We Have Till Monday

King exhaled a chuckle but made no further comment. “Then use that. But instead of knowing exactly how and when to hit the keys, you turn the knife into an extension of your fingers. Once you can control the knife properly…”

I’d know exactly how far it could go. Understood.

I readjusted my grip on the knife, but I caught the shake of his head in my periphery when I slipped my index finger onto the back of the blade.

“Your finger will go numb after ten minutes,” he told me. “Use your thumb. It’s stronger.”

Fine.

I took a deep breath and did my best to ignore his close proximity.

“You can steer the knife with the heel of your hand.” He gently brushed his thumb against the fleshy part below my little finger. “Your grip will be the tightest between your forefinger and thumb. It makes the knife easier to maneuver.”

If he said so.

Christ, he was close. His chin almost at my shoulder.

“Remember to breathe, Anthony.”

Right.

As I exhaled, I put pressure on the knife and stopped a few millimeters before it went through. And I catalogued the way my arm felt right at that point, then moved the potato just a little bit and sliced again.

It was kinda working. They were nowhere near as good as his results, but it was definitely an improvement.

“You’re doing great,” he murmured.

His praise heated me up, and for a quick second, I wondered what it would be like to have him call me a good boy. Which, just the following second, made me feel like an idiot. I was over forty, for chrissakes. I shoulda grown outta that shit ages ago.

Three potatoes later, I decided I was done for now. Improvement or not, they didn’t look awesome, and I wanted to spare the guests tonight my handiwork.

“You do the rest,” I said quietly.

“All right.”

I felt instantly bereft when he moved away. His last touch was another brush up my back, and a shiver tingled its way down my spine.

My mouth was completely dry, so I drained half my beer.

Chapter 5

Multiplied

Half a minute into “Multiplied,” the music faded except for Sylvia on the organ, and I delivered the drawn-out chorus with only the choir as backup. I heard Matt and Maria, an octave higher than my own singing, and how the crowd went nuts.

Then it was Nicky’s turn to shine. My brother plucked at his guitar as I did my best to seek out faces in the sea of people. Two faces, in particular.

Fitting with a song about surrender, ’cause it was the only thing I felt.

Today was playing out a lot differently than I’d anticipated.

An hour and a half before everyone was due to arrive, we’d finished meal prep. I’d stepped outside to call my motel and say I’d be checking in late, and I’d showered in one of their guest rooms on the first floor.

The ranch had four guest rooms in total, and each one had its own patio door, something I discovered when I walked out there after my shower. It led to the same view, the same deck, the same pool as before, and it was another thing that made me wonder about King’s comment regarding entertaining guests. That many guest rooms and they’d obviously put a lot of thought into comfort. Two chairs and a small table outside each guest room’s patio door too. And I didn’t know if King had set an ashtray on my table or what, but it was there.

Suddenly I was extra thankful I’d been smart enough to bring a gift for King and Camden, because this trip was turning out to be precisely what my soul needed.

The sun was dipping lower over the hills, painting the sky orange and purple.

I hadn’t gotten dressed yet. I’d taken one look at the sky once I was outta the shower, wrapped a towel around my hips, and brought my smokes outside.

I was responding to a text from Nicky when I heard the main patio doors slide open, and King stepped out, dressed and ready for a barbecue. He had to be one of the most beautiful men to walk this earth. Jeans and flannel had been replaced by dark dress pants and a light-blue button-down tailored to his body.

“There you are,” he said. “I’m already regretting gettin’ dressed.”

“I couldn’t help myself,” I responded honestly. “It’s fucking gorgeous out hea’.”

He smiled and came to a stop next to me. “May I?”

He held out two fingers, which meant only one thing. I handed over my smoke, wondering—but never mind. He took a drag from it.

“Don’t tell anyone.” He coughed a little and returned it to me. “Camden and I both quit four years ago.”

Shit. “My bad, I didn’t mean to tempt—”

“It’s fine.” He waved me off and sat down in the other chair. “My sister smokes, so I keep the ashtrays around. And sometimes I sniff her a little bit.”