Page 79
“Lex wanted a pool. Kinda hard to put in-ground pools in a historical home, so I made do.” Mesmer stretched and sat up, wiggling his toes far too close to my face.
“What about a hot tub?”
“Bad for pregnancy.” Mesmer yawned and slid out of the pool before searching for his clothes. Bitty had them and a towel waiting. “So, what do you think?”
Zeke gave a nod of approval.
Mesmer waited for me to heft myself out of the pool, my belly making it awkward, nearly turtling me as I rolled to my side and finagled an awkward splash before standing. “I think it’s nice.”
Zeke glanced into the back door toward the kitchen, and I knew right away what he stared at. “It’s… nice.”
Mesmer patted his back and walked in while I approached with a quiet whisper. “Is it okay?”
“The mist—” He started before shaking his head. “My father owned a table just like this.”
Zeke stepped inside and ran his hand down the side of the table, gaze unfocused.
He swore under his breath and leaned on his side, holding on to the table’s edge as he did so to look for something underneath. I’d have joined him, but my balance wasn’t all that great. Zeke shook his head. “Mesmer?”
“Yep.” He rocked on his heels, his face a mask, like he should have been grinning, but he didn’t.
“Why?” He glanced up.
“An auctioneer caught it some years ago, and I bought it, but it never seemed the time or place to give it to you.” Mesmer shrugged.
“What the actual fuck?” Zeke glared at Mesmer, who hesitated for the first time.
“You just gave a former slave his old cotton grading table.” Zeke didn’t say it with the venom I expected, but the words stung. He hardly ever called himself that, but it stirred feelings. “What the fuck was going through your head?”
“A what? It’s a dining table.” Mesmer gestured at it, face paling.
Zeke glared at him. “Dude, it’s made differently for a purpose. It’s longer so you can spread a whole cotton sack on it. You sat on top of it to grade.”
I pursed my lips because I only knew that because of some odd history bit I was chasing years ago.
“The Wolfram family still owned this table up until Emily Wolfram died some fifteen years back. The farm was long been sold, but they’d eating on this thing as a dining room table for her entire life. They pulled it out of her trailer when she passed as part of the estate lot. All six of her kids fought over every penny she had, and it wasn’t much.” Mesmer wandered over to the bags and skimmed through the to-go containers before selecting one and a set of chopsticks.
Zeke stared at the table, his face still hard.
“And those kids, they thought it was a dining table, too!” Mesmer’s cheeks pinkened in embarrassment.
“And now I’m supposed to eat off it?” Zeke gestured at it.
“No, it’s being used as a kitchen island.” Mesmer waved at the table. “It’s history you can tell your children about.”
“Child.” I felt the need to correct him.
“You’re having more. I know you will,” Mesmer gave a Cheshire grin.
Zeke kept staring at the table before knocking on it a few times. “It doesn’t feel right.”
Mesmer sighed heavily. “I got this for you as a piece of your family’s legacy. You own this table now, and you get to decide what it’s used for. I happened to like it as a kitchen island. In my head, it was this big statement piece to empower you.” He clearly had something else on his mind, gesturing at the table, eyebrows lifting.
“I don’t know about that.” Zeke huffed. “I lost count of the hours I spent inspecting cotton at this damn thing.”
Bitty traipsed through before digging through the bag for some of the food. She hummed in delight as she took one of the rice cake trays. She grabbed Zeke as she walked by, eyeing the height of the table and glancing up and down, eyes narrowed. “This table was literally made for your height.”
“Yeah. I was about the same height as my father.” Zeke’s brow furrowed as Bitty hummed.
