Page 35 of Already Callin’ You Mine

“You don’t have to,” Presley whispers harshly.

Oh, shit. I probably should have run that idea by her first. For all I know, Otis isn’t allowed soda. Or he’s allergic. Or something. Ooops.

“If it’s okay with your mom,” I quickly add.

Guilt floods my chest, my pulse kicking up a couple of notches as I wait for a response. A reprieve from my error. Each passing second seems to take longer and longer as I wait for Presley to say something. Anything. Even if it’s nothing more than telling me to fuck off.

Please don’t tell me to fuck off…

“You really don’t have to,” she repeats, her sweet smile still in place. A smile that is genuine. I can see it in those beautiful gray eyes.

“I want to.”

I really, really want to.

I can’t explain why, but I do. Right now there is nowhere else on this earth I’d rather be than right here, kneeling in front of a vomit-covered child, wondering if the better option is going to the grocery store to get the ginger ale myself, or calling in a delivery.

The light in Presley’s eyes flickers to life, a sigh of what seems like relief filling the silence. Be still my heart…

No, no. I am not thinking that about Presley Callahan. Nope.

“What do you say, Otis?” she asks. “Do you think Mr. Jace likes the same kind of movies we do?”

“Yup.”

“Okay then.” She nods purposefully. “Then why don’t we get cleaned up, and then we can find out if Mr. Jace shares our good taste.”

Pushing to her feet, Presley gestures for Otis to head back down the hall. Wordlessly, he does, his little feet moving slowly across the hardwood floor. We watch in silence, waiting for him to disappear before saying anything.

“Really, if you just want to⁠—”

“I know my mama,” I cut her off, standing up. “There’s soup and grilled cheese in that bag. I’ll call over to Wrights and have Jake send some ginger ale over and then get my favorite feel-better movie pulled up on the TV. Sound like a plan?”

“Jace, I…” Another relieved sigh escapes, although this time her body inflates with some renewed hope. “Thank you. I got the call from Pitter Patter right before lunch, and I ran into the drug store on my way there to pick up some meds. Miss Belle was there visiting Brenna and told me to go get Otis and that she’d send over some stuff. I really thought I’d sent that text. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for you to have to come over here.”

I chuckle, because that sounds exactly like something both my mama and my sister-in-law, Brenna, Milo’s wife and owner of Hickory Hills Drugs, would do. Clearly the two of them then roped Dolly in for the food. Meaning there’s meds inside that bag as well as soup.

Only in a small town.

“It’s fine,” I answer before I can think. There’s more I want to say, but I can feel the worry radiating off Presley. Her mom senses are kicking in—the ones I questioned and put down not that long ago—and she wants to get back to her kid. “Go get him cleaned up. I’ll go put the food in the kitchen, call in some ginger ale, and grab whatever meds Brenna sent over. Have you eaten?”

She shakes her head.

“Then I’ll get you some soup. I assume you have a microwave.”

“I do.”

I nod. “Go. I got this.”

She’s off before I can say anything else, leaving me standing there alone. Walking over to close the front door, I grab the food and make my way into the kitchen on the other side of the living room.

Time to get to work…

Thirty minutes later, Otis is all cleaned up, now dressed in a set of Bluey pajamas. Presley changed into a Property of Raleigh Police Department tee, but the oversized sweats are still hanging off her body like she’s wearing her boyfriend’s clothes rather than her own.

I wonder if those were someone else’s…

A weird twinge hits as I think about it. Similar to the jealousy I felt the other night at Pour Decisions, yet different. Otis came from somewhere, so there was someone in her life before. A fact that makes me feel a bit squirmy, if I’m honest. Makes me wish I’d thought about her in my clothes rather than someone else’s.