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I dimmed her light.
His sharp eyes swung to meet mine.
I nodded once in agreement. Yes. I was that asshole. I lifted my glass. “Can I get another?”
“Sure. Be right back,” he clipped.
“So? Who’s important in your life?” I refocussed on Hope, intent on getting our conversation back on track only to be stopped in mine.
She sat with her eyes closed, breathing deeply, chewing around whatever delicious morsel had the good fortune to be in her mouth. “Mmm,” she hummed, then breathed, “So good.”
My mouth dropped open as my mind conjured an entirely different scenario to elicit those same words said in that exact way.
Her eyes fluttered open.
My mouth snapped shut.
The bartender slid my glass onto the table, his eyes on Hope. His voice was gruff when he asked, “How’s your food?”
“So good,” Hope groaned. “Thank you so much. I’m so hungry and this is hitting every spot I have.”
“Glad to hear it.” He cleared his throat. “Anything else you need, you let me know.”
She beamed at him once more as he left the table then put another bite in her mouth. “Oh my god.” She moaned. “So good. You want a bite?”
She held out her fork to me.
There was nothing I wanted more than to slide my mouth over the same place she’d so recently had hers.
“No. But I have to say. You seem fully engaged in your meal.”
She cocked her head to the side. “Engaged?” I watched as she searched her memory for the familiar term. Saw the moment she made the connection. Followed as she joined the dots to what she’d said.
Roses dusted her cheeks as she placed her fork down on the table and covered her face. Her wild, snorting laugh slipped out from between her fingers.
I sat back and allowed myself a smile.
“Food porn. I should go into food porn,” she guffawed.
“You’d make a killing,” I agreed.
She leaned forward with a grin. “Did your pants get tight?”
I studied her face. Her words were flirtatious, but her manner was not. Humor sparkled in her eyes. I couldn’t quite get a read on her. I switched tracks.
“Are you going to answer my question?”
“Um,” she hesitated, then seemed to decide. “Yes. I have a little girl.” Her eyes sparkled. “Her name is Brayleigh. She’s two, soon to be three. Do you have children?”
I swallowed. “Do you have a picture?”
She laughed. “You should never ask a mother to show you a picture of her kid.” She shrugged. “Oh, well. Your bad.” Pulling out her phone, she flipped through picture after picture. Brayleigh giving the camera a cheesy grin. Brayleigh with Hope’s mom and dad. Brayleigh with a beautiful blond named Ava. Brayleigh with a blond man named Lucky. Brayleigh with a classy blond woman named Minty. Hope exuberantly identified everyone as she scrolled through, her face alight with affection.
The familiar taste of jealousy filled my mouth. I took a sip of my drink.
“Do you live in Sweden? Everyone in your life is blond.”
She cocked her head to the side and laughed. “You’re right! But in all fairness, Ava and Lucky are siblings, so they should look alike. Minty is Lucky’s partner.”
