Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 116708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 584(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 584(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
I stood there for a beat, but he didn’t slide over so that we could share the same side of the booth again. A pang of disappointment hit me as I slid in across from him. Then he went to work opening the dishes and passing out the duck sauce he knew I couldn’t resist.
“Just so you know, I feel worse knowing some poor delivery kid got stiffed because of me.”
His shoulder raised slightly. “That might have been a lie. I tipped him just fine.”
I teasingly gasped. “A lie? Now I can’t believe anything you say. Was there even a coupon or did you”—I clutched my invisible pearls—“pay full price?”
He snapped his fingers and pointed at me. “See, I knew you were going to say that.” Digging into his back pocket, he retrieved a paper and then unfolded it. “So I brought the doorhanger they left last week as proof.” He pointed to the square missing amongst various other coupons. “No money spent on you, I swear.”
I turned, the vinyl of the booth squeaking as I looked to where he had dropped the stack of papers. “Okay, what about the newspapers?”
“They’ve been in my garage so long I’m scared to actually look at the date. This isn’t a man trying to rescue you with a fist full of dollar bills. Just a man who took the day off and needed some lunch. I figured, what better place to have lunch than across from you?”
I fought the urge to once again remind him that I didn’t need his help. But what would have been the point? Walking a fine line, he’d done as I’d asked and not spent any money. Worst case, I’d owe him less than twenty bucks. I didn’t like the idea of being in debt to him at all, but whether I understood it or not, I did like the idea of spending time with him.
“Fine,” I relented. “But I’m going to need you to share some of that sesame chicken with me.”
His neck snapped back, confusion furrowing his brow. “Well, now I’m the one convinced we’re in an alternate universe. Since when do you eat meat?”
I chuckled, snagging a piece of the sticky meat with my chopsticks and waving it in the air. “Since Dylan dragged me to a steakhouse for her birthday right after I had Nate. My hormones were crazy and I swear I must have been anemic or something because one look at her medium-rare steak was all it took for me to send my house salad back in exchange for a T-bone.”
I popped the chicken into my mouth, my eyes fluttering shut as I moaned, “God, I forgot how good their food is.”
After what could be considered an inappropriate amount of pleasure from a single piece of chicken, I opened my eyes to see what was definitely an inappropriate amount of pleasure staring back at me. Truett’s eyes were zeroed in on my mouth.
My cheeks heating, I let my tongue dart out to moisten my lips, not letting the way his nostrils flared escape my attention. “Ahem.” I cleared my throat, trying to find something to say, anything to ease the burn that was starting to bloom in my chest. Switching to a fork, I stabbed a broccoli stalk from my bowl. “I do still love veggies though.”
“Nate, huh? You named him after Nathanial?” His smoldering grin morphed into one that was soft, sweet, and damn if that wasn’t sexy too.
Most notably, Truett had said his name and managed to keep the color in his face all at the same time.
I chewed quickly, hurrying to answer him before he shut down. “Yes and no. I went with Nathan. I didn’t want him to ever feel like he was born with shoes to fill, but we call him Nate for short.” I swallowed hard, searching his face for any trace of pain that told me I should change the subject to something easier, lighter, like, I don’t know, capybaras or facts on otters holding hands. But there was nothing to be found other than love and a hint of nostalgia.
“I like it. He would too.” He cleared his throat, wiping his mouth with a cheap napkin, and then said, “He was the dark-haired boy that day I first ran into you, right?”
“Yep. The spitball king belongs to me.”
He chuckled. “Any of the other two kids yours?”
“God, no. Those other hellions belong to my two best friends, Angela and Dylan.” I grinned. “Don’t get me wrong. I love those monsters like they’re my own, but the three of them together is chaos.” Nerves fluttered in my stomach as I found the courage to ask, “What about you? Kids?”
He glanced down at his lap and patted a lump of keys in his pocket. “Just the one for me.”