Vulture (a Stepbrother Romance) -(25)

“Oh,” I replied, “I just mean, well, we had a bit of a fight.” I averted my gaze, then quickly added, “but it was nothing.”

“If it was nothing, then you can tell me what happened. What was the fight about?”

He reached over, took my hand in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

I nodded. I could easily tell him, just let it all out and wait to see the shock appear on his face, but then the shock would turn into pity. He’d see me as damaged goods, a weak excuse for a woman. “It’s not important,” I said firmly and attempted to alter the course of the conversation. “I just wish there was something more I could do. The insurance company won’t discuss it anymore; they’ve decided he killed himself and that’s that.”

“Let me help?” he uttered.

“How?”

“I might be able to get them to re-evaluate their decision.”

I swallowed a gulp of water and nearly choked on it. Harvey patted my back gently as I coughed, his large hands easing their way up my spine. “Really? You can do that? But how?”

He chuckled at my questions and shook his head. “Don’t you know I’m a big deal in this town?”

I shrugged my shoulders, and he continued. “Leave it with me. I can’t promise anything, but I’ll give it a shot, grease a few palms if you know what I mean. I have some connections. At the very least I might be able to get you some peace of mind. Enough perhaps to help you move on,” he said softly.

“I don’t understand, though. If they’ve closed the investigation, how can you get them to open it again?”

He waved my inquiries away and went back to his food, his hand letting go of mine. He readied his fork with salmon and lifting it to his mouth, he said, “Don’t worry about it, trust me.”

Easier said than done. I would worry, I thought. I didn’t want Harvey doing anything illegal for me, if that’s what he was implying. Maybe I should just move on with my life. It’s not like I would ever know what was going through Eric’s head in the last moments of his life, especially when I’d never had that ability during our marriage. He’d always been a mystery to me. I never knew what would set him off.

The delicious taste of salmon quickly faded, and I couldn’t bring back the enthusiasm of my appetite again.

While Harvey opened another bottle of wine, I reached out, gathered the dishes and brought them over to the sink. I turned the tap on and let the water run over the plates, rinsing them before I stuffed them inside the dishwasher. After everything was tucked away in containers, I took the glass he offered me, and we sat down on the sofa. I told myself to stop fretting, to enjoy Harvey’s company and the wine that was making me slightly tipsy. I could leave the worrying for another time.

“Thanks for this,” I said as I turned towards him.

“For what?”

“For coming over, spending time with me, for making sure I’m OK. I know you must have more exciting things to do. But I appreciate it. It’s sweet.”

“Sweet? Me? You must me have confused with someone else. I came for the food, nothing else,” he said and winked.

My insides melted, and for the tiniest of seconds I truly wished that the evening could last forever.

We settled down to watch a spoof horror movie on Netflix. The creepy sound that vibrated through the TV sent an unsettling feeling through me. I ignored it and continued to watch, trying my hardest not to cringe or turn my eyes away when the psycho killer jumped out in front of one the characters with his sharp knife.

“You OK?” Harvey asked, chuckling as he threw a cushion at me. “We don’t have to watch it if you’re scared.”

I caught the fluffy projectile and threw it back at him, glaring at him all the while.

“I ain’t scared,” I lied, “but you’re hogging the sofa, and I can’t get comfy.”

“Come here then,” he said as he pulled me closer to his side of the sofa. He made room, and though I felt a bit silly at first, I soon relaxed into his side, enjoying the innocence of the gesture. But then my mind began to wander.

His solid warmth radiated off of him, and his manly cologne invaded my senses, making me want to scoot even closer and nuzzle into the hollow of his neck. I resisted the urge and went back to watching the TV, thoroughly distracted. His tanned arm was slung across my shoulders, his fingers light but firm against my upper arm. The more I thought about where he was touching me, the more I tensed up, dreaming lazily of how it would feel if he moved his arm farther down, onto my waist perhaps, or if he angled his hand just right and accidentally brushed against the side of my boob.