Chapter 4 #2
People here look at Slate with respect, and no one questions his authority. This is his world, and he’s totally comfortable in his role. I’ve been pulled into the center of it without ever meaning to be.
I find myself thinking that this is too good to be true. There has to be a catch. Those thoughts keep circling around in my head as I follow him. By the time we get to the kitchen, dinner is in full swing. It’s louder than I expected it to be.
My daughter is sitting on the counter in front of Queenie. She’s just finishing up her strawberry ice cream. “Mommy! I helped stir!” she calls out excitedly when she spots me. “I stirred good!”
Queenie captures the bowl that Katie almost drops in her excitement to tell me all about her amazing adventure.
“Your daughter is a natural,” Queenie says, all smiles. “She’s destined to be a world-famous chef.”
“That would be amazing,” I respond, crossing the room.
“Can we get a puppy?” Katie asks me with a kind of gleam in her eyes that I’ve never seen before.
I lift her off the counter, her small body clings to mine. “What’s this talk of a puppy?”
Queenie laughs. “It was just idle conversation, nothing more. Katie and I were just thinking out loud how wonderful it would be to have a new puppy underfoot. One of Husk’s dogs had a litter three months ago, and they’re ready for rehoming.”
Looking down at my daughter, I say, “Puppies are a lot of work. We’ll have to talk about that later.”
Queenie sets the ice cream bowl in the sink and gives me a grin. “Miss Katie’s got a spark. She reminds me of my boys when they were little. They were always into something. I couldn’t turn my back on them for even a minute.”
“Now, Ma,” Slate grumbles. “We weren’t that bad.”
“You were—and Miss Katie is taking after you all.”
“That’s what worries me,” I mutter under my breath. Katie is coming out of her shell faster than I ever thought possible. There’s something else that’s worrying me too. The longer that I’m here with my daughter, the sooner someone is going to notice things.
Across the room, Tessa stands beside the stove, guiding two club girls through a pasta recipe. She’s calm, cool, and collected. “Smaller pieces, Tina,” she says without raising her voice.
The younger woman nods, correcting her dicing immediately.
Rock sits at the end of the long food prep table, sipping coffee as he takes it all in. His beard is mostly gray, but his eyes are clear and sharp beneath those heavy brows. Slate has the same eyes, I realize. As does Katie.
I glance over at Queenie, she’s a smart woman. It wouldn’t take a genius to notice the similarity between my daughter’s eyes and her son’s.
When Rock notices me, he lifts his chin in a subtle greeting. “Are you settling in okay?”
“Yes,” I say. “Thanks again for having me and my daughter.”
His gaze drifts over to Katie before lifting to mine again. “You’re part of the pack now, you and your little girl. We take care of our own.”
Queenie adds, “She’s a smart kid, too. We need to keep that curious mind of hers busy. Idle minds find trouble.” Lifting her chin, she looks all kinds of confident. “Ask me how I know.”
“Slate told me you had four sons. That makes you a better woman than me. I don’t think I could go through another pregnancy.”
Queenie shoots back, “Oh, you’ll get over that soon enough. More is always better when it comes to little ones.”
Tessa glances over her shoulder, with one hand on her pregnant belly. “Ignore them, Christina. They’d turn both of us into baby factories if they could.”
I can’t help but laugh, because I suspect her words are very true.
Rock sips his coffee, unbothered. “‘Course we would. We only had kids to get the grandkids.”
I can tell by the tone of his voice that he’s only kidding.
Slate leans his shoulder against the doorframe and just watches us interact. He eventually asks, “You gettin’ hungry?”
“I think so,” I say. “Everything smells delicious.”
Rock seems really pleased with my answer. “Queenie spent years perfecting her pasta sauce recipe,” he says proudly. “And Tessa learned it in one night. Now, we never have to deal with second best,” he says with a straight face.
Queenie throws him a look. “Nobody likes a braggart, Rock.”
“I’m not a braggart,” he says indignantly. “I’m more of a truth teller.”
She just grins at him, secretly pleased by his behavior. “You boys never did learn subtle.”
The exchange draws quiet laughter from the women at the counter.
