“Dammit. Stupid manipulation biscuits.” Maverick groaned and crossed his arms, making his biceps strain against his polo.
“Your marriage was not a mistake.” Bev’s tone was sharp as she pointed a butter knife at him, leaving no room for argument.
Maverick simply shrugged and continued to demolish his biscuit. “Well, it wasn’t a fairy-tale ending, either.”
The need to say something overwhelmed me. To show this angry man some morsel of comfort while he relived what had to be painful memories.
“I don’t know what to say to that, but if my divorce taught me anything, it was that you can’t spend all your time regretting your choices. The only thing it will accomplish is making you forget to live.” I chewed on my lip, waiting for someone else to break the pause in conversation.
“Well said, Summer. To no regrets.” Bev lifted her glass, and I did the same, clinking them together and taking a sip. Maverick leaned forward to grab a coffee cup and raised it slightly before drinking.
“Now, back to more pleasant topics. I need a new phrase for my rage knitting class. How do we feel about a tea towel that says, ‘Don’t make me poison you?’”
“Really, Mom? Is it too much to just do ones with lemons or flowers or some simple shit?”
“I happen to think it’s a great saying, Cinnamon Roll. That’s why, in a world full of twatwaffles, I strive to be French toast.”
Bev cracked first, slapping the table and laughing before I joined in, my shoulders shaking as I giggled. Chancing a glance at Maverick, I saw he wasn’t laughing, but his grin was big enough to show straight, white teeth.
“Oh, no. You are not French toast,” he said, standing and shoving his hands in his pockets after Bev and I calmed down.
He rocked back on his heels and waited for me to look at him. When I did, he smiled. Not a half-assed grin or a smirk, but a full-wattage, panty-melting smile. I gulped, my mouth going dry and my pulse racing.
“And why is that?” I asked, wiping my damp palm on my pants. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to hear his answer. The confusing swirl of thoughts I had about this man did not need to be any more complicated than they already were, but some greater power kept me from breaking eye contact.
“Because you, Summer, are a Belgian waffle. One with fresh strawberries and homemade whipped cream, topped with powdered sugar and drizzled with syrup. You’re a breakfast to be savored and enjoyed.”
I sat at the dining room table in stunned silence, watching the sunlight reflect off the dust in the air. What could I say to that? Was it one of the nicest compliments I’d ever received? Yes. Did it confuse and scare the hell out of me? Also, yes.
I needed to speak—to say anything—to ease the tension I felt creeping between my shoulder blades.
“So, diabetes? I’m diabetes?”
Bev pursed her lips and snorted as the oven timer beeped. The noise startled me, and I pushed my chair out, wanting tohelp, but stopped when she shook her head and winked before disappearing back into the kitchen.
“Fuck, woman. Can’t you take a compliment?”
“Apparently not,” I said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
“Then that’s my cue.” He gave me a half-hearted wave before bending down to scoop up the puppies. He and Bev spoke whispered words, but I couldn’t make them out.
Later, when I replayed this conversation in my head, I’d come up with twenty clever remarks I should have said, but for now, I stayed seated, silent, and regretting my words.
His footsteps echoed on the floor as I blinked several times and bowed my head. “Hey, Maverick?”
I couldn’t leave things like this.
“Yeah?” He turned in the front hall, tilting his head and clenching his fists, waiting.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I listened as the screen door opened then closed, glad I spoke, but knowing it wasn’t the right thing to say.
Chapter 12
“Your diet stillneeds some adjusting, Mr. Winston,” the nurse said, tapping her stylus against the iPad with a frown. “Cholesterol, blood pressure, and salt intake arestill too high.”
