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“Probably the same thing that caused mine.”
“Your aunt?”
Angling to the side, I kiss her forehead and then spin around in the chair. Settling her on my lap, I run my hand over her thigh, admiring her pretty eyes. She sees me, the real me, and shines a light on the darkest parts of my life. “Lucas and I had grown apart. He was my best friend, but I didn’t recognize him anymore. Weed can be fun occasionally, but he’d moved on from that, and I just wanted off that ride.”
“What changed?”
“I was fighting with family, my grades had turned to shit, and I was borderline about to be kicked out of the University. Talks were happening.” I scrub over my chin and the few days of growth shadowing my jawline. “The fun times weren’t so fun anymore.” Her hand replaces mine, but her soft touch is soothing.
“Your family cares about you, Harbor. They wouldn’t be in talks if they didn’t. I don’t know them well, or at all, but I’ve been to enough events in The Pointe to know they’re special. They’re not like the others.”
I take her hands between mine and look into her eyes. Stardust embodies her green eyes, the romantic heart seen so clearly in the coloring. She allows me to open my heart and pour my sorrows on her lap. I’ve been so fucking selfish, almost letting her day slip unnoticed. “Why did you quit your job?” I ask, brushing my fingertips over the exposed skin of her shoulder.
She shifts, and as if the pot called her name, she’s drawn to it. Turning the knob off, she says, “I think it’s ready.”
I stand and come around to get the plates out of the cabinet. “And I think you’re avoiding the question.”
Stopping with the spoon in her hands, she seems to think about it, and then with what she was doing. “I think our night is full already. My problems can wait for another day.”
I set the plates on the island and dig through the silverware drawer, trying not to put a spotlight on the issue but hoping she’ll want to share. I feel better than I have forever. I want her to feel the same.
Lark starts plating the food like she’s a real chef. It looks as good as it smells, so maybe she has another career in her if medical school doesn’t pan out. Placing the peas in a perfect line with deft precision, she says, “I quit because one of the ladies at the brunch said her purse was worth more than my life.” Standing up, she looks proud of her creation. “Voilà,” she adds like what she just said prior isn’t worth a second thought.
Sliding my arm around the small of her back, I kiss her cheek. “Looks amazing. You did good, baby.”
She hugs me from the side. “Thanks, babe.”
Handing her a knife and fork, she starts cutting into the chicken. I like that we stand in the kitchen eating together without the formality of a dinner production. Who are we fooling? No one. We don’t have to.This is us.Casual homebodies. Someone who knew me back in my late teens would never recognize me these days. I like who I am with her.
I take a bite and moan in pleasure. The food is even better than it looks.
She makes a mean chicken dish, but I can admit that the woman has some quirks, like her acting as if the words of that lady don’t affect her. They did at the time, considering she quit a job that she not only enjoyed but also needed to pay her bills. But maybe . . . maybe it doesn’t. Maybe she knows her worth and what she means to the people who matter in her life.
Since she’s not sharing more of her feelings, she’s left me no choice. There’s only one way to find out. I stab a piece of chicken, scoring a few peas as well, and drag them through the sauce, keeping my eyes down to act casual. “What kind of purse was it—OW!”
I catch her fist before it leaves my arm, and her other, and pull her to me. Still holding my little MMA fighter’s wrists so she can’t escape, I chuckle. “That was the weakest hit. It’s like a fly throwing a punch. We need to get you pumping weights—”
“Okay, all right.” She rolls her eyes but starts laughing. Still shaking her head, she says, “I didn’t expect to hit a wall tonight.”
“Neither did I, which is why I made the joke.” I’m hoping it worked and she lets her guard down, opening up to me like I did with her. I release her wrists, and she stays.
Her smile softens as do the corners of her eyes. Reaching up, she runs her fingers over my lips and then lifts to give me a kiss. But then doesn’t. With her mouth only a few millimeters from mine, she whispers, “The only joke around here is that you still think you’re getting dessert after that.”
She pushes off me, laughing as she returns to her plate and takes a bite. She’s looking pleased as she can be with herself while I’m left scanning the kitchen for this sweet treat she speaks of before I realize she’s referring to eatinghercookie later.
Oh shit, I fucked up.
And she knows it by the smug smirk on her face. Nodding, she says, “Mm-hmm. Thought that might be something you’d want.”
When she swallows, she takes a sip of wine, and then says, “I quit because I don’t want to be around people like that. It’s a job, but it’s not worth my dignity.”
“I’m proud of you.”
“We’ll see how proud you are when I’m some floozy kicked out of her apartment for not being able to pay rent.” Her fork clashes against the ceramic and then scrapes, piercing my ears.
I say, “First of all, what’s a floozy? Secondly, you could always move in here.”
Her mouth falls open, but when the shock wears off, she asks, “And have your parents pay my rent? Um, that’s a kind offer, Harbor, but I don’t think it’s wise.”
