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Dusty was definitely a fountain of information while helping me; chattering about school, the classes he liked and didn’t particularly care for, what he thought of about various town activities. He may only be eleven, but it was obvious to me he isn’t afraid to voice his concerns or opinions.
“He’s not shy about letting me know how he feels, that’s for sure,” Jett murmurs, chuckling. “It’s one of the reasons we have ‘no veggies’ weekends.”
“What do you mean?” I question breaking the spaghetti and adding it to the boiling water.
“I was all about making sure he had vegetables of some sort for every meal, like I grew up, you know? Well, he was about eight when he looked me in the eye over his paper plate that had a slice of pizza and a helping of green beans, then said, ‘Dad, I get more than the recommended daily requirement of fruits and vegetables. I think if I don’t eat them on the weekends, especially when we’re watching football, I’ll still grow up big and strong’,” Jett replies, mimicking his boy.
I can’t help it, I burst out laughing because in my short exposure to the little boy, I can picture the earnest look on his face while he pleads his case. As Jett watches, a soft smile stretching across his face, I try to get myself under control. Finally, when I feel as though my face is a thousand degrees of hot, I manage to stop giggling.
“Yeah, that was about my reaction as well,” he drily teases. “Needless to say, when I thought about what we normally eat, I decided he was right. On the weekends when we’re watching games, vegetables aren’t required.”
“He’s got strong negotiation skills, obviously. Maybe he’ll be a lawyer or something someday down the road.”
I watch as Jett does a full body shudder as if in horror, which almost causes me to lose it again. “Not a fan of attorneys?”
“Most don’t go into the field for the right reasons,” he replies. “But ultimately, it’ll be his choice.”
We continue to chat while the spaghetti finishes cooking, and when it’s done, he carries the pot over to the sink so I can drain it, then helps me get it set down on the table before telling Dusty to go wash his hands while I fix us all drinks.
* * *
Dinner is a boisterous affair,and I find myself putting the memory of having Jett and his son sitting at my table in my memory banks. I know we’re going out on a date in a few days, which still seems so surreal, but that doesn’t mean anything. We could find we have nothing in common, or that we’d be better off as platonic friends than anything that leads to a romantic relationship.
Although… I’ve definitely caught him staring at me when I’m talking to Dusty with a look on his face I can’t quite decipher. I decide I’ll call Bria later, once they leave, so I can get her input on the whole situation.
As we clean up the kitchen, I put most of the leftovers in a large container while also preparing two smaller ones. The bigger one I hand to Jett and say, “This will end up going to waste here, but based on how well Dusty eats, you might get another meal, maybe two, out of it.”
He chuckles and replies, “You’re probably right about that. I swear he’s going to eat me out of house and home.”
Taking a chance, I lean closer and state, “I’m glad you two were able to stay for dinner, Jett.”
His smile warms and he cups my face with his hand. “I am too, Sunday. Looking forward to our date on Saturday.”
“So am I.”
“Dusty, go ahead and turn off the television, we need to get home, son,” he calls out. Once the plates were cleared from the table, he went back into the living room to ‘catch up’ on the sports channel.
“Okay, Dad!”
“Do you want a bag for that to make it easier to carry?” I ask, pointing to the bowl. “Just in case?” I’ve seen one too many Tupperware mishaps and would hate for dinner to spill all over his interior and stain it.
“Naw, it’ll be fine.”
As we walk to my front door, Dusty heads to Jett’s truck, yelling, “Thanks for dinner, Sunday!”
I giggle because his stride is so reminiscent of his father’s, and his voice, while it’s still the higher-pitched timbre of a child, seems like when he goes through his vocal change it’ll be as deep as Jett’s is, which means he’s gonna be another heartbreaker once he inherits Jett’s gravelly, husky tone. Jett turns and smiles down at me, causing my heart to flutter in my chest.
“Six good for Saturday?” he asks.
“Perfect. Do you know where we’re going to eat?” I question, wanting to figure out my outfit.
“Well, we’re doing a movie first, so what if we go to Logan’s Roadhouse? The dress there is more casual, since I’d rather we both be comfortable while watching a movie. We’ll save the dressy stuff for another date.”
Another date.
With Jett Blake.
Be still my heart.
