Mind your damned business, Mark.The voice of reason emerges, and I decide to follow it. The last thing I need is to get into Jackie Hinkerson’s personal life.
“Aw,man, you weren’t lying. Thesearegood.” I dive in for another bite of the beef taco in my hand, uncaring that I probably look like a total pig. I’m hungrier than I thought.
“Told you. The carnitas are to die for. Did you try the lime on top?”
I shake my head. “No, I’ll have to squeeze it on the next one. This one’s too good to put down.”
He chuckles from across the shiny wooden table, amused by my appetite.
Unlike past dates, I don’t feel the need to disguise my hunger out of fear that the man sitting across from me will think I’m too greedy. My mother’s words toeat like a ladyused to always come to mind.
Not now, though. Maybe it’s the familiarity factor. I’d let most of my guard down with Mark back in high school. He knew I could eat almost as much as him.
“Hey, those cookies I ordered from your friend came in. She’s fast. I devoured all of the pumpkin spice ones in one sitting. I tried to order more, but she’s sold out.”
“Hmm,” I say, wiping my mouth with a napkin as I nod. “Yeah, Desiree’s gearing up for the holiday run. She always goes all out on her holiday cookie list. I don’t know where she finds the energy after working with elementary kids all day.”
Mark shrugs. “It’s a love for what you do. She must love it to put the care and effort she does into it. My sister-in-law is the same way. She enjoys cooking, and you can taste it in the way her food always comes out delicious.”
I frown. “That trait must’ve skipped me.”
Mark chuckles and takes a sip of his Coke. “Still avoiding the kitchen?”
“No,” I say defensively. “I go in there every morning to make my cup of coffee.”
“And every night to discard the takeout boxes, huh?” He snickers.
I toss my crumpled up napkin at him, hitting him in the shoulder. He laughs harder.
“At least I’m not leaving them lying around the house.”
“True.” He laughs.
“What about you? It seems as if you eat out just as much as I do.” Then I stop with my second taco halfway to my lips. Pausing, I think about what I just asked him. Maybe he can’t cook. I would imagine a stove would be too high in his chair. I want to slap myself in the face.
“I know that face. It happens whenever someone gets scared they may have just said something offensive to me.”
I give him a sheepish look. “I’m sorry.”
He shakes his head, wearing a small grin. “Don’t be. And to answer your question, yes, I do cook. I had my home remodeled to accommodate my chair and all of that. But between the long hours I’ve been putting in lately, it’s just easier to order something.”
“I know what you mean. I’m usually too pooped by the time I get home to even think about cooking. Not that Iwouldthink about it, but you know what I mean.”
Laughter fills the space between us.
“I sure do.”
The conversation between us flows smoothly. Naturally. I imagine someone from the outside looking in would see us and not even know that two short weeks ago, Mark was shooting daggers at me with his gaze. Heck, I can barely figure out how that happened in such a short amount of time, but I don’t want to question it, either. I simply want to enjoy it.
“Oh no, this is not on Townsend tonight.”
“Technically, it is since I’m paying, and the money in my accounts come from my paycheck at Townsend,” he answers in that smart-ass way of his.
“No, not that either,” I declare, holding up my card for the waitress to take. “For all three meals, please,” I say, adding the fish taco meal I purchased to take home to my mother.
“What’d you do that for?” he questions as the waitress walks away.
I giggle at the disturbed expression on his face. “What’s the matter? Don’t want to ruin your reputation among the ladies in here?” I lean in, folding my arms on the table.
