Feels like Home (Lake Fisher 2)

“Oh.” I dab a dash of perfume to my wrists and turn to leave the room. “Well, never mind—”

Eli grabs my hand, stopping my exit. He lifts my wrist up to his nose and takes a deep breath. The hairs on my arms stand up, and I stiffen my back, preparing to flee. “I love the smell of that perfume,” he says. “I’ve missed it.”

I jerk my arm back out of his grasp and take a step away from him. Then another. Because it feels safer the farther I get from him.

“I wear it every day, Eli,” I toss back at him, and I turn away to put on my earrings in front of the mirror.

“You normally don’t get close enough to me that I can smell it,” he admits. “I like it.” He shrugs sheepishly. “That’s all I’m saying.”

“Well, don’t get too used to it,” I reply tartly. “This thing we’re doing is over in a few days, after all.”

He bites his lips together tightly and nods. “Okay, Bess,” he says, his voice soft.

I walk out to find Aaron standing still right outside our bedroom door. He freezes and so do I. “Are you seriously being a creepy creeper right now?”

“Guilty,” he chirps.

“Hear anything juicy?”

He grins. “He likes your perfume.”

“So?” I prompt.

“Nothing else, Bess. He just likes your perfume. I think it’s sweet.”

“It’s not sweet,” I counter. “It’s weird.”

“Why is it weird?”

“It just is.”

His teasing grin turns into an intense stare. “It only is if you want it to be.”

“Are you ready to go?” I ask, more than a little flustered.

“Hey, Eli!” Aaron calls out.

Eli sticks his head out of the bedroom. “Hey, Aaron!” he yells back.

Aaron grins. “Sam is in the kitchen with the cat, Miles is at my cabin with Gabby, and Kerry-Anne is up at the big house with Trixie and Katie.”

“So I only have to keep one of them alive.” He claps his hands together. “I so got this.” He turns to talk to Sam. “What are we doing today?”

“Can we go fishing?”

“Of course we can. Go get your pole.”

She gives the kitten a kiss and a pat, and then she runs out the front door. Eli, fully dressed now, follows her out the door. “I still can’t get used to that,” I say to Aaron. “How did you talk him into it?”

Aaron says the words very slowly and enunciates them clearly. “I asked him very nicely. You should try it sometime.” He glares playfully at me.

I roll my eyes at him and start for the car. He follows. I walk to the driver’s side door, but he says “Nuh-uh” as he shakes his head. “I might have to tolerate your driving on the way home, but not on the way there. No way, no how.”

“Fine,” I say with a mock pout.

In the car, he turns the satellite radio to a nineties station, and he turns it up when “This is How We Do It” starts to play. He sings along with the radio, song after song, knowing all the lyrics no matter what they play next. I can’t help but laugh at his antics all the way to the clinic.

They take him in quickly, just like last time, and the nurse takes his vitals, brings him a cup of pills, and hooks up his port. Then he sits back and stares at me.