“Hartley, you made it,” she says, pulling him down to kiss his cheek. “Looking good, handsome. I love green on you.” She flicks the open collar of his shirt. “You should wear it more often.”
“Geez, Lolly,” Markie says, winking at me. “Did you bring him here to seduce him or what?”
Hartley blushes.
“Who brought the pie?” Lolly asks, busying herself with moving the food to the table. Markie and I join in. “It looks delicious.” She glances over her shoulder. “Must’ve been you because neither of these girls can cook and it looks homemade.”
“Hey,” I protest, but she’s right.
Hartley carries the chicken into the dining room. “Cathy made it for me. It’s my counter cake for the week—even though it’s a pie.”
“I forgot about counter cakes,” I say. “I used to love Cathy’s counter cakes.”
“What’s a counter cake?” Markie asks as we take our seats at the table.
“Cathy makes a cake or pie each week, and it gets left on the counter,” Hartley says. “Really, it’s any dessert. I just like a littlepiece of something after dinner, and then I’ll have a piece in the middle of the night every so often.”
His gaze flashes to mine, and I can’t stop the smile from spreading across my face.
“Okay,” Lolly says, placing a napkin on her lap and surveying the scene in front of us. “It looks like everything is here.”
“It looks great, Lolly,” Hartley says.
She smiles. “Thank you. Would you like to say grace?”
“Sure.”
His voice is low as he gives thanks for the meal and for those who prepared it and are sharing it. As he says this, his foot nudges mine beneath the table. I open my eyes, glancing up to see if he’s looking at me, to determine whether it was an accident or intentional, but he keeps his eyes shut.
I force a swallow, wait for theamen, and then bring up the pickle contest because that will get Lolly talking. And if she’s talking and everyone is paying attention to her, they will ignore me. And I can have a couple of moments to calm down.
Because if we’re talking, there’s less opportunity for everyone to hear the beating of my heart.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
Hartley
I dry the last dish and place it in the cupboard. Lolly and the girls’ chatter from the living room drifts through the air, joining the late afternoon sun in warming the kitchen. They tried to stop me from doing the dishes, but I insisted. Partly, because Dad always said that just because you have a dick doesn’t mean you have to be one. If a woman cooks for you, your ass better be in the kitchen cleaning it up.
And he walked the talk. Every single night of his life.
But the other, more selfish reason I wanted to do the dishes was so that I didn’t have to leave.
I hang the towel over the side of the sink as Markie comes into the room.
“You are officially my favorite person,” she says, picking up a plate of leftovers Lolly made for each of us to take home. The woman doesn’t know how to cook without fixing enough for a small army. “First, you tell Jasper to fuck off, and then you do the dishes. You’re a gift from God.”
I chuckle. “Well, I don’t know about that, but I appreciate the sentiment.”And I’d appreciate it more if your sister felt the same … and that was reason enough to stay.
And to be mine.
“I’m heading out of here. Mayor Blackwell asked me if I could tutor his daughter in math and wants me to start tonight.”
“Math, huh? Sounds like fun.”
She grins. “I’ll pretend not to hear the sarcasm in your voice.” She heads for the door. “See ya later, Hart.”
