“You’re awfully needy this evening, Golden Boy,” I hear Dakota say from the kitchen.
My feet move to her of their own volition. When I round the corner that opens up into the kitchen, I halt so I can take in the sight of Dakota in a white tennis skirt that barely skims her mid-thigh, an emerald green racerback crop top, and one of those neon green transparent visors that those dogs smoking cigars while playing poker wear in that famous painting. She looks so fucking good.
And holy hell, she looks even better when she pinches a dash of salt over the large stock pot that has to have chili in it. I can’t stop myself from standing behind her, wrapping my arms around her shoulders to bring her in for an embrace. “Did you make my favorite meal to try to get me to like you even more? Because if you did, it worked.”
She sets the ladle she was using to stir the simmering chili down and brings her hands up to grasp my arms. “Actually, I made this a few weeks ago for Kenna and Cadence when y’all were in Colorado, and the bride-to-be asked me today if I’d make it again.”
“So this has nothing to do with the fact that the other night when we were watchingBridgertonand you asked me what my favorite food is I immediately said chili and cornbread?” I question.
“It was at the request of the bride, my lord,” she jests as she moves out of my embrace and slips on an oven mitt to take out the most scrumptious-looking cornbread I’ve ever seen from the double oven.
“How soon is too soon to drop to one knee, Austen?” I ask in disbelief.
“I’d say you should probably taste it before you commit to a lifetime with someone who might not even be able to make your favorite meal.”
“What is it I’m tasting?” I waggle my eyebrows. “You should specify. I can think of a few things that could be my favorite meal.”
Dakota grabs the dishrag from the counter beside her and whips my shoulder with it.
“Easy, easy!” I try to exclaim through my chuckles.
“You’re hopeless,” she mutters as she drops the towel onto the counter.
“Hopelessly devoted to you,” I singsong with my arms wide open in reply.
“You should be more devoted to soaking up some of the alcohol that’s clearly got you talking crazy, Golden Boy.” She cuts a small piece of the cornbread and brings it up to my lips. “Here, have a taste,” she suggests, her green eyes twinkling with mirth.
Fuck. Me.She looks so sexy when she’s teasing me.
“A taste?” I ask in a daze.
“A taste,” she repeats, still holding the cornbread in front of me. I lean down and eat the small piece in one bite. She begins to lower her hand, but I grasp my fingers around her wrist and bring them to my mouth. “You’ve got crumbs on your fingers. May I?”
Her breath hitches at my question. “Yes,” she whispers breathlessly, her chest rising and falling more rapidly now.
I bring her pointer finger to my mouth and flick my tongue against the tip of it, lapping up every crumb before moving to her middle finger. When I take the tip of her thumb into my mouth and quickly flick my tongue against it, she lets out a soft whimper.
That noise alone just about does me in before Griff interrupts us, asking if everyone should dish up. The question breaks the tension like a cold bucket of water. Pulling her hand from my grasp, she brings both hands behind her back as if she’s hiding the evidence of what just happened.
“Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was interrupting,” Griff says sheepishly.
“No! You weren’t,” Dakota squeaks.
Knowing she’s about to turn in on herself and not wanting to have this affect the rest of the night, I wrap my arm around her shoulder and give her three gentle squeezes. “Bon appétit, everyone! Dakota made her famous chili and cornbread. If you don’t dish up now, I don’t want to hear shit for eating the whole pot myself.”
Dakota looks up at me, clasps my hand around her shoulder, and returns my three squeezes with three of her own. If only she knew what I was trying to convey to her each time I did that. One day I’ll clue her in. For now, I’ll keep trying to show her through each moment we spend together.
18
June
It’s the twenty-first of June, and today is officially Mack and Griff’s big day.
Clasping the cuff links they got me as a groomsman present, I look out over the lake from where I’m getting ready in the boathouse.
It’s the perfect backdrop for the two of them to become husband and wife. This place holds so many special memories for them. Every summer when we were growing up, Griffin’s family would join ours on our annual Fourth of July trip, where we’d head up here for two weeks of uninterrupted time together. No matter how old we got or how busy our schedules became with sports, our parents made it a priority to take those two weeks off.
Even after Griff’s mom, Catherine, passed away from cancer when they were younger, his dad and my parents kept the tradition alive. The summer after our high school graduation was the first time we broke tradition and our parents didn’t join us for the full two weeks. Then, after Katie passed away, the tradition was officially broken when Griff and his dad moved to Boston.
