She took a few steps toward home, then paused and turned back to the house next to Louise’s. She could check on Marshall now. Will wouldn’t be out of preschool for another half hour.
Why couldn’t she stop now, drop off the cookies, check to make sure the man was doing all right and then be on her way?
Yes, he made her nervous and she didn’t really want to be alone with him. Or any man, really. Maybe that was all the more reason to push herself into it. While he was big and rough and intimidating, he was also relatively helpless at the moment. This would be a good test for her.
After what had happened the day before, she wasn’t in a big rush to surprise him, so she texted quickly as she headed next door.
Can I stop by now?
His answer was so succinct, she had to smile.
Why?
Homemade shortbread, she texted back.
His answer in reply made her smile turn into an actual laugh. Door’s open.
Apparently Wyn hadn’t been joking about his sweet tooth.
Despite the warning she had just given him, she didn’t feel right about just barging in, so she rapped a few times on the door before opening it. “Hello?”
“Back here,” he answered, with the same brevity of his texts.
This time she found him on the recliner, with a book open on the table beside him and a rugby match muted on the TV. The worst of the bruises on his face seemed to be fading, she was happy to see, and his color looked better than it had the day before.
“Did you get breakfast?”
He nodded. “I grabbed some toast and coffee, plus a yogurt and banana.”
He probably needed groceries and had no way to get to the store. She should have thought of that the night before and at least checked to make sure he had basics. Guilt pinched at her. She was doing a terrible job of filling Wyn’s small request to watch over her brother.
“I need to run to the store later today. If you can think of anything that sounds tasty, I’m happy to pick it up for you. Just make a list.”
“Homemade shortbread is a good start,” he said, a blatant reminder to turn over the goods.
She fought a laugh and set the tin on the table beside him. “Here you go. It might still be warm.”
Without hesitation, he opened it and popped one small square into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed with a look of clear appreciation. “Oh, wow. That’s delicious.”
“I wish I could take credit for making it, but it’s a gift from your neighbor next door. Louise Jacobs.”
He had just been about to pop a second piece in, but at her words he froze for just a second and returned the cookie to the tin. “You’ve been to see Louise and Herm?” he said, his tone oddly neutral.
“Only Louise. Herm volunteers once a week, stocking shelves at the library. Apparently retirement didn’t completely agree with him and he gets bored during cold weather when he can’t fish as much. Louise is a friend of mine and she’s doing a little work for me.”
“What kind of work?”
She held up the brown portfolio. “I’m a commercial graphic artist—computer graphics, mostly, but photography, sometimes oil on canvas. I needed a watercolor, which isn’t exactly my specialty, and Louise was kind enough to work up a few possibilities for me. They’re wonderful.”
“Oh. I guess I didn’t realize she was artistic.”
“She considers it more of a hobby, but she’s really talented. And not just in making shortbread.”
He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He looked distracted—whether from pain or something else, she couldn’t tell.
“Is there anything I can get you right now?”
“I can’t think of anything.”
“I’ll refill your water bottle while you make a list of what you’d like me to pick up at the grocery store.”
“You don’t need to do my shopping.”
Good grief, trying to help the man was about as easy as climbing Mount Solace in a blizzard.
“You might as well tell me. If you don’t, I’ll just look through your kitchen cabinets and see what staples seem to be missing. Who knows what I might come back with?”
He gave a sigh that sounded more resigned than annoyed. “Fine. I’ll text you a list of a few things. Does that work?”
“Perfectly. See? You’re getting the hang of this whole accepting-help thing.”
“I don’t believe you’re giving me much choice, are you?”
“Not really,” she admitted. “I have just enough time to reheat a little more stew or I can probably throw together a sandwich if you would prefer.”
He didn’t sigh this time, but she could tell he wanted to. “Stew would be fine,” he finally said. “Thank you.”