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“You don’t have to do that.”
“You don’t know the way I was raised,” he said, jumping out
before she could object. He grabbed the bags and ran them to her
porch. By the time he set them down and began to shake off, Katie
was hurrying toward him, the umbrella Alex had lent her clutched
in her hands.
“Thanks,” she called out over the noise of the downpour.
When she offered him the umbrella, he shook his head. “Keep it
for a while. Or forever. It doesn’t matter. If you walk a lot around
here, you’re going to need it.”
“I can pay you—” she began.
“Don’t worry about it.”
“But this is from the store.”
“It’s okay,” he said. “Really. But if you don’t think you should,
then just settle up the next time you’re in the store, okay?”
“Alex, really—”
He didn’t let her finish. “You’re a good customer, and I like to
help my customers.”
It took a moment for her to answer. “Thank you,” she finally said,
her eyes, now dark green, fixed on his. “And thanks for driving
me home.”
He tipped his head. “Anytime.”
What to do with the kids: it was the endless, sometimes
unanswerable question he faced on weekends, and as usual, he
had absolutely no idea.
With the storm in full fury and showing no signs of letting up,
doing anything outside was out of the question. He could take