Page 44 of Minted
But when I do grab it, I’m a little disappointed. Now I don’t have an excuse to keep my arm around her. I didn’t think this through.
“Just take it.” She shakes my arm off and shifts as far inside the booth as she can.
Maybe Oliver’s right. Maybe it’s too much too fast.
The second bite of the sandwich isn’t nearly as good as the first. Maybe it was touching her that really made it taste amazing. “Well, thanks.”
“I was full anyway,” she says. “Look how big their sandwiches are.”
“How are the girls?”
She leans back with a sigh. “I want to keep them.” I can tell that she’s expecting me to be surprised.
“I know.”
“What?” Now she stiffens, and then she narrows her eyes. “What do you mean, you know?”
“I could tell last night.”
“I’ve never wanted to foster kids,” she says.
“You haven’t needed to. You’ve always helped Dave and Seren, but Killian’s mostly grown.”
“You say that like I’m a mother hen who needs chicks or something.”
“Would that be a bad thing?” I can’t help smiling. “There aren’t enough mother hens in the world. But I’d describe you more like a mother lion, honestly.”
She’s smiling, now. “Really?”
“Absolutely,” I say. “Last night—I’ve never seen you look more glorious.” I pull out my phone. “Look.” I swipe until I reach the photo of her on the phone with Alice, her arms waving wildly, her eyes fiery. “See?”
Lioness.
She can see it, too. I can tell. But when she turns toward me, her face looks strange. “Why’d you take this photo, Bentley?”
Ah, shoot. I didn’t think that part through. “Um. I mean—”
“You don’t have to keep sending me pictures to show me that I look good. It’s a nice gesture, but it’s not necessary.”
Thank goodness. I made my own cover—I just forgot about it until she reminded me. As usual, Barbara’s saving me from myself. Even on the date she doesn’t know I only made so I could date her. “I think it is still necessary.” I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table. “Unless you’re saying that now you believe me?”
She rolls her eyes.
“Then I’ll just have to keep taking and sending them.”
“Would you like anything else?” The waitress has a pencil tucked behind her ear, and she’s smiling at us. “Or was the rest of hers enough for you, big guy?”
She thinks we’re a couple.
I love it.
“Oh, he’s not my—”
I wrap my arm around her shoulders again. “I’m good,” I say.
When the waitress leaves, Barbara shimmies until I move my arm again. “What was that?”
“I have to do a little practicing,” I say. “When’s the next holiday party?”
