Ice’s hand immediately went to them.
“Don’t you dare,” Grace scolded, smacking his hand. “You’ll eat them all before we even sit down for dinner.”
Her mother watched for Ice’s reaction.
“You could always make another batch,” Ice suggested, snagging her around the waist to pull her to him, kissing her lightly on the cheek while his hand went behind her back to snag a muffin.
“Fuck.” He pulled his hand back sharply, staring at her mother who had smacked his hand like a five year old.
“She wants you to wait, and you need to watch your language around my daughter.”
Grace didn’t know whether to laugh at Ice or scold her mother, and the doorbell ringing saved her from making the decision. She exited the kitchen, leaving the two combatants alone.
When she opened her door, she almost closed it again. Her spirits dropped. Tonight was going worse than last night.
“Aren’t you going to ask us inside?” CeCe said with a raised brow.
Grace almost told her no yet opened the door wider for CeCe and her date to enter.
“Good evening, Grace.”
“Talbert.”
Talbert Jones helped CeCe out of her coat, looking like a perfect gentleman in his tailored suit and shiny shoes.
Her mother and Ice came in from the kitchen as he was hanging both of their coats in the closet.
“Maman, Ice, this is CeCe’s date, Talbert Jones. He’s an English professor at the college.”
“It’s so nice to meet you, Mr. Jones,” Oceane crooned.
As Grace sent a pleading look toward Ice, he stepped forward, offering his hand. “Wyatt Brown, but everyone calls me Ice.”
“Ice, it’s nice to meet you.” Jones reached out, taking his hand. “Everyone calls me Jones,” he said, smiling.
Ice’s expression relaxed and Grace gave a relieved sigh.
“Everyone, take a seat. Dinner’s ready.”
CeCe and Jones lightened the atmosphere between Ice and her mother while heightening the tension between Grace and Ice.
“CeCe said you were making your ribs. I’ve been looking forward to them all day.”
“You’ve had her ribs before?” Ice asked, his eyes narrowing on Grace.
Jones nodded. “She brings them to the potlucks when we have them for the holidays. All the male teachers end up fighting for them, so not many are left for the women teachers.”
“Is that right?”
Jones reached for a second helping of the ribs and another corn muffin. “Yes. Several of us have asked for her barbeque sauce recipe, but she won’t give it up.”
“That’s good to know.” Grace’s mother didn’t try to hide her glee at Ice’s jealousy.
CeCe saved the dinner by asking her mother about Dax’s movie, moving the conversation on, keeping them busy talking throughout the meal. Then Grace and CeCe cleared the table.
“Whew, you weren’t joking about your mom and Ice,” CeCe said when they were alone in the kitchen.
“No, but I’m hoping she comes around.” Grace tried to be positive.
CeCe shook her head. “Oceane’s stubborn. Once she makes her mind up, there’s no changing it.”
“I want her to like Ice, but I’m a grown woman, and she has to realize I care about him. She’ll get used to him, eventually.”
“Not a chance in Hell,” CeCe said, picking up the dessert plates.
Ice and Jones both ate two pieces of the cake and were about to take another slice, each man trying to outdo the other.#p#分页标题#e#
“I’ll wrap you up a piece to take home, Jones,” Grace offered.
“Thanks, Grace. I love your chocolate cake. I gained five pounds on the one you made me for my birthday.”
Ice rose from the table. “She made you a cake for you birthday?”
“Yes.”
“It was from the whole faculty,” Grace explained, escaping to the kitchen.
Ice followed her in, packing the dirty dessert plates.
“Don’t forget to wrap me a piece to take home, too.” His caustic voice had her hackles rising.
“His birthday was last July before I met you, not that it matters.” She placed her hands on her hips. “I can make that cake for anyone I want to.”
“That’s my cake.”
“It’s my cake and I can—”
Ice backed her against the counter, taking her face between his hands. His mouth landed on hers with a demanding passion, which didn’t ease until her arms circled his neck, and she was clinging to his broad shoulders.
He lifted his head. “That’s my cake.”
“It’s yours. I’ll make him a carrot cake for his next birthday.”