food for me. I’ve got a working kidney. I’m not about to fuck up my body with high cholesterol.”

Dean holds up his mug to me. “Here’s to good health and old age. Hell, you and I have lived similar pasts. I think about it some days, and it’s a miracle I’m still around. You’ve had a double whammy.”

“I hope I don’t need as many lives as my irritable cat. I’ve already used up a couple.” I take a sip of coffee and lean on my forearms. “Tell me the truth. How hard was it to come back here after you left the army?”

“You struggling with life in Winslet?”

I shake my head. “Hardly. Hell, if fitting in here was all I had on my plate, it would be easy. But living at the manor is hardly small-town life. If I’m going to stay, I need a place to live.”