Greg worked tirelessly the rest of the night. He vacuumed the entire length of pristine carpet. He dusted. He cleaned the windows (the ones not splintered by bullets). The next task would be to hire a crew to install a brand new sheet of glass. It occurred to him that both the carpet and the window replacement would both be tax deductible, as a business expense.
    He was sweating and depleted when 9pm rolled around, but never felt stronger. He had a business see to, an angel of a woman that wanted him, and a son he was ready to reunite with. His whole life had built up to this very second. Tomorrow was endless. Today was his.
    Rebecca texted him twice the next morning. 'Kiss the Cook' was the digital communication. The second was a picture message, but Greg could not open it because of his phone's data plan, or lack thereof to be more precise. In the sex-deprived hemispheres of his mind, Greg entertained the notion she had sent him a naughty picture. The fantasy would not leave his mind until he again resorted to some self-love before their cookout date. Once Greg got the poison out, he felt sufficient to operate normally, without a crazed  sexdrive propelling him.
    Greg broke out the first pair of shorts he had worn in God knows how long. The first pair he tried needed to be tossed in the trash. They wouldn't even zip up, just surrendered with a hald-crooked grin of teeth below his gargantuan abdomen.
He wore a pair of crock sandals that were brand new, never worn. It wasn't just Greg's store that was getting a makeover. His entire wardrobe was coming out of hiding. He carefully removed any tags. Spritz of cologne. Combing his remaining hair. Deodarant. Extra deodorant. He was prepared to see his lady in waiting.
    Greg was glad he had the Toyota to pull up in as Rebecca's sister looked on.  David, Amy's husband sat beside her on a picnic table positioned beneath the willow tree. Greg felt his presense was known further when he activated the car alarm. The headlights winked at Greg, assuring him it would be safe. The day was beautiful. The sight of the willow tree swaying its branches was tranquil. Greg opened the front gate and waved to the married couple as he approached.
"Hello Greg," Amy says.
"Hey, Amy, how're you?"
"Not too bad. This is my Husband David."
    David certainly looked to fill the masculine role. His obvious farmers tan is the first thing that stuck out to Greg. David wore an orange sleeveless top stretched around his solid frame. His hands and forearms were tanned a deep golden brown, while his tan-lines were pasty white where a shirt was covered most of the time. Davids eyes reposition behind his dark sunglasses. David extends his hand and Greg shakes it heartily.
    "So this is the hero?" David says, throwing up his hands and smiling broadly.
"You said it, not me," Greg says, "I think I was just at the right place at the right time."
"Don't be modest, Greg," Amy suggests, "Me and David here came right down and stayed with Rebecca right after it all happened. Rebecca told us everything you did. Even she called you a hero. She said 'He was hurt so bad, I wanted to help him but I couldn't, after all he went through.'"
    Amy wipes her eye. David shakes his head in gest.
"C'mon, get it together, would ya?" David  says spuriously, "He's not even inside yet, and you're going all cry-baby on him."
"It's okay, I'm used to it by now, that's how she greeted me the first time" Greg says, sitting on the bench. To his discomfort, the table's joints creaks audibly.
"Emotions, Gag!! Lemme tell you, Greg," David says, pointing a finger with a wisecracking grin, "These Drake women are fun to joke around with. They're cool like that, unlike lotsa girls, but when they get mad, watch out, boy!!"
    "He hasn't been around Rebecca long enough to see her temper yet," Amy says, as if David and Amy are sharing a secret, "They just went out on their first date. But he'll learn."
    Greg laughs, attempting to dodge this mud-slinging. Greg got a sense of their intermingling humor by hanging out around Rebecca.
"In all seriousness though," David says, waving his arms in a wide arc, "I'm really glad that you helped out my sister-in law, and my niece-in-law, or whatever Julie is to me, I can't keep track. Thank you, Greg."
"Don't mention it, dude," Greg says diffidently.
    David has been waving a waterbottle around the whole time he's been speaking. He drains the swishing contents and smacks the table with the empty container on the wood like it was a gavel.
    "Now that's outta the way, what's say we eat?" David announces.
A thin smoke is drifting with the breeze from the north east corner of the lawn. Greg cactihes whiff of charcoal briquettes and smoldering meat. His mouth begins to water.
"Where's Rebecca?" Greg asks.
"She's over by the grill, go talk to her," David says, motioning with the waterbottle towards the source of the smoke.
    Greg stands.
"Before you go, Greg, can you help me move this table?" David asks politely, "These willow branches keep smacking me in the face. You're pretty tall, Greg so they'll be botherin' you too in a minute."
    Amy scoots off and the two men drag the table out into the sun, away from the searching tree. David brushes his hands together, pattering away pretend dust.
"My job here is done," David says quietly.
"If only you showed this much initiative at home." Amy nags. Greg leaves the two to iron out their power struggle.