There’s something so easy in the way that everyone comes together here.
A mix of blood and found family. I can’t imagine how wonderful it would be to really belong here with these salt-of-the-earth type people.
We’ve only just met, but I’m already growing to respect them.
Tessa calls out, “Dinner is in an hour, so nobody wander off. It’s a special occasion, and I want all hands on deck.”
The club girls answer back quickly, “Yes, ma’am,” then return to chopping and stirring.
Katie turns to me. “I helped too,” she says proudly.
“You’re the best helper I’ve had all week,” Tessa tells her warmly.
That gets Katie’s full attention. “I can help tomorrow?”
Tessa nods. “Anytime, sweetheart.”
Something in my chest tightens. She’s three years old and already attaching herself to strangers. I should stop it, but I can’t bring myself to pull her away from this little pocket of joy.
Rock finishes his coffee and pushes back from the table. “You did good by bringing them here, Slate.”
Slate nods, eyes on me. “Yeah. I know.”
Slate steps closer, his voice low so only I hear. “Do ya want to finish the tour right now or later?”
“I should stay with Katie,” I tell him. “I know it looks like she’s happy here, but I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. She’s been through a lot.”
“There ain’t always gotta be another shoe, you know?”
“I hope there isn’t, but I’m not counting on it because nothing in my life is ever this easy.”
He crams his hands into his front pockets, looking bashful. “Maybe this could be that thing.”
I take a step closer to him and smooth down the front of his cut. “You were pretty easy before.”
His mouth twitches into an almost smile. “You mean in Kabul, when the whole world was going to shit?”
The warm way he looks at me reminds me of how it felt to trust him when everything went sideways. He came through for me back then. Maybe he can this time too.
I nod. “We found our way through it.”
By the time we break apart, the room is totally silent. Everyone’s backs are to us. Tessa and her club girls act like whatever cooking chore they’re working on requires one hundred percent of their attention. A blush creeps up my face when I realize this is their way of giving us a private moment.
I look around and find Queenie has Katie sitting on her lap.
Queenie glances over at me, her face lit up. “We’re setting the table now. You and Katie are sitting at the family table tonight, alright?”
“Of course,” I say. “Want me to take her?”
“No. Let her hang out with me, so you and Slate can spend some time together. I’ll treat her like she was my own grandchild and bring her right back if she asks for you.”
I freeze in place for a brief moment. I don’t know what Slate’s told her about us. I know I’m wearing his cut which means something in his world, and part of me is worried that she thinks it’s real. Being here with Slate and his family I kind of wish it was too.
All I’ve ever wanted was for Katie to have people in her life who cared about her.
Standing there looking at them together, I can see the similarities between my daughter, Slate, and his father.
There’s something about the way Queenie’s fussing over Katie—it might be that she just loves little kids, but I can’t help but wonder if she suspects something.
“Okay, I’ll take Katie back at the dinner table, so you can enjoy your meal,” I say.
A happy smile slips onto Queenie’s face, and they head out to the dining room with Katie waving goodbye to me. Rock follows close behind.
Slate angles his body around mine. Although the move seems protective, I think he just wants to get closer to me. “Want to help me fetch something nice to drink?”
I nod, thinking he means wine. He puts his hand against the small of my back and guides me down to their basement.
When he unlocks what appears to be their liquor room, there isn’t a bottle of wine in sight.
It’s a huge stock of expensive liquor, mostly whiskey, vodka, gin, and rum.
He pulls a dusty bottle of rum from one of the top shelves, grabs a cleaning cloth off a tall stack, and dusts it off.
“So, no wine?” I ask.
“Do we look like the kind of family that drinks wine?” he responds with a tiny smirk.
Standing there in his cut with a bottle of aged rum in his hands, I have to admit that he does seem more like the kind of guy who slams back hard liquor than one who sips wine from a stemmed glass.
In this small room with wall-to-wall bottles, I realize I might be starting to like this side of him more than I should.
“Stop lookin’ at me like that,” Slate says quietly.
I know that I’m eating him up with my eyes while remembering all the orgasms he gave me back in Kabul. But I try to act innocent anyway. “What look? I’m not doing anything wrong.”
