“Delivery’s already handled,” he says, nodding toward the empty bar. “No one else will be in for a while.”
The scent of food hits me first. Smoky, rich, and warm. My stomach growls. I glance at the bar lined with the containers of brisket sandwiches, pulled pork sliders, baked beans, and potato salad. The protein bar I had this morning, as I rushed Bash into the car so we didn’t miss drop off, had long been digested.
I arch a brow at him. “What, no dessert?”
Unfazed, Hex grabs a container and opens it. Steaming fluffy, golden pancakes are stacked inside.Of course.
“Since you said you liked whipped cream…” He reaches behind the bar and pulls out a can, shaking it.
I let out a small laugh, in disbelief of this insanely thoughtful man.
He didn’t ask what I wanted for lunch. Didn’t make me pick a place, send options, or expect me to decide. He just… handled it. And after years of making every single decision and keeping track of every single thing: what we were having for dinner, which brand of paper towels we used, even the last time the damn washing machine drain needed cleaning—it’s nice not to think so much.-
Hex places the whipped cream on the counter and shifts his weight against the bar, steady gaze locked on me, carrying the quiet certainty of a man who never doubts his next move.
I shake my head, reaching for a plate.He’s a handler, all right.Just not the kind I thought he might be after our drunken website chat.
I scoop a portion of baked beans onto my plate, then potato salad, stealing a glance at him. He keeps his eyes on me, that coy twitch of his lips playing on his mouth, as if certain he’s living rent-free in my thoughts.
“Something funny, Hector?”
“Not at all.”
I shake my head again, reaching for a pulled pork slider. “I’ve got limited time,” I remind him, even as I unzip my hoodie, removing it and taking my seat on the stool nearest me.
Hex makes a plate and sits next to me. “You’re the owner. Make your own rules.”
I huff out a small laugh. “Irresponsible.”
“Yeah?” He leans in slightly, voice dropping. “And you’re nothing but responsible, huh?”
“I mean…” I gesture vaguely, picking up my fork. “The fact that I’ve seen the inside of a bar twice in a week is already two moretimes than I have in the past decade. I’m a little out of character at the moment.”
Hex studies me, arms folding over his chest. “Not a big drinker?”
I shake my head, scooping up a bite of potato salad. “Don’t like feeling out of control. I like my faculties intact. And at my age, the hangover isn’t worth it.”
He smirks, the kind of reaction that says he’s reading between the lines. “You just aren’t doing it right.”
An amusing thought, but something about the way he’s looking at me makes my stomach feel tight behind my belly button. He’s still, letting the silence stretch, knowing full well I haven’t told him everything.
I exhale and set my fork down. “No. It’s just…”
Hex picks up his brisket sandwich, taking a slow bite, waiting me out. He doesn’t push, but he doesn’t let me off the hook either.
“I drank plenty in college. My early twenties too. Had my fun. But then…” My fingers toy with the napkin beside my plate. “Then I became a mom, and it just… didn’t feel right anymore.”
Hex chews, his focus unwavering.
“I didn’t want to be the parent who couldn’t wake up in the middle of the night if Bash needed me. Or who wasn’t completely present if something went wrong.” My jaw tightens slightly. “And my ex… he didn’t like it. Made it clear early on that he didn’t want me drinking. At first, it started with little comments. Then, after a while, it just became something I didn’t do.”
Hex doesn’t react right away, but I see something shift in his expression. He leisurely chews, each bite buying time while he sorts through whatever it is he’s about to say.
“I respect that,” he finally says, voice low and certain. “Wanting to be present for your kid. Making sure he always has someone steady to rely on.”
A lump forms in my throat. I reach for my water to try and clear it, but Hex notices.
His smirk returns.