    Rebecca stands with her back to the group. She has on a leisurely pair of cut-off jean shorts. Her measurements must have been quite limited when she made them, because the pockets of the jeans come down lower than the frayed edges. Julie is passed out in her stroller, head rolled back in tiredness. Rebecca looks to be dancing to her own tune, one hip cocked to an angle, and rocking back in forth in a steady beat.
    Greg's new favorite game was guessing if she had a bra on or not whenever she wore a new outfit. As Rebecca tipped open the lid of the grill, Greg could see sideways through the portion of her tank top. He viewed the side of her breast, covered in a black bra, ending the intrigue. Upon meeting the burst of oxygen, the grill hissed and spat flames like an unruly demon. Rebecca flipped one piece of meat after another. Hot dogs, bratwurst, shrimp kabobs, and a huge prime T-bone steak. After flipping the overabundance of food, she carefully sprinkled flavored spices over a few choice pieces. she took greatest care on the steak, pressing it flat against the tinfoil with her spatula.
    Her seasoning task finished, Rebecca closed the lid and turned around. She gasped in surprise at Greg standing close behind. her hands shot up, and the spatula was loose. It twirled into the air, end over end, until it whapped Greg in the chest. His white polo shirt is smeared with bits of charcoal and hot grease. Greg hisses as the grease soaks through, burning him. He grabs his shirt and holds it away from his chest.
"OH!!" Rebbecca says, startled, "I'm so sorry!! you scared the crap outta me!!"
"I have that effect on women," Greg says funnily, still holding his dirtied shirt.
"Are you burned?!?!" Rebecca asks shrilly, "I didn't mean to, I'm such a spaz!!"
"I'll be fine,"
    She bends over to reach into a huge red cooler and Greg has time once again to appreciate her ass. she digs out a chunk of cubes melded together and begins to rub on the offending stain. She only succeeds in making his shirt damp as well as dirty. Greg can actually see the spaced imprint from the spatula's design in the black shape.
    "I said it's fine," Greg assures, "If it doesn't bother you, it doesn't bother me. Give me a smooch to make it better."
    She fulfills his request, smacking his lips wetly with her own.
"Did you get my text?" rebecca asks with anticipation.
"Yeah, but I don't have data with my phone plan," Greg says, "I wasn't able to get the picture message to download."
    "I'll show you on my phone, c'mon," rebecca says, taking his hand. She leads him back to the picnic table.
"So, you can get texts, but you can't send them?" Rebecca asks over her shoulder.
"Right."
"HuhDo you need a new cell? I have an old internet phone you can have if you want. That way, you don't have to change plans, but can get email from a wireless hot spot."
"Maybe." Greg says, amazed she is willing to give yet another gift. Her hand-me-downs were better than Greg's newer possessions.
    Rebecca grabs her phone from the surface of the table.
"Oh, shit," she says, "Greg, can you please push Julie over here, away from the grill? thank you, honey."
    Greg does as he is asked. The stroller has a bumpy ride through the yard and Julie awakes from her noon nap. She looks up with comic surprise to see Greg is the one pushing her. Her shock quickly turns to clammed-up restraint. Julie might be feeling tight-lipped this day. The fact there are so many people here at once may make her more reserved than normal.
    As Greg eases Julie up beside the table, Rebecca holds out her phone to him. Greg squints, shielding the screen from the suns rays, in order to see it better.  The picture of course was not something filthy, like Greg had pretended earlier. It was a photo of Rebecca holding up Julie, who wore a puffy white chef's hat atop her head. Julie also wields a wooden spoon, but it looks to be tipping as the picture was taken. It is little more than a blurry mess of brownish pixels, and most likely fell to the floor after it was snapped. Rebeca's arm trails off from the edge of the screen. She is holding the phone while taking the picture, like most people who take pics on a social network site.
    "That's hilarious!!" Greg says with an ear-to-ear grin. It was actually only mildly amusing, but guys will eternally laugh at hot girls jokes and antics, even if they are boring.
"It took forever to get just that one snapshot. Julie wouldn't sit still." Rebecca says, stuffing her smart device into one of her thin pockets. For a moment, Greg envied the phone.
    Greg was glad to have company on such a lovely day. The weather couldn't be better, and Rebecca kept him stocked with beers throughout the day. When it came time to eat, Greg was already three sheets to the wind. He wasn't falling-down drunk, but everything was toned down, and ay okay with him. It turns out the T-Bone was for Greg alone. Rebecca slapped it down in front of him and said bon appetite. Her cooking was exquisite. The steak was cooked mid-well, with just enough pink to make it burst with flavor. Rebecca gave him free reign on a choice steak sauce brand he had never even heard of before. A1 was the fanciest sauce Greg had acquaintance with.
    Greg felt like a hog after devouring the steak. He wanted more. Rebecca placed more food before him without any prompting. The brats went down easy. The shrimp were delicious morsels. David ate even more than Greg, but he looked like the calories would be burnt up like wood in a furnace, lickety split. Not a single shred of food was left. Even julie ate up all her bits of cut up hotdog.

LINK TO PART 51:http://www.ebaumsworld.com/blogs/view/82437028/