Hope(less) (20 page)

I stuck my tongue out at her, but she just laughed at me. 
“Don’t remind me.  I’m probably going to need to do a lot of begging.”

“Does he know much about plumbing?”  Rachel stood by the
stink trying to get enough water for her morning coffee.

“Don’t know.  We don’t talk much,” I laughed while she
groaned.

*    *    *    *

With nothing to drink, I dressed with the intent to go shopping.
 Clay waited for me just outside my door.  “Wanna come shopping with me or stay
here?” I asked rhetorically.  I knew he’d want to go with even if he did have
to stay in the car.

I went to one of those discount supercenters, leaving Clay
in the car with the windows cracked open more for show than actual airflow.  If
he got hot, he’d just let himself out anyway.

Shopping several days sooner than planned did worry me a
bit.  Feeding Clay meant making compromises in my original budget.  I didn’t
mind eating light, but looking back, since Clay didn’t eat his dog food, not
that I blamed him, he ate light too.  A little too light when I thought back to
how much Sam could consume.

It called for a change in shopping habits.  The orange juice
I liked cost more than a five-pound bag of potatoes, which I put in the cart in
the juice’s place.  Maybe I could buy a decent concentrate.

I headed toward the freezer section and found some cheap
veggies and meat, ignoring the speculative look from a man a few yards away. 
Everyone found shopping a pain at some point.  I found it a pain all the time. 
The flash frozen chicken breasts were cheaper than the steaks per pound so I
went with those.  Eyeing the cart, I envisioned our meals.  Meat, potato and veggie.

Before the man tried to start a conversion, I moved on to
dry goods.  A large tub of generic peanut butter and another of grape jelly
joined the growing heap in the cart.  I used my other vision to check for and
skillfully avoid as many men as possible while I wove through the aisles.  Not
for the first time, I wished I could tell men and women apart.  Oh, well.

Always on the lookout for deals, I spotted the day old
bakery rack and found two loaves of bread for a dollar.  The cart held more
than it usually did when I went shopping.  Although, it lacked variety, it had
quantity and I’d managed to keep it under twenty dollars.  My smug happiness
lasted until I recalled needing milk.  I needed something in the morning to
drink.  Dang.  And cereal.  Oh, well.  Under thirty still helped the budget.

I couldn’t regret spending more to feed him when I thought
back to what he’d already done for me.  Let’s not forget the faucet waiting for
him.  I needed to pay him back for putting on clothes last night and for looking
at the sink today.  I never thought for a moment that he’d opt not to help.

Then, I cringed at the thought of making him wear the linen
getup again.  Calculating, I figured I could spare enough to buy Clay a decent
set of clothes and hunted the store for the best bargains.  Finding the store
band denims on sale, I guessed at his size and tossed a pair in the cart. 
Next, I stumbled upon a returned three pack of t-shirts, looking poorly repackaged. 
I saw nothing wrong with the shirts and figured the low price correlated with
the packaging.  Whatever dropped the price down by three dollars worked for me.

A flannel shirt hid within the mass of other shirts on the clearance
rack.  I looked it over closely.  The fall line clearance should not start for
a few weeks yet.  Then I spotted why.  The shirt lacked most of the middle
buttons.  An easy enough fix.  I put it in the cart.  It would get chilly soon
and he’d need it.  Then, I paused.  Would he stay that long?  He showed no sign
of wanting to leave.  I looked for some warm socks and guessed on shoe size
based on the feet that I saw last night.

Waiting in the checkout line proved painfully annoying.  I
couldn’t avoid men standing still.  However, I did manage to find an open lane with
a female cashier.  Two men lined up behind me before I unloaded the cart.  The
woman gave me a look.  Whatever.

I left the store in a hurry.  Usually, if I put enough
distance between us, my admirers forgot about me.

The cart clattered over the blacktop as I made my way to the
car.  Clay sat in the back seat watching for me.  His steady gaze tracked my
progress.  I smiled at him looking forward to showing him what I managed to
purchase.

Unfortunately, the man who’d just pulled into the space
beyond my car thought I’d aimed the smile at him.  Mentally groaning, I kept
pushing the cart toward my car while the man climbed down from his truck still
watching me.  With my car between us, I wasn’t too concerned.  Then, the man
stepped out from between the vehicles waiting for me.  Clay tensed inside the
car.

