“Mmhmm,” I said around a mouthful. “Better than therapy.”
“That’s what I was going for. Burgers and breakthroughs.”
I grinned at him, the sun filtering through the trees overhead, casting shifting shadows across his flannel. “You always this good at emotional manipulation via cheeseburgers?”
“Only with the people I like.”
I looked away, smiling at the way my heart stuttered like it hadn’t learned how to handle compliments yet.
We chewed in silence for a few moments. The breeze smelled like pine and grass with exactly the right amount of chill in the air.
“So,” I said, nudging his foot with mine. “Brothers? Sisters? Any more Winters kids running around Portland?”
“Nope. Just me. My parents were busy being important, and I was busy turning the Pennywhistle into a second home and begging to visit my grandparents any chance I could.”
“You seem like someone who should have a loud sibling or three.”
He laughed. “That’s what my grandma says. She’s always saying I’m too quiet for my own good.”
“Yeah, well,” I said, picking at my fries. “I have four sisters, and I still feel like I don’t belong half the time.”
He watched me, his intense brown eyes sweeping over my hair, my cheeks, the curve of my mouth, and then back to my eyes. I felt every point of his gaze, a strange warmth making my chest tighten.
“I don’t know,” he said softly, almost a murmur. “You look like you belong to me.”
I blinked, caught off guard, and my mind stumbled over the words. Did he mean, “You look like you belong, to me”? Or “You look like you belong to me”? My stomach fluttered, and heat crept up my neck. Of course, he didn’t mean anything by it.
Instinctively, I shifted back on my seat, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear and trying to look anywhere but him. My fingers fidgeted with the toggle at the end of my coat, my pulse hammering in my ears. I wanted to step away, to make space.
I liked that about him. He didn’t perform honesty—hewashonest. And kind. And funny. And absurdly attractive.
“You’re very charming. Has anyone ever accused you of that?” I asked, but I was smiling.
“I have many layers,” he answered with mock solemnity.
“Like an onion?”
“Like a really sarcastic parfait.”
The wind softly whistled through the evergreens along the back fence.
“You know,” I said, “it’s kind of weird seeing you without your entourage.”
He looked amused. “You mean the four-year-old and the dog?”
“Exactly. You’re like a package deal. It’s throwing off my whole equilibrium.”
“Lois is with my grandpa. Tilly’s at school. That means you get my full attention.”
My stomach flipped. “Dangerous.”
He leaned a little closer, that easy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I think you like danger.”
“Mm,” I stuck my straw into my mouth, trying to think of something to say. “I like this milkshake. Don’t get cocky.”
“Oh, I’m already there. You agreed to lunch. I brought you curly fries and a cherry pie milkshake. At this point, I’m just showing off.”
I tried not to look directly at his rolled-up sleeves. Or the way the breeze kept ruffling his dark hair. Or the dimples that appeared when he smiled like that—like he knew exactly how good he looked and wasn’t above using it for evil.
