Page 40 of Rescue You


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“Do I celebrate Christmas? I’m Irish and Mexican. I’m a Catholic hand grenade.” Rhett polished off his drumstick and went to toss it in the trash. “But I’m not very religious. And I’m not going home for Christmas. I’m not much of a holiday person, either.”

Stanzi grabbed the turkey bone from his hand before he could let it go. “I remember going to church with Mom. Daddy couldn’t be bothered with it, once she died.” She slipped the bone in a Ziploc bag, along with her own. “I’ll make bone broth.”

“Of course you will.” Who the hell was this woman?

Stanzi bent over and lifted something out of the giant sack she’d brought. She shoved some papers aside on Rhett’s desk with her elbow and set her treasure down.

A smooth, creamy pumpkin pie with a decorative crust, which included little crust cutouts on top, shaped like turkeys.

“Like I said, I was kind of the mom of the house,” she explained when Rhett had stared at it a few seconds too long. “Not in a creepy way, just the whole motherly bit, which included making sure my sister didn’t eat like shit. My father would’ve fed us TV dinners and hot dogs every night.”

The pie looked like something from the cover of a baking magazine. The custard had not even a hairline crack and the golden-brown crust was perfectly roped around the perimeter.

“Where’s the Cool Whip?”

It was meant to be sarcastic, but damned if she didn’t reach into her sack and pull out a disposable container filled with what looked like homemade whipped cream. She offered it, her face as straight as his.

When Rhett finally smiled, Stanzi burst into giggles.

After they’d both eaten large slices of pie with mounds of whipped cream, Stanzi rose up and stretched. She cast a glance at his leg. “How’s it feeling?”

“Good,” Rhett said, which wasn’t a lie and wasn’t the truth. The work she’d done had felt amazing but was starting to wear off and, with the return of the cold, the pain was creeping back in.

“Do you—” Stanzi shrugged “—want me to check it out?”

Just the thought of her hands working the scar tissue made Rhett feel like melting to the ground. Which was why he had to say no. He couldn’t rely on someone else to make him feel better. He couldn’t rely on anyone else to understand anything about him. His burdens were his alone. “No, you’ve done enough.” Rhett nodded to the containers of food. “Thank you again.”

She might’ve frowned, but she recovered too quickly to know for sure. “Okay.” Stanzi rose up and collected her coat from the peg on the wall. “I’ve taken up enough of your day.” She offered a quiet smile. “Thanks for showing me how to snatch.”

“Anytime, Stanzi. Thanks for the food.” Rhett rose quickly and began to pack up the turkey and pie.

“No. Keep it. I’ve got plenty at home.”

Rhett smiled. “I’m not going to argue with you. So if you’re being nice, now’s the time to change your mind.”

“I’m not nice,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact. “Well—” she slung her gym bag on her shoulder and tucked up the corner of her mouth “—not like that. The fake nice.”

“I know.”

“Happy Thanksgiving, Rhett.” Her gaze flicked to his leg, then back up.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Stanzi.”

He watched her go. Once she disappeared, Rhett realized she still hadn’t officially joined the gym.

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