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Gently, he says, “That’ll do, Chevelle.”
The opportunist that Leith is, he bites my bottom lip, hiking my legs over his. We have a visceral need to touch each other, even during conversation. This desire came way before he started traveling for work.
“Hen, the two of us are gonna open a pub. Call it ‘Chevelle’s.’ ”
“My name doesn’t have the ring I’m aiming for. I prefer ‘Mia’s Place.’ ”
“Name like that, it’ll havefizzyjuice as a call to action on the windows. Nae Mia’s.”
I laugh. “Um-hmm, with my name in lights, you’ll have the place decked out with muscle cars. I’d rather it be classy.”
“Aye right, fancy.” He rolls his eyes. “Naenuggetsbelting tunes in their ale. A rightnaffplace.”
“Boring, really, Leith?” I pop his shoulder. “And thefoolscan still sing in their ales. It will just be fancy. . .posh.”
“Och! That’s British, hen. Nae posh.” Leith laughs, taking on a serious stance. He rubs my cheek with his thumb. “So, we save more. Tell me how much ye need, Chevelle.”
I catch his thumb in my mouth, showing my appreciation for his kindness. When Leith groans deep down in his chest, I bite the bullet. “I’ll . . . bartend again,” I reply, tentatively. “Mia’s birthday is around the corner. I’ve been out of the game for almost four years.”
He laughs. Not one of those best friend laughs, but ahusband laughwhere the final decision belongs solely to him. He’s vetoed my suggestion. The plains of his chest and abdominals are taut beneath my skin as I push him away. He’s been home for such a short amount of time, and yet an argument breaches our love story.
Chapter 4
Chevelle
“My mam’ll offerye one of her places, Chevelle. Just ye and she have a chat about which one of her buildings is—lessinvolved—in other things.” Leith clears his throat.
What does he expect? Should I jump up and down, clap my hands together with glee?
At my lack of response, he adds, “We’ll purchase yer pub legal—with aclandiscount.”
“For the trillionth time, no thank you.”
“I’ll call her now. Then ye can add wee sparkly things all over. Aye?”
Iwasshoving him away. Now, I’m tugging him near as he reaches for his pile of clothes on the kitchen floor. No doubt his iPhone is there too.
Holding his thick, muscular waist between my thighs, I level a glare at him. “No, Leith. I love your mom more than you at times. None of your parents’ businesses are squeaky clean. Besides, we don’t have the money. But if I bartend again, we could save. Like the last time when I worked at Michie’s—”
“Nae!”
“Leith, I haven’t said anything.” I snort. “Wow, now I see how ‘no’ became our daughter’s first word.”
“Och, Crabbit Chevelle!” Leith snarls. But he doesn’t stop at the usual nickname. He flies off the handle in Gaelic. Though my body craves him, I’m untwining my legs from around his lean body.
Indecisive, I shove him again. “Hey, don’t start with that Scottish lingo, where you’re talking shit, and I can’t understand.”
“Why’d ye bring up Michie’s then?”
“I was just saying if I bartend again, we can save. And I won’t work for Mi—”
“Last time Iallowedye to work there, somebampotgrabbed yerarse! Ye bloodied his nose. Bravo, Chevelle.” He chortles sarcastically. “I broke theeejit’slegs when I found out. Dinnafeckin’think I’m satisfied either.”
“You better be. We could’ve been sued.”
A hard, foreboding look flashes in Leith’s eyes. “When ye popped thenuggetin hisfeckin’nose, Chevelle, ye had mynighean,mydaughter, in yer belly! Discussion over. And then there’s Michie. Thateejit.”
I roll my eyes toward heaven. I want to agree with him about the guy. I know Leith was just protecting me. The MacKenzies value family above anything. The MacKenzies would be together through thick or thin. They’d lay their heads on a paved parking lot on the hottest day in August if all their schemes went to shit. They would be together, nothing stopping them.
