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“What’s a Jersey girl like you doing over in Manhattan on a Sunday since you skipped out on the family dinner?” He rested a hip on the island.
“Could I have some water, please?”
“Anything else I can bring you, madam?” He bowed before retrieving a bottle.
“Take the jalapeños off a slice before you feed some to Blake.”
He did it without hesitation. Blake fumbled the first piece. It bounced off Patrick’s white shirt before landing on the counter.
“Five second rule?” he asked.
“No. Let him try again.”
This time a piece managed to make it into my son’s mouth. If Patrick was upset about the red stain on his shirt, he didn’t say anything. Who was this man? That shirt had probably cost him a mortgage payment.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Do I have to have a reason for coming over here? It’s not like this island is exclusive to all of you who live on it.”
“You could move over here.”
“No.” He lifted a brow at my swift response. “What’s the point? Nobody over here likes me.”
“Does anybody over there?”
I clamped my lips closed to no avail. Laughter burst out. “Probably not.”
“Your babysitter is over here.”
“I don’t have a babysitter.”
“Seems like I’m taking care of you a lot.”
“Like I haven’t had to you.” I gave him a pointed look.
He shrugged. “You staying the night? I can take Blake with me tomorrow.”
I dropped the crust I was holding. “Why do you do that?”
“What?”
“Act like nothing happened between us?”
“That’s you who does that.”
The air shifted between us.
“You were nice to me the last time I saw you. I was a bitch.”
“The time before that you were nice to me. I was a bitch,” he countered. “But that’s not what I was referring to.”
My stomach bottomed out. “Don’t go there.”
“I want to.”
“I don’t.”
“Too bad.”
