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Just then, someone pounds on the door, and my heart nearly leaps into my throat. I yelp with the sudden shock of it and turn toward the door.
“You expecting someone?” Starla asks, confused.
I shake my head, a frown furrowing my eyebrows as Gabriel moves toward the door. For a split second, as he opens the door, a flash of anxiety courses through me. And then I catch sight of Dallas’s familiar face. I release a breath caught somewhere in my throat as my shoulders slump forward in relief.
“Sorry to bug you, man. I know it’s your day off. But we just got back with the shipment and….” His voice trails off as his eyes flick toward me before landing on Starla by my side. “Hey,” he says, his tone shifting to surprise. “I didn’t know you were going to be in town.”
“Surprise?” she says, holding her hands up in an exaggerated shrug.
I can feel the tension between them for only a moment, and then Gabriel snaps in Dally’s face.
“You came here for a reason, remember?” he presses, his voice all business.
I glance toward Starla, who blushes profusely as she glances toward the floor. Back when I was in the hospital, I tried to really dig in and see what was going on between the two. She adamantly insisted I was blowing it out of proportion, that she and Dally are just friends. But from the way he just looked at her and the emotion on her face right now, I know that can’t be true. Maybe nothing’shappenedbetween them, but whatever this is, it’snotnothing.
“Right, right,” Dallas says, refocusing his attention on Gabriel. “Can we chat somewhere for a moment?”
“Sure,” Gabriel agrees, opening the door wide and ushering him inside.
Gabriel takes him down the hall, most likely to the nursery, which by now, is brimming with baby essentials and far too many adorable baby clothes I haven't been able to resist. I had to put myself on a bit of a budget a few months ago when I realized I was dangerously close to spending half my paycheck at the adorable little Tots and Things shop down the street from Honey Bee’s.
As the boys disappear down the hall, I turn my gaze pointedly toward Starla. When she dares to look at me, her expression is feigned innocence.
“What?” she asks lightly, busying herself with finding a drink in the fridge.
I shake my head and turn to open the kitchen cabinet, extracting another plate from its shelf. Without a word, I set a fourth place at the dinner table. Starla watches me without a word, probably too afraid to ask questions in case I return them with questions of my own.
When the boys finally emerge once more, I smile sweetly. “Everything all right?” I ask.
“No problems, Mrs. Martinez,” he says. The boys have been relentless about calling me by my married name, making it a point to address me formally every time they see me.
Normally, I scold them, but this time, I have bigger plans in mind. “Why don’t you stay for dinner then? Unless you have to rush off….”
Surprise registers on Dallas’s face, and his eyes flick toward Starla momentarily, but she seems thoroughly preoccupied with the beer pressed to her lips. His head turns toward Gabriel.
“I wouldn’t want to impose…” he says hesitantly. Poor confused boy. He’s looking to Gabe for some form of guidance, but my husband is clearly out of the loop.
“You’re always welcome,” Gabriel says, clapping him on the shoulder. “As long as you don’t eat my share of the food.”
Dallas laughs lightly and turns to me. “I have no plans. Dinner would be great. Thanks.”
“My pleasure. You boys grab yourselves a drink.”
The timer buzzes not five minutes later, informing me the eggplant parmesan should be done. I turn off the oven, stooping to retrieve the casserole dish from the metal grates. An involuntary groan escapes me as pressure constricts my bladder. These days, it feels like I have to pee every three minutes. Perhaps Starla’s right. I may need to concede bending over for the oven, at least until the baby is born.
Bringing the steaming tray to the table, I set it on the doily waiting there. We all settle into our places at the table, and everyone serves themselves a generous portion of the food.
“Gabriel, will you put the rest back in the oven? It can stay warm there in case anyone wants seconds,” I say. Generally, that would be Gabe. No matter how much I cook, that man never fails to amaze me with how much of my food he can eat. And still, he hasn’t gained an ounce of fat.
Gabe rises from his chair to do as I say, returning a moment later to his plate.
“This looks amazing,” Starla says. “This is amazing,” she adds around her first mouthful of food.
Gabriel and Dallas grunt their agreement. The table falls silent for a minute as we eat, and I love the quiet sound of forks scraping plates. Starla once told me that the sign of a good meal is how little talk there is, and right now, I would say I did pretty darn well.
Finally, as the food dwindles and everyone starts to slow, conversation resumes.
“How’s Blackmoor these days?” Dallas asks Starla, his blue eyes lingering on her face.
