“And what about all of the stuff you don’t have a recipe for?” Fletcher asked.
“Well how did you get to the point where you could rattle all those ingredients off for her sandwich just now?” Leo asked.
Fletcher thought about that. “We’ve eaten a lot of sandwiches together.”
Leo grinned. “Exactly. And you paid attention. That’s really all it takes. Time and attention.”
Fletcher felt a thunk in his chest. It might have been hope knocking against his rib cage.
Time and attention. He could give those to Jordan. And yeah, after all, he’d already figured out her favorite sandwich. He could come through with that, rather than having to fall back on ice cream or brownies now that her sandwich needs were his business.
“And you’re still going to forget the tomatoes or accidentally put onions on her sandwiches sometimes,” Naomi’s grandfather said.
“Advice about what to do when I do that?” Fletcher asked.
“That’s what you keep the pint of Coffee Toffee Caramel in the freezer for,” Armand chuckled.
“Metaphorically and literally,” Ellie added as she pushed a to-go container across the bar to Fletcher.
He gave her a smile. “You like his analogy? Sandwiches and relationships?”
Ellie gave Leo an affectionate look. “Makes complete sense to me. And Leo knows what he’s talking about. After all, he’s been with me long enough to know that my favorite sandwich has changed a few times. He’s had to keep up with that too.”
Leo nodded. “And there have been times I’ve introduced her to new sandwiches she didn’t even know she would like.”
Fletcher looked back and forth between his grandparents. “Are we talking about actual sandwiches or metaphorical sandwiches?”
“Yes,” Leo and Ellie said together.
“Got it.” He wasn’t sure he wanted to know about all the metaphorical sandwiches Leo and Ellie had tried together.
“We’re just saying that you should definitely pay attention to what sandwich she wants, but don’t worry too much about getting the mayo wrong because before you know it, she’ll be onto spicy mustard or garlic aioli,” Ellie said.
“Or she might decide tuna salad is damned delicious,” Leo added.
“Right.” Ellie nodded. “Just remember…it’s not the bread that makes a sandwich. The good stuff—the spicy, sweet, creamy, crunchy, interesting stuff—is in the middle. And sometimes, you’ll even find flavors that blend together in new ways you didn’t even think of.”
Wow. When his grandparents went after a metaphor, they really went all in.
“I could do that with desserts, you know,” he felt compelled to point out. “There are a million desserts. Lots of interesting blends of flavor too.”
Ellie waved that away. “Too much dessert can make you sick. Be her sandwich guy.”
Her sandwich guy. With all the good stuff in the middle. Right. Fletcher sighed.
“Okay, I think that’s enough wisdom from my elders for the night.”
Ellie swatted him with the towel she was holding, but she grinned. “Take this. You didn’t eat.”
He picked up the to-go box. See? She’d even noticed he hadn’t eaten. “Is it a sandwich?”
“No, smart ass, it’s red beans and rice and catfish.”
His stomach rumbled. “Thanks.” He leaned over the bar to kiss her cheek.
She patted his. “You’re going to be good at this, Fletcher. She’s a lucky girl to have you full time now and not just when things go sideways.”
He pulled in a breath. “Thanks.”
“Yeah, you’re fine,” Leo agreed. “You’re a Landry. We’ve been wading into gunk and then hosing ourselves off for generations.”
Fletcher chuckled and patted his grandfather on the shoulder. “Good point.” Then he turned to Armand. “Thanks for the advice.” He shook the other man’s hand.
“Anytime. My own grandkids aren’t interested in love so I gotta give all my wisdom and insight to someone.” Armand cast a look in the direction of his grandkids and sighed.
Fletcher turned to go. He was not getting in the midst of anyone else’s love life or lack thereof. He had his own sandwiches to worry about.
Fletcher crept into the house ten minutes later. There were no lights on and the place was completely quiet.
He set his food, keys, and bag on the kitchen table and kicked his shoes off. Then he headed upstairs to check on Jordan.
The bedroom door was shut and he eased it open carefully.
The room was as dark as she could get it, but he could still make out her form in the bed. She was lying facing away from the window, the blankets pulled up over her head.
He felt so fucking helpless. He knew better than to go over to her. Or to speak. If she was asleep, waking her would be cruel. Sleep was the only way for her to get away from the pain.
“Fletcher.”
Her whisper came to him and he felt his heart trip.
“Hey,” he whispered back. “What do you need?”
“Nothing.”
That wasn’t entirely true, of course. She needed the pain to go away.
But that would take time. And medication.
Shit. Did she have her medication here in Autre? She’d left Vegas with only her purse.
He opened his mouth to ask, then snapped it shut. Obviously, she would have taken the medication if she had it. If she didn’t, there wasn’t anything he could do about that anyway.
“I’ll be downstairs,” he finally said softly.
“Okay.”
That was it. She didn’t ask him for anything because there was nothing he could do or give her to make this better.
Fuck. He hated this.
He eased the door shut again and stood outside, staring at the wood.
How long would this last? Should he sleep in there with her? Should he stay away? Would she get up in the night? If so, was there anything he could do then? Anything she would need? Things she’d have in her apartment in Nashville but that he wouldn’t necessarily have available?
That time in college when he’d slept outside her room, she’d been a lot better the next morning. But he hadn’t known when it had started for sure or how the night on the other side of the door had gone. And he’d had to head to his psych class right after dropping her burger off. He’d, of course, taken notes and shared them with her since she hadn’t gone to class that day. At least that had been some help.
What would he do tomorrow? He couldn’t take the day off and go feed the alpacas for her. He had twenty-two third graders to show up for.
Or should he take the day off? How would she be tomorrow?
Fuck.
He headed back down the stairs already knowing what he needed to do.
But he really didn’t want to do it.
Still, he wanted answers even more than he wanted to never ask Jason Young for anything ever.
He had no idea where Jason was or what he might be doing tonight. Was he still in Vegas? On to another city? Back in Nashville?
Fletcher didn’t know and he didn’t fucking care.
Jason actually picked up on the fourth ring. “Fletcher? Is everything okay? How’s Jordan?”