“Hi, there.  Need a hand?” the man offered when I stopped
the cart near the trunk.

“No, thanks, I got it,” I replied a bit stiffly.  He didn’t
leave.

“My name’s Dale.  I own Dale’s auto body on South Mitchell. 
You should bring your car by.  It looks like it might be due for an oil
change.”

Did I really look dumb enough to believe the need for an oil
change could be determined just by looking at the car’s exterior?  It certainly
wasn’t leaking oil as a giveaway.  “That’s a nice offer, but my boyfriend does
the oil changes.”  I unlocked the trunk and started loading groceries.

Dale didn’t take the hint and leave.

“He’s a handy guy then?”  He grabbed the potatoes and set
them in the trunk for me, moving closer.

“Yes, very.”  A brief conversation sometimes worked to get
rid of a pest.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” he fished.

I could see Clay through the back window crouched down
watching the man though the small gap between the trunk lid and the trunk.  Putting
a bag in the trunk so Dale wouldn’t see, I rolled my eyes at Clay.  His gaze
briefly flicked to me before returning to Dale with serious intent.

“Gabby,” I said introducing myself as I closed the trunk.  “Thanks
for helping me with the groceries, but I got to get going.  My dog’s been in
the car for a while already.”

Not waiting for his reply, I moved the cart to the empty
spot next to my car not bothering to bring it back into the store as I liked to
do.  Dale would probably just follow me the whole time.

“We have an opening at the shop.  If your boyfriend’s
looking for work, send him by.  We’ll see how good he is,” Dale said opening
the driver side door for me.  Clay growled within and Dale backed away a step.

I nodded in acknowledgement and slid in behind the wheel. 
Braving Clay’s wrath, Dale closed the door for me.  Not looking at Dale, I pulled
through the empty spot in front of me to leave faster.

“Well, that was a challenge if I ever heard one.”  I reached
over to pet Clay’s head.  “But no challenges until you fix the sink.”  He
looked up at me and I smiled.

When we got back to the house, both Rachel and Peter were
gone, which made Clay happy.

“You go shower while I unpack.  Then you can look at the sink
and see if we have to call that big-headed plumber back.”

He willingly trotted to the bathroom.  After that first
time, I’d learned to let him close the door on his own.

It didn’t take long to put everything away.  Taking the pile
of things I’d bought for him, I tapped on the door.  I heard the water running,
but I warned him just in case.  “I’m coming in, so please stay behind the
curtain.”

Steam already filled the bathroom, billowing out the door as
soon as I opened it.

“I have some clothes for you.  Better for looking at a sink
than the ones I bought yesterday.”

The stuff from yesterday hung neatly in my closet with the
exception of some under clothes, which I’d hidden in my bottom drawer.  I’d
grabbed a few things from that drawer before coming in.  It made it less
personal if I didn’t over think it.  Instead, I concentrated on the main
purpose for him to dress as a man and realized I’d never asked him.

“Clay, I’m so sorry,” I apologized sincerely.  “I’m being
rude and making assumptions.”  Using a syrupy voice I asked, “Will you look at
the sink?  Please?”  He splashed me over the top of the curtain… again.

“Ok, ok.  I’ll just leave the stuff here on the floor.  If
something doesn’t fit, or you don’t like it, leave the tags on it and we’ll take
it back.  I guessed on the shoes,” I rambled.  “Some of the stuff isn’t for
now, but I figured you could try it on.”  Remembering the missing buttons, I
quickly grabbed the flannel from the pile.  The water turned off just then and
I rushed from the bathroom.

In my room, I pulled out my travel sewing kit and got to
work moving buttons around.  The two spares on the inside seam remained intact. 
With those and a close match I found in the sewing kit, I solved the missing
button problem.  While I sewed, I listened for Clay to leave the bathroom.  By
the time I finished, I still hadn’t heard anything.  Setting the repaired shirt
aside, I got up to look for him.

I found him in the kitchen already looking at the sink.  Head
bent over the faucet, obviously distracted, I took the opportunity to check out
his clothes.  The jeans hung a little loose and the shirt a little tight, but
it looked good.  A little too good.  Looking him over did funny things to my
stomach.  Glad he hadn’t noticed, I moved to the refrigerator and grabbed what
I needed to make him a big breakfast: Eggs, bacon, potatoes, and yes, orange
juice... from concentrate.

