“Yes.”
“Will I be in your way?”
And there’s another glance from him. Anis this chick for real?kind of glance. “Invited you, didn’t I?”
“If you were just being polite?—”
“Don’t really suffer from that.”
I almost smile for real, but I squelch it.
I’ve never been into the gruff, cranky type, but I’m oddly appreciative of having Rhys and his absence of manners here with me.
Unlike me, he doesn’t have to pretend to be someone he’s not.
And I like that he’s not afraid to be who he is.
If I let my manners drop around my father, I pay for it in the form of his passive-aggressive warfare.
But not for much longer.
Soon, I’ll be free to be just as real as Rhys.
But not until after I’ve pretended I’m someone completely different from me for another little while.
I take my bowl to the table in the dining room half of the front room.
Rhys joins me as I’m taking my first bite. Rich, salty stew floods my mouth, lighting up my taste buds, and I barely stifle a whimper of appreciation.
I can cook—I used to love watching my parents’ chef in the kitchen when I was young, still watch cooking shows interspersed with home improvement shows today, and I like my own space enough that it’s been necessary to keep up the basics in the kitchen in the name of both nutrition and privacy—but I can’t cook a simple stew likethis.
Not enough time to truly hone it to perfection.
If Rhys notices my reaction, he doesn’t respond.
He dumps a bunch of oyster crackers straight out of the bag and into his own bowl, then digs in like it’s a race to finish.
And honestly?
I like that about him too.
For as much as I know I’m a badass in business, I also know I’ve worried so much in my life about how every action, every word, everythingabout me will be scrutinized and studied for possibly being used against me that it’s taken a lot of work the past few years to figure out who I want to be and how to justbeme without second-guessing.
So despite all the reasons Rhys and I will likely never be friends—didn’t exactly start on the right foot, and we’ve hardly seen each other all weekend—I appreciate him.
I appreciate him being unafraid to be exactly who he is.
It’s inspiring.
And also, this stew is unreal.
How can a guy not be attractive when he can cook like this?
“So you and Decker have been friends for a long time?” I ask between my own bites.
He grunts.
Then he sighs and looks up from his bowl. “Yes. We’ve been friends for a long time.”
