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“This is a real fucking Kansas backyard you’ve got,” Braxton says with a small laugh.
“Yeah, well, we’re in Kansas after all,” I reply with a smile as I get the grill going. “Have all these wide open spaces. Gotta do something with it,” I say as I move down to the firepit, setting logs in and squirting them with lighter fluid. A minute later, smoke fills the air and flames burst up through the wood.
“Why did you decide to stay out here and not move somewhere else?” Braxton asks as he scoops Abra-ham up and takes a seat near the fire.
“I like it out here. Have no reason to move. Plus, I like working with my hands, like taking care of the animals. Keeps me busy.”
His eyes trail up over my chest and he shifts in his seat, Abra-ham on his lap. “Yeah. I can see that.”
“Seems you have a new friend,” I tell him, and Braxton frowns at me, all while continuing to pet the pig.
“No, I don’t have friends. Like I said. I just didn’t want this little pig to run into the fire. Didn’t want him to become bacon.”
I let out a loud snort and Abra-ham, almost as if understanding what was said, squeals in response.
“Yeah, yeah, see,” Braxton says and then peeks over at me, looking far too pretty in the moonlight. He has real nice eyes, and the green flecks in them almost seem to sparkle with the reflection of the fire. And his dark hair looks mussed and rumpled, just like he’s been fucked.
Which he has been.
Sort of.
I pull my mind out of the gutter and instead focus on the task at hand. It’s cozy out here like this with the warm fire and smoke wafting up to the gray, twinkling sky. I’m just happy that Braxton doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave. Instead of him rushing off, he seems to have almost become one with the chair.
I wonder if I can convince him to stay longer. Maybe even stay the night.
Probably not. Doubt he’d want to. He’s skittish, and like he said, he doesn’t have friends. He doesn’t seem to want them.
Although after what happened at the creek, are we friends or more than that?
I don’t know. I don’t know what the hell we are.
But it doesn’t matter because when the food is ready, we head inside and sit at my small dining room table. Abra-ham is asleep in the grass outside and Braxton worries his bottom lip as he turns to glance at the closed back door.
“Aren’t you worried about him?” he asks as McMuffin hops onto my lap and meows loudly.
I hand her a tiny piece of steak and she sniffs it before taking it in her mouth.
“The pig? Nah, he has a few places he can go. I have that doggy-door for a reason.
Braxton shifts in his seat. “What if like a hawk gets him? He’s really small.”
I set my fork down and cock my head at him, realizing almost immediately what he wants.
“You’re right. I’ll go get him…” I stand up, and Braxton looks almost relieved even when he shakes his head.
“You don’t need to.”
But I’m already heading out back, scooping up Abra-ham and bringing the snoring pig inside. I set him on a small throw pillow by the heater and then return to my place at the table.
Braxton looks happier now, less anxious, and damn, I’d do anything to see him happy like this all the time.
He turns his gaze back to the food on his plate and lifts his fork.
“I haven’t had a real home-cooked meal in a long time. This looks…” He clears his throat. “This looks real nice.”
I feel damn proud. “It’s just some steak and roasted veggies.”
“I know, but it looks great.”
