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Yup.Talia wasn’t shy when it came to asking about something she wanted. And the surgeon, putting it mildly, had ended up being highly amused.
Which is more than she could say for how Fleet would take the news when she finally told him.
No intercourse for at least six weeks, and no blowjobs for four.
It was going to be a longun-fuckingmonth.
* * *
Posingas a janitor wasn’t all that difficult. What was tricky, had been avoiding the fucking dog out front all day. It was a good thing egress to the back doors was de rigueur for the maintenance staff, and nobody questioned those comings and goings.
Hauling another bucket of water across the floor while keeping a very low profile, the door to Eggers’ room came open and three out of four possible targets filed out. The time would come when they weren’t being monitored. Sooner, rather than later would be good.
CHAPTERSEVENTEEN
Talia looked like she’d never “played house” with a man before, and Fleet couldn’t keep the grin off his face as she fussed around him. Of course, he’d neverbeena long-term guest in anyone’s house, so the experience was new for him, too. But once he’d agreed to the idea of staying in Talia’s home, he’d rolled with it, and was now enjoying himself immensely.
May, the cat, much to Talia’s amazement, had taken to Fleet instantly, and was currently cuddled up on his lap while Talia flitted about in the kitchen.
“You’re sure you don’t have any dislikes,” she called out from the other room.
Fleet couldn’t see her, but he could hear her just fine. Hers was no open-concept dwelling. It was a sweet little cottage with several rooms adjoining each other. The living room was the first space upon which one entered through the front door. The kitchen was to the back, and two small bedrooms with an adjoining bath between were down a T shaped hallway to the right. It was cozy and tidy, and held so many items of interest, Fleet couldn’t keep eyes from bouncing around like the ball in an arcade machine.
“Nope. I like everything as long as it’s not meat,” he answered back while catching a glimpse of several—unidentifiable to him—wooden handled tools propped lovingly on a shelf in front of him. “Bland, spicy, raw, cooked,” he assured her. “I’ll eat it all.”
While she was concocting lunch, Fleet couldn’t help himself. He moved a disgruntled May off his person, then lifted himself off the couch where Talia had ordered him to stay put. He trod quietly, hoping to avoid detection, because he needed to poke around the small spaces surrounding him and discover more of Talia’s treasures.
There were a few pictures of her family on the walls, which Fleet studied surreptitiously. He knew her familial unit consisted of her mom, her dad, and an elder sister, Pixie. The images he saw were old, though, from Talia’s teenage years by the looks. And as much as he hunted the walls for newer photos, he couldn’t find any.
He might work up his courage to ask why that was, or… Maybe he wouldn’t. Talia had hinted at something dark in her past, and if she wanted to share that, he’d let her do it in her own time.
Snooping around some more, he noted that Talia owned a few nice watercolors; clearly old, but still bright and cheery. They fit in with the mish-mosh of odd furniture and textiles she had artfully positioned around the room. The one thing, however, that puzzled him to the extent of head-scratching—albeit carefully because of his stitches—was the strange collection of iron items that filled almost one entire wall in her little hallway. The puzzling things ranged in size from two inches to five or six, and he’d never seen anything like them.
“Talia?” he called out.
He heard her footsteps just before she stuck her frowning face into the hall where he stood. “Hey. You’re supposed to be lying down.”
Fleet snorted. “I’ve been on my back for days, and the PT said I needed to move around. So that’s what I’m doing,” he countered.
Talia huffed, but clearly bit her tongue, not fighting his assertion. “Fine. What did you need?”
“I’m curious about these things. What are they?” He pointed to the peculiar array of items, some crude, and some of which were quite elaborate in design.
Talia gave a laugh. “They’re lid-lifters,” she chortled.
“Lid what?” Fleet asked. It was a completely foreign paring of words for him, which was unusual. He prided himself on the eclectic extent of his knowledge.
“Lid lifters,” she laughed. “You, being from the warm south, might be unfamiliar with them, but up here in Maine, most people would recognize them.”
“Are you going to fill me in or make me guess,” he chuffed.
“You’ll never guess,” she goaded, then put him out of his misery. “They’re for use with old wood or coal fired stoves,” she explained. “At the advent of cooking on those behemoths, pans were made to fit into open holes on the top of the monsters. When the cast iron appliances were being used for heat only, they fit round lids into the holes to keep the fire inside from getting too much oxygen. These babies,” she picked one up and handed it to him, “are what were used toliftthe lids and secure or remove them.”
“Genius,” Fleet said, turning the item over in his hand. “It almost looks like designing them became an art form.”
“Which is why I collect them,” she enlightened. “Some of them are wonderfully detailed.”
As was Talia.
