After a moment, Larry stood and stretched. “Well, I need more cheese to go with this wine. Y’all play nice.”
Mac glared at her cousin like she’d been stabbed in the back, but I would take this opportunity and thank Laramie Burke in my prayers tonight.
Sliding onto the bench seat opposite, I placed the wine bottle on the table and was careful not to stick my elbows into any leftover paint or my foot in my mouth.
Gray eyes flicked to mine, and Mac’s frown deepened. “Are you just going to sit there and watch me?”
I smiled. She was so defensive. This would be a good time to move forward with the plan. I’d just complimented her pumpkin. I could do this. Ease her into normal interactions. Shoulder Angel Abby practically shouted for me to talk about the weather.
But before I could remark on our mild October thus far, Mac said, with her attention still on her squash, “I see you finally shaved that sad excuse for a mustache off your face.”
My natural inclination was to take offense and sling a zinger back in her direction, but then I thought about the last time she’d brought up my mustache. Two weeks ago, in the front seat of my truck, telling me it tickled.
Instead of returning her insult with one of my own, I raised my eyebrows meaningfully.
Realization dawned on her pretty face, and she rolled her eyes heavenward, but I caught her lips twitching as she focused back on her painting. That knowledge had a slow smile growing on my face. I could feel my dimple crinkling in my right cheek, knowing I’d scored a point. Another little reminder that said,It happened. We did that. And you fucking loved it.
A moment later, she reached for something at her side and tossed it over to me without a word. I caught the pack of Tic Tacs neatly against my chest.
“Thank you,” I said genuinely.
“You’re welcome.” Her reply was prim. She was still attempting to keep her attention on her work. But I saw the cracks sneaking through. The way her eyes peeked over at me, how stiffly she held herself—straight-backed and so very aware. I wanted to pump a fist into the air.
However, my goal—for once—was not to rile Mac up. I didn’t want her on edge. I wanted her at ease with me, comfortable in a way we’d rarely ever managed. Except when she’d had her tongue in my mouth and her fingers fisted in my clothes.
I reached one long arm forward and placed the candy back on the table in front of her. I made sure my tone was easy and affable, then said, “Yeah, I thought it was time to let the mustache go.”
“Oh yeah?” she murmured.
“Yeah.” I stretched out my legs and deliberately bumped her foot beneath the table. She stiffened momentarily but didn’t move her boots. “I give good face. Seemed a shame to cover it up.”
“Mostlycover it up,” she countered, grin wicked and eyes sparkling. “In patches. Unevenly.”
I shrugged, wearing a smug smile of my own. “Gotta give the ladies what they want.”
Mac snorted. “The ladies, huh? I’m trying to recall the last time I saw you out with anyone, and I’m drawing a blank.”
I considered that, feeling my chest heat beneath my flannel in embarrassment. Ithadbeen a while since I’d dated anyone. But I didn’t want to dwell on that because, as I stared at Mac, I realized the reason was more than likely sitting directly across from me.
Suddenly uncomfortable and self-conscious, I wiped my sweaty palms down the length of my thighs and said with little forethought, “Well, some people get around more than others.”
Mac froze, her paintbrush hovering in midair as she turned her glacial gray eyes my way. “Are you calling me easy?”
“What? No,” I replied quickly. I hadn’t meant it that way. I’d been flustered at the realization and embarrassed that I didn’t have a clever answer for her regarding my sparse dating history as of late. So I’d spouted off the first thing I could think of. And, okay, yes. Replaying it in my head, I saw how my statement could easily be misconstrued as judgmental. But I hadn’t been intentionally implying anything about Mac’s dating life. Especially after what she’d confessed about David the dentist when she was drunk. I wouldn’t do that. Not ever again.
“That’s not what I meant,” I said honestly, frustration pinching my features. I straightened on the bench, drawing my legs back to my own side.
But Mac didn’t look like she believed me.
This was getting out of hand. I didn’t want her to be angry with me—not in a way that touched on real insecurities. I needed to get us back on solid ground, not in this avalanche of misunderstanding. And I knew how to do that. I’d been doing it my whole life.
Operation Nice Guy was probably in the fail column for the night, but that was okay. I’d rather argue and bicker in a way that was comfortable and known to usthan have Mac think I was insulting her as a living, breathing, dating woman in the twenty-first century.
So I put a smirk on my face and said, “Although, I do find it interesting that you’ve been keeping such close tabs on my love life.”
“That is not—I could care less who you do or do not date.”
I leaned forward. “It’scouldn’t care less.” I emphasized the final three words.
