The room was dusty, as if nobody had been in there for a while. They probably hadn’t. Percy wasn’t exactly a social butterfly, having company on any kind of regular basis. If ever. Had anybody been in here since Janie passed two years ago? Maybe a housekeeper to dust once in a blue moon, but certainly the remaining family—all his late wife’s side—had all gone back to their lives, as if the moment she’d died, Percy had been excommunicated and no longer deserved their consideration.
Assholes.
Ryan dug out his Dopp kit and laid out his toiletries on the bathroom counter in a neat grid before turning on the water. As he stepped beneath the spray, he took a long moment to bask in intense gratitude for the solid water pressure and hot spray. Instead of rushing through with the mission-ready efficiency he practiced overseas, he pressed his hands against the tile wall and stood, letting water beat down on him, imagining the layers of grit and grime sluicing off and circling the drain. He wished the invisible film of inhumanity was so easily banished. He believed in the job, believed in the mission, but sometimes—like today when faced with the sweet, basic decency and cheer of Elf Girl—the acute divide between his reality and civilian life reared up to punch him in the gut.
By the time he’d finished the shower and gone after the mountain man beard with scissors and a trimmer until he at least appeared civilized, he wanted nothing more than to fall flat on his face on the full-sized bed. But that wasn’t the mission. He couldn’t just barge in on Percy and turn into an antisocial hermit. Not to mention, there was still the door to finish with. He’d dress and head downstairs to prepare them both a meal. It was the least he could do to make sure they both got fed properly. Maybe he could start a load of laundry to get rid of the last suggestions of homelessness. And he’d see what was what with his uncle.
Percy was back in his chair, watching some cop show when Ryan got downstairs.
“I’m making supper.”
If Percy heard, he didn’t acknowledge. Shrugging, Ryan headed into the kitchen. The mess of dishes on the counter pricked at his military neatness. After he’d loaded what seemed like every glass and mug Percy owned into the dishwasher and started it, Ryan dug through the fridge and pantry. Pickings were slim. Coffee. Powdered creamer. A half dozen eggs. Stale bread. Salsa. A moldy hunk of cheese. A few cans of stuff that had expired in the previous president’s administration. He tossed those and shook his head.
Damn, if this was all Percy had in the house, no wonder he was so thin. What had the guy been eating? Was it a money thing? Did he not know how to fend for himself without his wife to do all the domestic stuff?
Ryan added Trip to market to his running mental list. There ought to be enough cheese to salvage for an omelet.
Percy wandered in as he was dumping the beaten eggs into a skillet. “What’s that?”
“Gonna be dinner. You should start a grocery list. I’ll make a run tomorrow.” He nodded toward a notepad on the counter.
“Could’ve ordered pizza.”
“Is that what you’ve been eating on?” He added a few more items to the list himself.
Percy shuffled over to pour himself a glass of water, then sank into one of the ladder-back chairs at the kitchen table. “Sometimes. Don’t much like cooking.”
“Well, this won’t be like Aunt Janie’s cooking, but I don’t think we’ll starve. Kinda late, but you want coffee?”
“No. How long are you stayin’, son?”
Ryan paused. “You trying to kick me out?”
“Just asking a question.”
“I don’t know. I borrowed a truck from a buddy. It broke down a few miles outside town. The mechanic is supposed to get to it tomorrow, and he’ll let me know how long it’ll be. But I figured so long as I was crashing your hospitality, I could help out around the house.”
Bushy, gray brows drew together. “Help out?”
“I’m no good at sitting still. The Army’s made sure of that. I figure you’ve got some stuff that needs doing—a second set of hands or a younger back or whatever. Thought I’d earn my keep.” Ryan cut the omelet in half and slid each onto a plate.
Percy eyed the food before lifting his gaze back to Ryan’s. “Reckon we can come up with something.”
Well, that was a start. Ryan would take it.
Chapter 3
“You know, I’m not normally a fan of any sort of project that destroys books, but I have to admit, this looks kind of amazing.”
From her position in the front window of Inglenook Books, Hannah smiled over at Reed Campbell, the owner, as she finished adding the last layer of “branches” to the Christmas tree she’d fashioned out of book pages. “Well, it’s certainly not something you’d do with new stock, but giving new life to a book that’s already damaged…yeah, there’s a lot you can do with pages. The print against the white makes for a cool effect. I’ll be making a wreath, too.”
Brenda, the bookstore’s only other employee, wandered over. “Where did you learn how to do all this? Pinterest?”
“There are certainly plenty of ideas there,” Hannah conceded, “but no, I’m actually an interior decorator by training. I’ve got a degree from the Savannah College of Art and Des
ign.”
Her brows drew together in confusion. “And you’re working at the diner?”