“Fine.”
“Love you,” she singsongs.
“Love you too, brat.”
Her laughter fills my ears as I end the call and finish putting my groceries away.
After everything is put away, I run to my room, brush my teeth, and freshen up a little. I blame my best friend for putting thoughts that shouldn’t be there in my head, but here I am, letting a little piece of her assumption take root in my soul.
Locking up my house, I hop back into his truck and head back toward his place. I drive slow, slower than I need to, not because I’m worried about driving his beast of a truck, but because I need to clear my head and get Ramsey’s suggestions to disappear.
Pulling into the driveway, I curse when I see a black Tahoe. I know that vehicle. His brother is here, and even though it shouldn’t be, this feels like it’s going to be all kinds of awkward.
Climbing out of the truck, I stand tall and make my way to the front door. I knock once when a deep voice calls out for me to “Come on in.” Grabbing the handle, I turn, pushing open the door. I set my purse, phone, and keys on the small table in the foyer and follow the voices.
“Hey.” I wave. My eyes find Brooks, and he smiles. I then move to Declan and smile at him, and then my gaze travels to his adorable daughter, Blakely. “I love your pigtails,” I tell the sweet little girl.
“Thanks. My daddy makes them.” She offers me a toothy smile. “Hims does awright, but Rams and Mamaw’s are better,” she says, matter of fact.
“Well, I think your daddy does a great job,” I tell her, my eyes finding Declan’s. He shrugs and grins. “Thank you for taking my car on,” I say.
He nods. “I should have it done tomorrow sometime.”
“Thank you.”
“That’s what I do.” He gently tugs on one of his daughter’s pigtails. “You ready to go, squirt?”
“I’s hungry.”
Declan chuckles. “You’re always hungry,” he teases.
“Uncle Brooks, you’s got any snacks?”
“You know where they are,” Brooks answers.
Blakely nods and races to what I see is the pantry as she opens the door. On the bottom shelf, there appears to be an array of snacks. “Teddy’s!” Blakely exclaims.
“You’re going to spoil her dinner,” Declan grumbles.
“You know I can’t say no to her,” Brooks counters. “I buy them for her.”
“You all spoil her. Do you realize how bad it’s going to be when she’s a teenager? Uncle Brooks, I need a manicure. Uncle Brooks, Dad says I can’t get my hair done. You better start learning now. That shit’s about to get expensive.”
“Daddy, bad word,” Blakely announces as she hands Brooks the small pack of Teddy Grahams for him to open for her. He does with a smile, handing them back to her.
“What do you say?” Declan asks her.
“Tank you.” She smiles up at Brooks, and he bends over, picking her up in his arms and kissing her cheek.
“Who’s your favorite uncle?” he asks her.
“You are.”
Declan laughs. “You do realize she tells all of you that you’re her favorite, right?”
“Blakely.” Brooks gasps, placing the hand that’s not holding her over his heart. “Are you playing me?”
She’s smiling up at him, and you can see how close they are. Brooks’s eyes are smiling, and the sight of his strong arms holding his niece has my ovaries screaming. What is it about a man doting on kids, whether they are his or not, that’s so damn hot?
“You’s my favorite rights now,” she tells him.
“My girl.” I hold my hand up for a high-five, and she doesn’t disappoint, slapping her little hand against mine. “That’s how it’s done.”
“You’re as bad as they are.” Declan shakes his head. “Come on, squirt. We need to get home and get you some dinner.”
Blakely shoves a Teddy Graham into her mouth and grips the bag before holding her arms out for her dad to take her. Declan’s features soften as he pulls her from Brooks and settles her on his hip.
“Now who’s spoiling her?” Brooks teases.
“I’m her dad. I’m allowed.”
“Uh-huh.” Brooks laughs.
“I’ll see you two tomorrow.” He waves and Blakely does as well, and then they’re gone.
“She’s adorable.”
“Right?” Brooks responds.
“I wouldn’t be able to tell her no either.”
“It’s tough. If it was something that was going to hurt her, I would tell her no, but it’s a snack.” He shrugs.
“Speaking of snacks, are we still doing this meal prep thing?”
“Yes, but I’m starving. Have you eaten?” he asks.
My stomach answers for me as it growls, the sound filling the kitchen. “No.”
“How about we go grab something to eat, then we can come back here and start the meal prep?”
“Are you sure?” He wants to go out to eat with me? What is this life?
“I’m positive. I might wither away otherwise. What sounds good?”
“Anything, I’m not really a picky eater.”
“You need to get home at a certain time?” he asks.
“Nope. My client canceled. I’m all yours.”
His eyes flash, and I can feel my face heat from embarrassment.
“Let’s hit the food trucks over in Harris.”
“Is that today?”
“Yeah, and it sounds damn good right now. We’ll have lots of options.”
“I’m game.”
“Perfect.” He swipes his phone from the counter and shoves it in his pocket. “You driving?” His lips pull into a grin.
“I think I’ll claim shotgun for this adventure.”
He chuckles. “Let’s go.” With his hand on the small of my back, he leads me to the front door. I grab my purse and phone and hand him the keys to his truck. “Thanks.” He guides me out to the porch, and when he drops his hand to lock the door, I keep walking to the truck, needing a little distance.
I didn’t think about his long-ass legs, though. He catches up with me, and his arm darts out in front of me, pulling open the door. “You don’t have to do that.”
“My momma would kick my ass into next week if I didn’t.” I think it’s more than that. Carol and Raymond Kincaid raised their boys with manners, and it’s just who he is. It’s easier to blame his momma. My brother is the same way. Momma’s boys hiding behind their sweet mommas, making them seem vengeful if they forget their manners.
“You should be ashamed of yourself,” I mock scold him once he’s behind the wheel and we’re pulling out his driveway.
“Why’s that?”
“Putting the blame on your mom.”
A boyish grin lights up his face. “It’s not a lie. She would be disappointed, but you’re right. I just wanted to get the door for you.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal. Like his words don’t have my heart thumping in my chest like the percussion section of the high school marching band.