Page 30 of Wanted By You

“Are you hungry?” I ask.

Please say yes. Please say yes.

“Starving.”

I beam. “Did you want to stay for dinner? I’ve got everything to make my grandma’s famous homemade meatball subs.” I don’t even give him a chance to respond before I’m spinning on my heels for the kitchen. I originally bought it all hoping Garrett would be home a few days this week. His birthday is Thursdayand we always do something together—Granny’s meatballs have been his favorite since he could chew.

But Butch is herenow. And I can always go back to the store.

I flick on the oven and dive into the fridge, gathering everything I need. The scraping of the dining chair on the cheap linoleum flooring has me peeking over my shoulder as Butch takes a seat at the small breakfast nook table. “Anything homemade sounds good to me.”

“Well, you’ll love these,” I say. “I try to make them at least once a month. They’re Garrett’s favorite.”

He nods, leaning back in the chair with a creak as he folds his thick forearms over his chest. He watches me as I cook, prepping the hamburger meat with a slew of spices and mixing them in by hand.

“Why no beer?”

“Hm?”

“You said you didn’t have beer because you don’t like it in the house,” he adds. “Why’s that?”

“Garrett will just drink it all anyway.” I shrug. “Besides, on the off chance he is here, I prefer my brother sober. He’s more…” I trail off, trying to find the right words to explain the complexity that isGarrett Clark.

“Tolerable?”

I shake my head with a laugh. “He’s more himself, if that makes sense.”

Glancing back over my shoulder, he asks, “Has he always been a heavy drinker?”

“No, not always,” I say, rolling a hefty wad of seasoned meat between my hands into a fat meatball. “He picked it up a bit when we found out Dad was sick. Everything went to hell after that. Mom ran off with some guy she barely knew, days before Dad started treatment. I finished college and came home to helpwhere I could—cooking, cleaning, paying the bills, taking care of Dad.”

“Your brother didn’t help?”

“He did.” I set the half a dozen meatballs in the cast-iron skillet and pop them in the oven to bake for a bit. “In the beginning, Garrett was right there with me. Running Dad to appointments, taking odd jobs around town to help pay off the piling medical bills, tag teaming who stayed up with him throughout the night just so he wasn’t alone and in pain—he was there for all of it. Until it got close to the end.” I wash my hands and turn to face Butch watching me as I dry them with the dish towel. “He started to…disassociate, is what they call it. He distanced himself little by little, helped less and less. He didn’t want to be a part of Dad’s end. He still can’t accept the fact he’s gone.”

“And that’s when he picked up drinking?”

I nod, tossing the towel on the counter behind me. “They were close. Really close. My dad said he understood and to let it be, but…it just didn’t seem fair. Our father was dying and he couldn’t handle it. So I was stuck with everything—the medical bills, the trailer, the grief. I still am.”

Butch shakes his head lightly. “Why’d you stay? I mean, after everything was said and done, why stay?”

I take a deep breath. That is the burning question, isn’t it? Alison asks me all the time, and I get it, it doesn’t make sense to a lot of people. Not after everything Garrett’s put me through. “He’s my brother, Butch, he’s all I have left.” A faint smile ghosts over my lips. “It might sound stupid, but I still have faith he’ll come around. He just needs time. We all do, sometimes.”

Butch is silent as I finish the meatballs on the stovetop and warm up the sauce, which is fine by me. It’s just nice knowing he’s here with me. It feels…good having him here. And as I plate up a small salad beside the ten-inch toasted meatball subslathered in red sauce and topped with several slices of melted mozzarella, I’m suddenly nervous about what he’ll think of it.

And what he thinks of me…

I set his plate down in front of him and smile with a gracious wave over the plate. “Voila!Granny’s famous meatball sub.”

Butch rubs his hands together with a grin and dives right in. “Mmm,” he moans over a mouthful. “This is—” he pauses, dramatically closing his eyes and chewing before looking up at me. “You’re amazing.”

I practically preen at his praise. Quickly taking the chair beside him with my plate, we eat and chat about everything and nothing at all. He tells me about his family and how close he is with his brother, Duke. The conversation flows so effortlessly that I lose track of time before I finally notice it’s quarter after nine.

“I’ve got it,” I say, taking the dirty plates from Butch as he stands. “It’s getting late, you’ve probably got an early morning.” I know I do.

He grunts, ignoring the out I just gave him and helping clean up anyway. I bite my lip to keep from laughing. I would’ve never thought I’d enjoy having him here this much—and how bad I don’t want him to go. Not yet.

We’re quiet as I wash the dishes and hand them to him to dry and place on the rack beside me.Do I say something? Is it weird if I do or is it weirder if I don’t? Is this a date? No, it almost feels more intimate than a date. It’s more than that. It’s—

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