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“Harper, stop being difficult. You might as well enjoy your food while it’s still warm,” he says, setting a cup of tea on the desk in front of my chair.
“I have to go feed Snuggles,” I reply lamely, knowing I fed her before I left for the store earlier today. I only pray Latham doesn’t remember, but of course, he does.
“You fed that mangy mutt before you left. She’ll be fine for another fifteen minutes,” he says as he pulls the two Styrofoam containers from the bag, placing one in front of me and the other in front of him. “What is this? It smells amazing.”
“Chicken-fried steak with mashed potatoes and gravy,” I answer, my mouth starting to water.
“Seriously?” he moans as if I just said the best thing ever. “I’ve missed Hazel’s chicken-fried steak so fucking much.” Latham pulls open his container, drops down into his chair, and stares down at the food.
I’m already shoveling my first bite into my face. “Are you going to eat it or make love to it?” I ask, not evening caring that my mouth is full.
“I haven’t decided yet,” he whispers, slowly grabbing his fork and cutting off a piece of meat. He dips it in the mashed potatoes and gravy and shoves the entire piece into his mouth. “Holy shit,” he groans, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. His full lips move, his jaw flexes, as he slowly chews the food. “Best fucking food ever.”
We’re quiet for several minutes as we both eat our food. I can feel his eyes on me, though I don’t look up to confirm. There’s something so…natural and civil to sit here with him, without throwing eye daggers and hateful words. I’m not sure I like it. At least not enough to draw attention to it.
“So,” he starts, closing up his empty container and reaching for his sweet tea, “what have you been up to the last fourteen years?”
“Fourteen years, has it really been that long?” I ask, almost absently, as I close up my own empty container and toss it into the trash.
“It has,” he confirms, kicking his worn boots up on the top of his dad’s desk.
“He’s going to hate that,” I say, referring to the boots.
“I know he will. He’ll notice the dirty scuff marks as soon as he gets in tomorrow morning,” he says with a chuckle.
I sigh, not really wanting to answer his previous question. Not that there was anything wrong with it, but I guess I just don’t have any major accomplishments I can dote on for the next half hour. In fact, my life has been a big blob of nothing for the most part, and for the girl who was voted most likely to achieve everything in high school, I can’t help but feel a little saddened by my lack of, well, anything. “A little of this and that,” I go with casually.
He stares at me, as if reading my inner, private thoughts. “This and that? Didn’t I hear something about modeling?”
I can feel the warmth in my cheeks. “Checking up on me while you were gone, did you, Satan?”
He shrugs. “Mom mentioned it to me. Where’d ya go?”
I clear my throat and take another drink of tea. “New York and a short stint in Paris.” My mind instantly goes right back to that moment in time. A nineteen-year-old naïve girl, alone in the city, with big hopes and dreams.
“What happened?” His voice is deep and rough, as if he can already tell there’s more to this story he won’t like.
I shrug and paste on a small smile. “It just wasn’t for me.”
His eyes pierce mine, dark and demanding, but I don’t give in. I never talk about that time in my life, and I’m not about to share it with someone like Latham. “I’ll let that slide for now, but eventually, we’ll come back to it.”
I don’t like the way he says that, as if he knows for a fact we’ll be talking about more personal details in our lives soon. Nope, not going to happen, Latham Douglas. “Anyway, so how about you? What was it like in the Army?”
“It was hard, at first, but I enjoyed it. I miss the camaraderie and the discipline of it all, but to be honest, I’m happy to be home.”
“I bet your parents are happy too.”
“My mom cried for an hour after she opened the door and found me standing on her doorstep with my bags in hand,” he says fondly, which makes me smile. I can just picture Kitty grabbing onto her boy and refusing to let go. Even if her son is an ass, she only ever saw the good in him. I’m sure it’s there, buried deep down.
We sit there, neither one of us really saying anything more. It’s weird, ya know? I haven’t threatened to decapitate him, and he hasn’t tried to give me a noogie or wet-willy. Maybe two people really can grow up and actually get along?
“So, how’s the nightly headgear going? I see your teeth finally pulled together so you’re not so buck-toothed.”
Maybe not.
I sign loudly and way too dramatically. “I haven’t worn head gear in about two decades, Satan. How’s the tube sock fetish? Did your mom ever get the crusty ones under your bed clean?”
He just smirks. “Thinking about my Johnson, are ya?”
