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“No?”
Shaking his head, he answers, “No. You’re more. Always have been.”
I can feel the blush creep up my neck and the grin spread across my lips. “You’re more too,” I confirm as the waitress delivers our plates of food.
Max’s plate is full of chicken fingers and curly fries, which he heartily dives into. Jensen leans over and squeezes a blob of ketchup on his son’s fries and then squirts a little on his plate. Jensen ordered the meatloaf sandwich with fries, while I opted for the grilled chicken wrap and coleslaw.
The four-year-old at the table chats animatedly about his school day, complete with telling about every animal, color, and food that starts with the letter B. Of course, the moment he gets to baseball, his entire face lights up with joy. He tells me all about the game he watched earlier in the week, but quickly jumps into how he’s going to spend the night with his grandma tomorrow night.
I can barely keep up.
Jensen gives me a private smile as his son shares all of the things he’ll do with his grandma. I can’t help but think of all the dirty things I’ll be doing to his dad while he’s away. I should feel horrible for letting those thoughts cross my mind in the middle of a family restaurant, while sharing a bench seat with the four-year-old, but I can’t seem to find the nerve to care. That’s just one more thing I love about the new Kathryn. Old Kathryn wouldn’t have even entertained the idea of sex while at dinner.
“You’re blushing,” Jensen says from across the table, a knowing smile on his face. “Care to share whatever you were just thinking about?”
Leaning forward, I make sure little ears are occupied as I whisper, “I’d rather just show you.”
His eyes flare and his little grin turns predatory. “I can’t wait.”
The rest of the dinner passes quickly. Max makes a decent dent in his chicken nuggets and fries, but ends up taking a handful of both home in a to-go container. Jensen pays the check, even though I offer to cover it, and before I know it, we’re heading out the door.
“Well, I had a great time this evening, Just Max. I hope we can do this again,” I tell him politely, his little hand tucked into mine as we walk down the street to where the truck is parked.
“Me too! Do you want ice cream? Daddy, can we get ice cream?”
Jensen laughs. “I thought you were too full to eat anymore,” he says, setting Max’s leftovers on the toolbox before unlocking the truck.
“I was, but now I’m hungry for ice cream!”
I can’t help but chuckle. When Jensen’s eyes meet mine, his brows raise together in question. “Oh, sorry,” I reply, trying to wipe the smirk off my face. “You know, I could use some ice cream too.”
“Yay!” Max hollers, jumping up and down before climbing into the back seat of the truck cab. “We can share duh white wiff sprinkles, Kate! It’s my faborite.”
“I have a feeling you’re taking sides, Kathryn Ann Elliott,” he says in a low, husky voice. It totally reminds me of sex.
Sex with Jensen.
Sign me up!
“I’m on the ice cream’s side,” I tell him as I climb inside the truck. “Besides, who can say no to vanilla with sprinkles?”
“Yay!” Max bellows from the back.
“I suppose we could stop for a scoop,” Jensen concedes before shutting my passenger door and heading around to the driver’s side. As he slips into the cab, he adds, “But let’s get one thing straight. Neither of you get a bite of my chocolate ice cream with hot fudge.”
* * *
“This is a little weird, isn’t it?” Jensen asks as he sets take-out containers in the picnic basket.
“Chinese food in my new seating area out back? Heck no,” I assure him for the tenth time. I can tell he’s a little nervous to have our first date in my backyard, especially knowing his aunt and uncle could make an appearance at any time. They’re currently at the bed and breakfast with Mary Ann and Max, but that doesn’t mean they won’t pop in at the most inopportune time.
“I’m starting to rethink this. We should have gone out for dinner,” he adds, giving me a worried look.
“No, we shouldn’t. I’m a mess from unpacking the rest of the kitchen today. Plus, watering all the plants. I have dirt under my nails. That doesn’t equal romantic dinner out. That equals romantic dinner in, as originally planned.” I step forward and place my hands on his chest, feeling his strong heartbeat beneath my palm. “Plus, I wouldn’t be able to do this in a fancy restaurant,” I add just before my lips press against his.
“I do like this,” he whispers, wrapping his arms around my waist and forgetting all about our makeshift backyard picnic. When I finally pull away, he says, “I told you I’d water the plants when I got here.”
Shrugging, I grab two bottles of light beer from the fridge and follow him out the back door. “I wanted to do it. I kind of enjoyed taking care of them.”
