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He takes another drink from his beer, leaning his hip against the railing. “Ashley Taylor? Few years younger than us?”
“That’s her. She wasn’t very pleasant in school, and she definitely didn’t grow out of it. She and Jensen go round and round regularly. I think her goal in life is to make his hell,” I reply as I turn the heat down low and prepare to finish cooking the steaks on a low heat.
“It couldn’t have all been bad though.”
“No, it wasn’t. At least not in the beginning. I thought they were done years ago, but then she got pregnant with Max. I think he stuck it out as long as he could, but then it just didn’t work anymore.”
“Too bad,” he says, throwing his empty bottle in the trashcan and grabbing another. “It’s always hard when kids are involved. Lark has a two-year-old.”
“She does? How is she?” I ask, flipping the steaks one last time.
“She’s good. We’re heading over there tomorrow to see her and Vivian.”
Smiling, I take the meat off the grill and shut off the propane. “Vivian. I love that name.”
“She’s the spitting image of my sister,” he adds fondly.
“And her father?” I ask, as I bring the meat to the table. As soon as I set the plate down, Snuggles wakes up from her nap and comes running. I give her a pointed look. “No begging.”
Latham grabs the tongs and sets the first one on my plate before setting the larger one on his. “He isn’t in the picture. In fact, I don’t know who he is. She won’t tell me. Just says it was a thing that happened.” He doesn’t make eye contact and the tips of his ears turn a bit red. I can tell he doesn’t like the fact he doesn’t know, or maybe it’s that this is something he can’t fix. Latham has always been very paternal when it comes to Larkin.
“Well, good for her for making it work.”
“She had a lot of help from my mom and dad, but she’s a strong woman with a good head on her shoulders,” he says cutting into his dinner. I watch as he brings his fork up to his mouth and takes his first bite.
He chews slowly, savoring the taste and cut of good meat. I can’t help but watch the way his strong jaw moves, the way his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. “Damn, that’s good.”
Pleased, I cut into my own steak and take a bite. His eyes are on me as I chew and swallow, much like mine were on him a few moments ago. “What?” I ask, glancing up and finding him still watching me. “Do I have food on my face?” Yes, I just asked that with a mouthful, but I can’t help it.
“Do you always talk with food in your mouth?”
“Yes,” I reply, shoveling potato salad into my face. “Always,” I confirm while chewing and smiling at the same time.
Latham laughs and shakes his head. “How in the hell did you make it as a model in the city with manners like that?”
He’s teasing. I know he is.
But I feel the words clear down to my gut.
I glance down, scooping up a smaller bite. “Easy, you don’t eat when you’re a model,” I reason.
He watches me, clearly wanting to ask more questions, but I don’t let him. I change the subject (something I’ve gotten good at) and steer the conversation to safer topics. Before I know it, the food is almost gone and our bellies are full. Latham stretches back in his seat, patting his belly happily. I don’t miss how he takes a small piece of fat and holds it beneath the table to the little begger at his feet. “Seriously, Harper, that was delicious. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Thanks for your help today, even though I didn’t really need it,” I reply with a smile.
He laughs. “Of course you didn’t need it. You’re a badass with power tools.”
“I am,” I reply, offering my own smile.
When I get up and start gathering the empty plates and bowls, Latham jumps to his feet and swats my hands away. “Let me. You cooked and I can clean.”
I stand up and make a face. “Clean? You’ll help clean?”
“Yes,” he replies, taking the stack from my hands and heading toward the back door. “Hasn’t anyone ever offered to clean up the mess?”
“No,” I answer, realizing that’s very much true, with the exception of Marissa. None of the guys I’ve ever cooked for have ever offered to help clean up the mess. Usually, by the time their bellies are full, they’re ready for the next phase of the night (the naked part).
He enters my house like he owns it and heads for the sink. When he sets the pile on the counter, he turns to face me. “Sounds like you’ve been dating the wrong men. A real man always helps out in the kitchen, especially after a fucking phenomenal meal like that.”
