Page 6 of Carver’s Craving

“Swift Current is in Saskatchewan.” He backed out of the parking space and started to drive away from the strip mall.

“Oh, Moose Jaw?”

“Also in Saskatchewan.” He executed a right turn.

I squinted.

He stopped for a red light and suggested, “Medicine Hat? Red Deer? Calgary?”

“Sure.” I elongated the word to give myself enough time to think.

He cut me a sidelong glance.

I shrugged. “Dunno. I guess it doesn’t matter. Small bar in some Podunk town. Whatever.” I sighed. “What I’m trying to say is I don’t drink much. I can certainly go—” I squinted. “How long am I staying with you?”

He snorted. “I’d say that’s up to you. I don’t care.”

Yet the tic in his jaw sort of had me thinking he was lying. Or at least prevaricating.

Since I didn’t know the answer myself, instead I sniffed. “Oh God, that rotisserie chicken smells amazing.”

“Yep.” He chuckled. “When I indulge, I wind up eating it for lunch and dinner until it’s gone. Something tells me you’re going to help me demolish it quickly.” Again, he cast me a quick glance. “At least if you still eat like you’re a bottomless pit.”

You remember how much I eat? How sweet is that? “I consume less when I’m not performing. My mom’s always carrying on about fattening me up. Well, or at least putting more muscles on me so I’m better able to help out with Dad’s construction business.”

“Oh?” The light finally turned green, and he accelerated toward a hill.

“Yeah. Did I never mention that? Mom’s been on my case since I graduated from high school. Well, my dad and brothers as well. They thought my university education was a waste—but that singing in a rock band was worse.”

Carver winced. “That’s shitty. Supportive family makes all the difference in the world.”

Something in his tone had me sitting up and taking notice. “Oh?”

He waved his hand—as if swatting away a fly. Or suggesting his comment wasn’t worth a second look. “So you didn’t work for the construction company?”

“Nope. Not a single day. But things have been rough the last—” Shit. “Record sales tanked and we’ve struggled. We thought we could start fresh in Vancouver.”

“We?”

“Me and Baxter.” I tried to blow that off casually.

“Where is Baxter?”

“I don’t know. We went our separate ways. Anyhow, I’m still looking for a fresh start.” I wasn’t ready to launch into an explanation right now about being abandoned. I was still holding out hope he might call and everything would be okay.

“Yeah. I get that.” Said so quietly, I could barely hear him above the roar of the engine as it took the steep incline. We leveled out as we went through an intersection—and then promptly started climbing again.

“How high are we going? Are my ears going to pop?”

“I have no idea—about the height or the ears popping.” He continued to climb. “I just know I sometimes get snow that the lower elevation doesn’t.”

“You get snow? I thought Vancouver hardly got any. Lots of rain, though.”

“Yes, plenty of rain. Yes, sometimes snow. We had a huge snowstorm last Christmas.”

“How long have you been here?” I gazed at my fingernails, but caught, in my peripheral vision, the snap of his head to look at me. I resisted the urge to turn to face him.

He cleared his throat. “I’ve been here a while.”