“Thanks,” I say with a small smile. “You must be Maverick.”
“Yup, that’s me,” he says, waving up and down his body with his free hand.
He tilts his head to the side, studying me a little more closely. His eyes light with whatever realization he came to.
“You’re Oliver’s Linc, aren’t you?”
That’s kind of a funny way of putting it, but I get what the kid means. “That would be me, yeah.”
“Cool,” he says, nodding a few times.
“Mav, here’s your food,” Abby says, appearing beside us with a plate of pasta, salad, and garlic bread. “Do you want to eat at the table or the counter?”
He looks up at me. “Where are you eating?”
My eyes quickly dart to Abby, and then back to Maverick. “I kind of need to eat in here,” I say, pointing to the reading nook.
His eyes widen. “Oh, you’re watching out for Leah.”
I nod.
“Can I eat in here then, Mom?” he asks, staring up at Abby with pleading eyes.
She looks at me. “Are you okay with that?”
“Sure,” I say. How would I turn that down in someone else’s home? Also, I really don’t mind. This kid seems fascinating already.
“Alright then,” Abby says with a shrug. “I guess we’re eating in here.”
She hands Maverick his plate. He takes it and nestles into one of the plush chairs.
After checking that everything is clear outside, I pull one of the dining room chairs over. Abby tries to get me to sit in the soft chair, but I insist she does.
What kind of gentleman would I be if I sat there instead of her? My mom wouldn’t give a shit, but Kane’s mom would tan my hide.
She has always been more like a mom to me anyway, so her opinions on the matter carry far more weight than the woman who gave birth to me.
The first bite of pasta has me fighting back a groan that I’m sure would be pornographic in nature.
Abby might have missed her calling in life because this food is fucking delicious. She’s probably a kick-ass nurse, but damn, this woman can cook.
“Where did you learn to cook like this?” I ask her.
She swallows her bite. “My mom and my grandma.”
“Grandma makes the best pancakes,” Maverick says around a mouthful of bread.
“Swallow first, talk second,” Abby says, shaking her head.
He roughly swallows the bite of food that probably should have been chewed a few more times. “Right… her pancakes are killer, though.”
Abby’s smile is filled with nothing but affection when she looks over at her son. “Yes, they are, bud.”
We all eat in silence for a few minutes. I enjoy every single bite. The pasta is superior, but the salad and bread are good, too.
A ding rings out from Maverick’s laptop, which he has propped up on the bookshelves under the windows. He leans forward, nearly pressing his sweatshirt into the sauce left on his plate.
“Yes,” he shouts, punching his fist into the air.