While I washed the potatoes under the pathetic trickle of
water, he ran down to the basement.  I noticed he still had bare feet.

“The shoes didn’t fit?” I asked when he got back.  I moved to
the table to peel the potatoes and stay out of his way.

He shrugged in response.

“So they fit, but you didn’t want to wear them?” I guessed.

No response.  He continued to tinker with the sink.

“Did you like them, or should we bring them back?  I wasn’t
sure what style you liked.  There were several different colors.  They’re cheap
shoes, but I figured it was better than walking around barefoot in the snow. 
That’s got to be cold even for you.”

Halfway through my one-sided conversation, he’d turned to
look at me.  I knew I’d rambled a little… again, but I didn’t want him to think
we had the keep the shoes.  If he didn’t like them, it didn’t hurt my feelings.

“It’s okay if we take them back,” I reassured him, hoping his
look wasn’t because I’d just referred to him still living here in winter.  I had
really grown used to having him around.  Kind of.  “Just wear the flip flops for
now and you can come in with me next time and pick out what you like.”  It would
be nice to have a guy along to discourage other men.

I got up from the table and put some butter in the pan on
the stove.  Turning for the potatoes I’d cubed, I saw him sitting on a chair at
the table.  With his socks already on, he bent forward to slide his feet into
the shoes.

“No, no, no, Clay,” I hurried over and reached out almost
touching his back before pulling my hand away.  “I wasn’t saying you had to
wear them.”  He continued to tie the shoes.  “It’s okay to bring them back if
you don’t like them.”  The plain knockoffs of a grey and blue running shoe had
colors muted enough that I’d thought they’d look okay with whatever he wore in
the future.

When he finished tying, he stood and looked down at his
feet.  I could see him wriggle his toes through the canvas and mesh tops.  The
length seemed to fit well enough.  The loose lacing told me they ran a little
snug in the width.  Moving past me, he walked to the sink and then back trying
out the shoes.  His expression, what little I could see of it, appeared relaxed
as did his stride.

“You like shoes,” I guessed, “but you don’t wear them much,
do you...”

He answered with his typical passive shrug, heading back to
the sink.

The sizzle of the potatoes called me back to my cooking and
I got another pan out to start the bacon.  He used the tools he’d brought up
from the basement to try to fix the sink while I cooked.  The sound of water running
at full pressure heralded breakfast.

“Good to have a handyman,” I commented while I set our
plates on the table.

When first staying with Sam, he’d amazed me with the amount
of food he’d consumed on a daily basis.  He’d explained that the werewolf’s
metabolism ran a bit higher than the average person's did.  So, I’d made enough
breakfast for three and only served myself one portion, leaving the rest
mounded on Clay’s plate.

He cleaned up the tools and disappeared downstairs.  I
wondered if he would come back in his fur and eyed the plate I’d set on the
table for him.  We had eaten together before but always with him in his fur. 
Before I could stop it, an image of him trying to use a fork for the first time
popped into my head.  Quickly squashing it, I sat down to wait for him in
whatever form he chose.  I would not underestimate him again.  Nor would I
thoughtlessly remark on his table manners no matter how poor they might be.

The soft tread on the stairs warned me that he remained a
man.  He sat across from me and dug in.  He didn’t eat like Clay-the-dog, or
use his hands, but had perfectly normal table manners.  He even used his paper
napkin, though his beard did shred it in his efforts to keep himself neat.

“What are the chances of trimming that beard?”

He calmly used his napkin while he finished chewing and then
flashed me a full view of his teeth.  His canines remained completely elongated
as if he still wore his fur.  I froze briefly, fork suspended midair, and then
gave myself a mental shake.  The view scared me, but I reminded myself of Sam’s
words.  I had nothing to fear.

“Do they stay like that all the time?” I wondered.

He didn’t answer but continued to eat, clearing his plate.  Curious,
I continued to watch him hoping he’d give me some type of answer.  When he
finished, he moved to the sink to wash.  I didn’t want to give up.  Not bothering
to finish my own breakfast, I followed him, leaning against the counter so I
could study the little bit of his face I could see.