He leans over me, smelling just like I remember. Something about his scent always drove me wild. Gazing into my eyes, he says what we’re both thinking. “You’re looking at me like you remember exactly how good riding my cock felt. Keep up, and I’ll give you a little reminder.”
I reach out to touch the front of his cut, letting my fingers slide over the warm leather. “You make it sound like a punishment fuck, but we both know that’s not what’s going to happen if we end up in bed together.”
His hand comes out hard and fast around my throat.
God, I can’t believe he remembers how much I like it when he takes charge.
This man has a mind like a steel trap. Before I can protest, his lips drift down to mine, and he claims his first kiss since we were trapped together at the end of the war.
I don’t protest because I realize, in this moment, that another kiss from him is all I want in the world.
His lips are warm and searching. I wrap my arms around his neck and lift my leg around his waist. Suddenly, the bottle of rum is gone, and both of his large hands are under my ass, pressing my body to his as he plunders my mouth like a man who has every right to take what he wants from me.
I don’t know how long we kiss, but it seems like an eternity. Slate is all hot and needy when his tongue slides against mine. And me? I’m totally there for it. I probably should go slow, but I don’t. It’s just a kiss, I tell myself—one long, panty-melting kiss.
We break apart, breathless and aroused. Slate leans his forehead against mine.
I expect him to ask to take this upstairs, but he doesn’t.
Instead, he tells me, “You’re not ready for what I’m packin’.
I don’t wanna be your rebound or the place you run to in order to get away from your daughter’s abusive baby daddy.
I want you to take some time to think about what you want and come to me when you’re ready for a real relationship.
You’re too important to me for us to waste this second opportunity we’ve been given. ”
I’m being cockblocked by my own lies. I never should have let him think my stalker was an ex.
I should have told him the truth. Then again, this is a brutal reality check that I don’t have a future to offer Slate.
And dragging him into my mess would be wrong on so many different levels.
So I let him go, even though every part of me only wants to hold on tighter.
***
By the time we make it back upstairs, Tessa and the club girls are busy heaping food into huge serving bowls. Before we can make it across the room, the five women file out carrying trays, bowls, and baskets of rolls that smell amazing.
I eagerly follow Slate out to the family table and take a seat beside my daughter. Katie is playing her favorite game of making her flatware dance as she sings quietly along. It makes me think she’s bouncing back quickly from what happened back at our old place.
Slate’s club brothers have already claimed seats at a multitude of tables scattered around the room.
But his mom, dad, and brothers are at a long family table.
It’s weird because Slate sets down the bottle of rum and walks over to the banquet table with his father and Tessa’s husband, Jasper.
They all begin filling plates. At first, I think this is some kind of situation where men eat first.
When Slate picks up a smaller plate and begins to fill it, his brother and father add delicate little rolls, a block of cheese, and a bottle of apple juice. That’s when it dawns on me that the men serve their old ladies.
Sure enough, Slate proudly walks over, sets the larger plate in front of me, and then artfully arranges Katie’s plate in front of her with the cheese cube facing her.
Then he opens her apple juice and sets it far enough away from her plate so she won’t accidentally knock it over.
When she smiles up at him, he runs his big hand over her hair and tells her, “Eat up, sweetie.”
Before I can get my head around this situation, he wanders back over to the buffet table and makes himself a plate.
This time his single brothers go as well.
All the club brothers are patiently waiting to fill their plates.
That’s when it occurs to me that there is a pecking order in their club.
The old ladies get served first, the founding family goes next, then the club brothers.
Unless I miss my guess, the club girls come next, and then the prospects.
The formality of the whole ritual of eating dinner blows my mind.
Katie tugs at my sleeve. “I eat slow,” she promises before popping that cube of cheese into her little mouth.
“Small bites, Katie,” I whisper the words.
Soon enough everyone is eating, so I dig in as well.
I stay quiet and let the conversation flow around me.
There’s laughter, teasing each other over past deeds, and stories told as we eat a hearty meal.
Along about the time Slate pours a shot of rum for all the adults at our table, I decide that I could get used to living here with my old flame and his family.