Page 7 of Bad Witch

His lips twitched. “Bring it in any time, Temp, and I’ll get it sorted for you. I’m really good with blue ones.”

“Oh, that’s very kind of you.”

He was amused. Why was he amused? “That’s just the kind of male I am.”

I slid my hand lower, so it was half on his stump. He stilled. I quickly searched for something to say. “What’s your favorite thing to eat?”

The amusement was back. His eyes actually sparkled. “What I’d like isn’t on offer right now.”

“Is it out of season? Oh, I hate that. I love watermelon and get so excited when they start to flower in the garden.”

“Yeah, it’s something like that.”

“Well, what else do you like?”

“What do you like?” he asked, turning my question back on me.

I smiled. “I love my garden…my pets, Glinda and Manny, oh, and I love to bake.”

“Cats?”

“Um…yes.” Manfred wouldn’t be happy I’d said he was a cat, but it couldn’t be helped.

“What’s your favorite thing to bake?” he asked next.

I slid my hand lower, and other than a deeper inhale, he didn’t react. “I make exquisite pie. Fruit pies are my specialty. It’s probably conceited to say so, but it’s true. My peach pies are soooo good. When peaches are in season, I bottle as many as I can so I have them all year round.”

He made another rough sound. “Fucking love a taste of your peach pie, Temp.”

My face heated with pleasure. I was proud of my pies. “I’ll make you one, if you’d like?”

“I’d love that, babe.”

I smiled wider. I liked it when he called me that, and he did at least once every session. “I’ll be sure to do that, then.”

His gaze lowered to my hand, and I looked down as well. I was gently sliding my thumb back and forth over his stump, hoping it was reassuring, keeping him aware of the contact between us, and that I wasn’t grossed out or scared or any of the things many of my patients feared.

“You still doing okay?” I asked him.

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

I gave his leg a final gentle squeeze and stood. “You did really well, Fender. This was an excellent start. Now, I’d like you to do the same at home. Put some of the oil on your hand and do exactly like I did. It might take you a little while, but I believe in you.” I gave him two thumbs-up. “You got this.”

His lips spread wide, flashing white teeth and a peek of his pointy canines. He did that a lot around me. I didn’t know why, honestly. I was just happy that every time he left my office, he seemed happier than when he arrived.

“Appreciate the vote of confidence,” he said and slid his prosthesis back on. “And bring your car into the workshop. Least I can do since you’re making me a pie, yeah?”

Oh no. “Uh, you don’t need to do that.”

“I insist,” he said, his voice growing serious. “Don’t want you driving around in a car that could be dangerous.”

“Oh, right. Of course, yes, that wouldn’t be wise,” I said, my mind racing.

“No, it wouldn’t.” He opened the door. “Catch you later, Temp.”

I gave him another double thumbs-up “Catch you later.”

He chucked as he walked away.