“Do you know what his hesitation is?”
“Change, I guess. He’s always had an issue with that, which you’d get if you’d ever been inside Red’s. It looks exactly the same as it did when Grandpa ran it and probably even Red himself. Dad prides himself on the relationships with suppliers that have been going for decades.”
“But what about his relationship with you?” Amos said the words gently while squeezing my waist.
My feelings for Amos gained more traction in that moment. None of the guys I’d dated had talked so plainly with me. If anything, whenever I’d shared frustrations about my situation with past boyfriends, they’d told me how lucky I was to get handed a business and that I should be grateful. How could I argue with that? They were right. Even though I never asked for it or was asked if I wanted it, I didn’t feel like I had the right to not want it. I suspected Amos would understand though.
“Honestly? I don’t think he’s thought about it as an issue for our relationship. My guess is that, to him, my cheese is a hobby. He doesn’t view it as a business or hasn’t considered that putting it on his menu might help me because I haven’t told him that I want to sell my cheese more widely.” Because that would lead to conversations about where I’d find the time to sustainably maintain providing cheese when I was supposed to be so busy with the diner.
“That’s a tough spot to be in. Family businesses are complicated.”
I let out a hollow laugh. “You’re telling me.” I turned to him. “It really helps to be able to talk to you about this. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He glanced at my lips.
I hadn’t invited him over for anything more than his company—at least not consciously. But as I licked my lips, I was glad I’d decided to brush my teeth before Amos arrived.
As I inched closer, the oven timer buzzed, startling us.
Amos’s attention traveled to the traitorous appliance. “What smells so good? I was so distracted by the cheese in front of me that I didn’t notice the sinful smells.” He moved toward the oven like it released a siren call.
“Mac and cheese.”
His head whipped toward me. “With your cheese?”
“Yup.”
“How’d I get so lucky?”
I laughed and moved to the oven. “Can you grab a fork for me from that drawer?” I pulled out the Pyrex loaded with dairy and carb goodness and set it on a trivet.
Instead of handing me the fork, Amos scooped from the middle of the mac and cheese. He blew on it, then looked at me.
“What? We’ve got to make sure the middle is heated through, right?” He wrapped his lips around the fork as his eyes fell closed. “Damn. This is delectable.”
Heat spread across the back of my neck. Making mac and cheese with my product was a definite splurge. I didn’t make a huge volume of any type, so a dish like this ate up a fair amount of stock. It might be silly, but I wanted to do something special for him, and okay, maybe I had a praise kink when it came to my cheese.
“You’ve gotta try it.” He scooped more and gently blew on it—his long eyelashes fanning over his cheeks as he did.
I let my mouth fall open, and he carefully pushed the fork inside. Holding our eye contact, I closed my lips around it and hummed. Electricity zipped between us. He stayed close as I chewed.
“I’m a pretty damn good cook. At one or two things, anyway.”
Amos huffed out a laugh. “You are a man of many talents.” Then he flashed a mischievous smile before going in for seconds.
“Couldn’t wait, huh?”
His curls bounced slightly as he shook his head. “It’s too good.”
I pulled bagged salad from the fridge and prepped it while the pasta cooled slightly. After dishing up, we settled at the four-person dining table my grandparents had owned for as long as I could remember. While we chatted and ate, I found it impossible to take my eyes off his lips. The way he talked, his quick smiles, how his tongue darted out like he was trying to capture every morsel of flavor—it drove me wild.
Amos’s attention wandered to the display plates with illustrated roosters that lined the cabinet tops. “Have you lived here long?”
“A few years, but this is my grandparents’ house, so I’ve spent my life in and out of this place. They retired to Florida, and I rent it from them.” I dropped my gaze to my nearly empty plate. “It’s a pretty sweet deal. I pay the property taxes, utilities, and maintenance.” There was no way I could afford a home like this off my diner salary.
Amos had spent his adult life at some hot-shot corporate job in one of the biggest and liveliest cities in the country. Meanwhile, I’d never left the tiny town of about five-thousand residents and was only getting by because I was privileged enough to rent a house from my grandparents who’d made a couple of good investments that had paid off later in life—allowing them to retire in the sunshine without having to sell their Maplewood house.
His eyes widened. “Seriously? Mickey, that’samazing. I was plunking down over half my salary for some overpriced condowith a view of more overpriced condos. You have, what, two, three bedrooms and an actual yard?”
