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I shake my head. “I got it. Okay if we eat at the table?”
“I’d love that, yeah. Show me where the silverware is?—”
But I’ve already got it in my hands, along with our plates and some napkins. I set two places at the table. “Look. Our first date.”
It’s dark outside now, so I can see Jen’s reflection in the windows above the table. She blinks, a funny expression on her face I don’t think I’ve ever seen before. Is she confused? Turned off?
Turned on?
My chest twists. This whole thing is wild. And wrong. But we’re doing it. For Joe. He’s the reason I have all this. The job and the house and the beautiful girl sitting down to a beautiful dinner at my table. Her dogs already waiting beneath it, licking their little chops.
I’ve never actually sat at the table, come to think of it.
Jen lets out a noisy breath. “That happened fast. But I... don’t hate it? Marriage, I mean. If I get wined and dined like this every night by my very thoughtful husband, well...”
“Well what?”
She meets my eyes, the edges of her lush lips curled into a soft grin. “I’d marry you any day, Abel.”
“But what if I snore?” I tease, because if I don’t tease her, I’ll grab her. Kiss the shit out of that smart, soft mouth. “What if I’m addicted to porn?”
“I like porn.”
The silverware lands on the table with athud. “Let’s eat.”
“Aw, now I get it. It’s actually cute.”
“What?”
“How you change the subject when I make you uncomfortable.”
I turn back to the stove but she’s already there, plating the food. “I said I’d do that.”
“I got it.”
Putting one hand on my hip, I tug the other over my face. “Can I pour you a glass of wine? I have that rosé in the fridge.”
“I’m good with the margarita.” Jen saunters over to the table and sets down our plates. “Dinner is served.”
I don’t want to be rude and end our conversation. But Ialso don’t want to pounce on my best friend’s baby sister, much less on the first night she’s at my house. Which I feel like is what will happen if we keep talking this way. Openly.
Freely.
I eat quickly. Ask about her work so the conversation stays on the surface. She’s crushing it as a website designer for one of the South’s fastest growing digital creative studios and was recently promoted to head designer.
“Your clients are clearly obsessed with you if that phone call I overheard is any indication,” I say.
Her lips twitch. She lifts her margarita and finishes it, giving the ice a shake. “I’m solid in that respect, but I definitely have more growing to do. Building a solid reputation takes time.”
“We have a lot of that on Bald Head.” There’s a cheesy saying that you’re on turtle time when you’re on the island. But it’s true. Time moves slower here. Life is simpler. “You should hang a shingle here.”
Jen slides the last bite of short rib into her mouth. “You’re not exactly flush with the kind of people I’d need to run my own business. Or reliable internet access.”
“We’re working on the internet.”
“Of course you are. You need it to watch high-definition porn.”
I fuckinghatehow much this woman makes me laugh. “Please,” I manage.
