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“And peppers that could curl your tail!” The girls belt out together with smiles so big it makes me laugh.
Avery picks up her burger so fast a gooey rope of cheese slides right off it. “Did we get it right, Daddy? What Mr. Larkin always says?”
Grady gives them a nod before turning back to me. “Yep. He’s damn near given the Mack burger its latest marketing pitch.”
Grady takes a massive encouraging bite of his burger, smacking his lips with a smile.
“Don’t be scared to get messy,” he tells me. “That’s the way we roll in this town.”
I hoist up my own hefty burger, my brows lifting at the weight in my hand.
“When in Rome...” My final words before I open my mouth wide for a great big bite of what might be the best hamburger on Earth.
Holy crap.
My mouth zings with greasy flavor, fat, salt, and just the right kick. My knees buckle and my legs shift out under the seat, accidentally bumping Grady’s leg.
“Whoa. Whoa. That’s like...” I barely remember to keep my mouth closed to chew.
“Yeah,” Grady echoes. “Baby, I know.”
I’m not even sure if it’s the orgasm between two buns anymore or the fire in his eyes and riptide smile.
I just know I’m melting into the booth with shameful delight and he’s enjoying every flipping second, those honey-dark eyes dancing over me.
Heat darts up my spine when I imagine what he’s thinking, raking those eyes across my skin, a hunger on his face that’s deeper than hella good diner fare.
Thank Heaven for the girls.
They keep our eyes apart, safely abstinent, and the chatty, laughing twins are just as charming as their father. Right now, they’re engaged in a very civil debate about the merits of chocolate verses strawberry shakes.
“Girls, you want this settled tonight, I think we’d better take a vote,” Grady says, smiling down at them both as he chews his dinner. “You know me, I’m votin’ strawberry. Nothing like having fresh fruit to go with a mess of ice cream and sugar. I like when my sweets come out of the ground.”
I can’t help snickering, which attracts their attention.
“You want to weigh in on this, Willow Wisp?” he asks, his eyes positively charged as his lips find his straw. “Chocolate or strawberry?”
My jaw is in my lap.
I don’t even know where to begin with that Willow Wisp thing, much less his totally big snarly dad logic with food.
Oh my God.
He’s such a dude.
Such a dad.
“As a matter of fact,” I start, folding my arms and turning my face up. “There’s a strong case for chocolate if you’re basing your argument on what’s natural. Ever seen a cacao tree before?”
Big daddy snorts and shakes his head. The girls stare at me in awe.
“It’s true! I saw plenty in Africa, and they’re always magnificent. They don’t call it Theobroma cacao for nothing, you know,” I say, holding a hand to my mouth so I can whisper to the kids. “That’s science-speak for food of the gods, ladies. Keep it between us. No big strawberry-loving lunks allowed.”
“I heard that,” Grady says with a barely concealed chuckle. “Enough with closing arguments. Let’s vote. Everybody convinced by Miss Fancy Schmancy Scientist and her cacao, raise your hands.”
Mine goes up first.
Then two more little hands join me.
Boom.
It’s three-to-one with a very adorable grump accepting his loss like a gentleman.
“You ladies have it,” he says. “Chocolate it is. I’ll be damned if I’m not gonna suck down every last drop of this thick strawberry ambrosia, though.”
A giggle bursts out of me again, totally noticing how he tries to throw the ambrosia word back in my face.
Guess I’m not the only one at this table who can dredge up ten-dollar words.
“Willow, you’ve been to Africa?” Sawyer asks between bites of her fries, still awed by my very presence.
“I sure have, sweet girl. Lots of times...”
So begins a new rapid-fire conversation with the girls.
I tell them about the big parks with their roaring waterfalls, the wild flights on burping planes that always landed hard on rainy airstrips tucked in lush jungle, the unholy swarms of mosquitoes in the interior, and the endless visits with the friendly, big-hearted people we’d meet from Nairobi to Kinshasa to Port Elizabeth.
Grady’s phone goes off while I’m answering another hundred and one questions.
The way he frowns and then tucks his phone back into his pocket pretty fast makes me think it might be a message from Faulk, or someone else involved in cleaning up my mess.
Later, Grady picks up our tab, and as we climb out of the booth, he presses his face so close I can feel his whisper on my neck. “Hold tight. I’ll tell you the latest when we get home.”
“Faulkner?” I mouth back.
He gives me a knowing look and barely-there nod.
My insides tighten, but I try not to panic. The girls make that a little easier on the ride back, hammering me with their bottomless appetite for more adventure stories.
