“You’re right, I’m sorry.” She pulled her hand back to dab at her eyes, smiling and blinking. “I’m just so grateful.”
Carter looked toward Leah, but she only offered a warm, affectionate look in response.
After they were finished eating, Carter helped Leah clear the table and load the dishwasher. They settled in side by side at a soap-filled sink to wash the knives and pans.
“What Mom said freaked you out,” Leah observed, working a sponge against the grease in the bottom of the pan.
It had, and it was still freaking him out a little, half an hour later. “I’m used to people thanking me.”
She snorted. “Come on.”
“I’m serious.”
She paused, and glanced over at him, gaze thoughtful. “You’re serious.”
“It’s been a long time since I did anything worth being thanked over.”
“Okay, that’s too sad for me to poke fun at.”
“Now I’m freaked out and sad. Great.”
She chuckled, and knocked her hip into his thigh.
He grinned and knocked back, and some of his nerves settled. It was always like that with her, he’d come to learn. Just when he got overwhelmed – by lust, by doubt, by self-recrimination – she detected it and pulled him back. Warmed him like a balm.
“Needless to say, Mom’s a fan,” Leah said, back to scrubbing.
“Yeah, but what about your dad?”
“What about her dad?” Marshall’s voice asked, right behind them, and Carter barely managed to bite back a curse. He considered sticking his head under the tap a moment, and drowning himself.
Leah’s eyes widened, but she didn’t look as worried as he felt. She set the pan back in the water, and turned to her dad, toweling her hands. “Just that you’re a total softy under all the mean faces you make,” she said, sweetly, grinning. “Carter’s not convinced.” The tilt of her head seemed to say,Be nice, Dad.
Marshall made a low, noncommittal sound. “Go sit with your mother on the porch and I’ll help Carter with the dishes.”
Oh no.
“Dad,” Leah started.
“It’s Mother’s Day, and you’re the kid. Go on.”
Carter cast a desperate look toward Leah, but she mouthedsorryand slipped away.
Marshall took her place, rolling up his sleeves, jaw set like a bulldog.
Carter took a measured breath and schooled his features.
They worked in silence a moment, Marshall finishing up the pan and handing it over so Carter could rinse and place it over on the drying rack.
Carter’s pulse thumped. Forget having a meal with the parents – he’d never dated anyone seriously enough to even meet her parents. And he was finally serious with someone, and standing here with her father, in his own kitchen, and he was no longer a football star with a scholarship, but a Lean Dog. One who’d been havinglotsof sex with the daughter in question.
The moment hadshovel talkwritten all over it.
Marshall picked up a knife and dunked it under the water, its keen edge glinting through the suds.
Carter braced himself.
But he said, “Leah seems happy.”
