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I slid the plates on the table and grabbed Reid to set him in his baby chair. He was still a little too small to reach the table comfortably. His pudgy hands snatched at the chicken in his dish.
I smiled, my gaze wandering to Deacon. He was smiling at Reid too.
Then green eyes shifted in my direction.
Our gazes locked.
Instead of the raging forest fire I’d come to associate with his intense gazes, I felt something even worse.
Comfort.
There was a domesticity about sharing out food for this little family that made me feel complete. I shook my head, tearing through the haze.
I was getting paid to be here.
Let’s not get confused, Angel.
We sat down and, to my surprise, Deacon waited respectfully while I bowed my head and said a quick, silent grace. He even took Reid’s hand to keep him from diving in.
Which was a feat, given Reid had been eyeing that chicken leg for the longest time.
“Amen,” I whispered.
“Amen.” Deacon smiled.
In that moment, I wished he’d just smack me against the wall and try to feel me up. It would be easy enough to reject physical advances. I could slap his face, call him a jerk and maybe even get Miguel to punch him on my behalf.
How was I supposed to keep my heart in check if he kept tugging on it?
“Angel?”
I blinked and saw him studying my face. “Huh?”
“What are you thinking so deeply about?”
“Nothing.” I speared a piece of chicken breast and asked, “Did you do anything exciting on your trip?”
“Not really.” His smile faded into a thin line. “Not at all.”
“Was it that bad?”
“I was tired.” His eyes moved to Reid. “I would have preferred to stay home.”
“Where did you go?”
He pursed his lips as if hesitant to share.
“What? It’s secret cigar shop business?” I teased.
“You can say that.”
Should I ask about Rhia? I cleared my throat and tried to be sneaky about it. “Did you meet anyone interesting? Maybe in your hotel room?”
Deacon’s lips curled up in amusement. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?” I gaped. “What kind of answer is ‘maybe’? You either did or you didn’t.”
“Have you ever been outside the country, Angel?”
