Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 44474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
Besides, Hudson obviously had his own issues, and I suspected those issues were what made our unlikely “friendship” possible. I was a seasonal sad sack, and Hudson was, well…undetermined.
At the very least, he was a glutton for punishment.
Knock knock.
I opened the door and gulped at the sight of the sexy beast in a cowboy hat who was bearing the usual gift of soup. “I’m not sick anymore,” I announced.
He squinted, tipping his hat as he leaned closer. “Hey, what do you know? You look good.”
I blushed under the scrutiny of Hudson’s shameless once-over. “Thanks.”
“Vicki’s special today is butternut squash with rosemary bread. I had a bowl earlier and man, it’s delicious.”
“Well, okay. I’ll save it for later.” I ushered him inside and took the container as I pointed toward the living room. “You don’t have to stay, but if you do, don’t change the channel.”
This was where he’d politely bow out. He was too much of a gentleman to admit he’d reached his quota and someone else’s of classic game shows, but no…
“Hollywood Squares? I love this show,” Hudson announced, reclaiming his usual spot in the armchair next to the sofa.
We watched an episode of Hollywood Squares circa 1975, chuckling at the blatant innuendo and Paul Lynde’s comedic genius. Family Feud was next. As with every day this week, I figured the first notes of the theme songs would be his cue to bolt, but Hudson grabbed water bottles for both of us, crossed his legs, and settled in for a rip-roarin’ good time of guessing possible answers to questions like “Name a place with reserved seats,” and “Name something you put mustard on.”
“Hot dog,” I shouted at the television. “That’s the only possible response. Oh, and hamburger.”
“Bologna,” Hudson offered.
I wrinkled my nose. “Gross.”
“What’s so gross about bologna?”
“Everything. It’s a substandard lunch meat choice.”
“I know a lunch meat snob when I see one,” he teased.
“Guilty. I’m not a picky eater, but some things are off-limits. Like bologna.”
“Hmm.” He twisted toward me, setting his hat on the coffee table. “What’s your favorite food?”
“A warm poppy seed bagel with plain cream cheese. You?”
“Steak. Porterhouse, medium rare.”
I raised a brow. “How very caveman of you.”
“Guilty.” He waggled his eyebrows. It wasn’t particularly humorous, but I giggled. It was such an odd sound that I coughed around it and quickly wracked my brain for another topic to cover my curious behavior.
The first thing that popped to mind was…cheese.
“I’m partial to an English cheddar, and I will never, ever touch blue cheese.”
Hudson scoffed. “You’re nuts. Blue cheese is awesome. In fact, all cheese is awesome.”
I explained all the ways that his argument was subjective. Hudson staunchly disagreed. We were both intrigued by the popularity of charcuterie boards, and neither of us was fond of olives.
“They’re very…”
“Meh,” Hudson finished.
We shared a smile and resumed watching the next episode as the first question dinged on the screen. “Name something engaged couples shop for.”
“Uh…let’s change the channel,” I said, faking a yawn. “Or better yet, you should go. I’m suddenly feeling the effects of the antibiotics and—”
“I’m fine, Moody. And c’mon, if a question on a fifty-year-old game show is gonna make me cry in my beer, I’m in big trouble.”
“Cry in your beer,” I repeated. “Such an odd expression. I wish I knew the origin. It sounds like something attributed to Shakespeare, but it’s certainly a later phrase often used in country songs to evoke—”
“Moody?”
“Got it. Cease chatter. Message received.” I made a button-lip motion and reached for the remote control. “But game show shenanigans get stale after a while. Let’s watch—”
“Leave it. Seriously. I’m not sad, Moody. If anything, I’m the opposite of sad. I’m hopeful about the future, excited for a new opportunity. My life is good,” he replied.
I nodded slowly. “I’m glad. In that case, I’ll go first. I’ve never been engaged, but I imagine a married couple would need a house, china, appliances, rings…”
“And furniture.”
“My imaginary beau and I won’t need much. As long as he’s not opposed to holiday madness in this town, I have everything we could possibly need.”
I flung my arms wide and inhaled deeply. Yes, for the first time in days I could breathe through my nose, and my body didn’t ache. It was glorious. I had a passing thought that I should check in at the store, but Hudson was here, and there was no hurry.
“Have you ever been close to getting married?”
I did a double take, pushing my glasses to the bridge of my nose. “Uh…no. Not at all. I’ve dated a hodgepodge of decidedly uninteresting suitors: a waiter who spoke to his mother thrice a day, an accountant with OCD who split every dinner bill to the penny, and a grad student who wanted to discuss his thesis on soil erosion ad nauseam.”
Hudson snickered. “Fun.”
“Hmph. I tried a dating app two years ago, and my first experience seemed promising. I was paired with a fellow former lawyer who’d started an online consultant firm and—”