He shows me his mug which also reads: World’s Greatest Dad. “Ninety percent of my mugs all say the same thing. Christian gets me one every year on Father’s Day.”
I hold up the mug in thanks and take a sip, loving the bitter taste as it warms my mouth and then my body.
He looks right at me, his eyes wandering from my face down to my cleavage and back up to my lips. “I have a very important question to ask you.”
My mind goes crazy with all the things he might ask.Will you have dinner with me? Can I kiss you again? How about you ditch your plans to go to Florida and stick around in Calloway Creek?
I’m just not sure which one I want him to ask. Or not ask. Or how I would answer.
“Okay,” I say, somewhat shakily.
“Chocolate chips or blueberries?” He smiles like he knows that’s not even close to the question I was expecting.
Not sure if I’m disappointed or relieved, I simply smile back. “Blueberries. But only because Amelia isn’t here. She’d insist on chocolate chips.”
“I’ll make both and you can take her some.”
My eyes close briefly. Of course he will. Because he’s amazing.
I start toward him. “I’ll help.”
He points to the table with the spatula. “Sit. This is a one-man job.”
Who am I to argue when sitting offers me the opportunity to watch him and study that magnificent tattoo some more.
Christian appears from the hallway. His eyes bounce between me and his dad. “You guys look… comfortable.”
I look down at my robe then up at Carter’s half-naked body and realize Christian has gotten the wrong idea. “Um, I was just coming up here to pay rent when your dad insisted I stay for pancakes.”
Christian smiles and shakes his head like he thinks I’m full of shit. Oh, my God, does he think we slept together last night?
To prove my point, I pull seven hundred dollars out of my robe pocket and put it on the table.
When Carter places the first batch of pancakes down, he looks at the pile of cash, his expression one of grave irritation. “Kenna, it’s really not necessary.”
“It’s what we agreed on.”
“I’m not taking your money.”
I slide it toward him. “Yes, you are.”
“There are other things you should be spending it on.”
“I’m not your charity case, Carter.”
Christian, who looks increasingly uncomfortable over our standoff, gobbles down three pancakes in as many bites, thanks his dad for breakfast, and leaves the room as fast as his forearm crutches will allow.
I sigh. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to run him off.” I pile a few pancakes on my plate and drizzle syrup over them. “But we did agree. And I’d really like it if you took the money. We both know it’s far less than I should be paying. Besides, if you don’t take it, I’ll get mad. And you do not want to see bitchy Kenna.”
He puts his hands on the table, hovers over me, and stares down into my eyes. “I don’t know, that kind of sounded like a challenge.”
I laugh. “It’s not. Believe me, bitchy Kenna is even worse than hasn’t-had-coffee-yet Kenna.”
“Oh, well in that case…” His gaze shifts to the money, but then he turns away, leaving it right where I set it.
A few minutes later, he places more pancakes on the table—the chocolate chip ones—and I add one to my stack.
Carter sits across from me and cringes. “No way do chocolate chips mix well with blueberries.”
