Brennan grimaced at the bar in his hand and glanced over to the stove, where steaks were marinating. “Why can’t I have a steak?”
“Because those are for your dad and me,” Sarah said, crossing the kitchen to turn the oven broiler on.
“I didn’t have steak for dinner,” Brennan protested.
“No, you had mac-and-cheese, and turkey wieners. Now take your breakfast bar, give me a kiss, and go back to bed.”
Brennan started to protest but caught sight of his dad’s face and sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Fine,” he said unhappily.
“Good night, Brennan,” Boone said.
Brennan sighed again. “Good night.” He gave his dad a hug, and then his mom, and head hanging, he headed for the stairs, looking utterly dejected.
Sarah watched him go, lips curving ruefully. “He does a good job making me feel guilty.”
“No need to feel guilty,” Boone answered, draining his glass and moving toward her, hands settling on her hips. He tipped her back, exposing her neck, and kissed his way from her earlobe to her collarbone as one hand slid under the filmy fabric of her skirt to the inside of her thigh.
Within a few minutes neither of them was even thinking of steak.
* * *
Lauren was at work the next morning, absolutely slammed, the waiting area filled with people and a crowd outside all waiting to get in because it was Father’s Day and everyone wanted to treat their dad. Their wait time was running close to an hour and even the counter had been full all day.
Crazy.
But then, around ten, the crowd shifted by the entrance, making way, and there was Chris. It was, she thought, like the parting of the Red Sea.
Not that she was comparing Chris to Moses or anything . . .
“Morning,” she said, placing a menu in front of him as he took a seat at the counter that had just been vacated.
“Morning,” he answered.
“How did you get a seat that fast?” she asked him, gathering the previous customer’s dirty coffee cup and beignet plate and wiping the counter clean.
“Offered a guy twenty bucks.”
“No, seriously.”
He looked her in the eye. “Seriously.”
She held his gaze, searching his blue eyes for the truth. He didn’t seem to have a problem with it. He just let her look and look.
“I didn’t see you approach him,” Lauren said, putting a hand on her hip.
“I didn’t have to. I sent that kid—there, see him, in the white T-shirt, with his family by the door?—to ask. And he did.”
“The kid did?”
“Yes.”
“And the man gave up his seat because you offered him money?”
“He was done. Just lollygagging and licking the powdered sugar from his thumb.”
“You can’t give my customers money to leave.”
“That’s a valid point, and you should know, I didn’t actually give him any money.”
She sighed, slightly relieved. “Okay.”
“Just an autograph.”
“Chris!”
He smiled. “Half the people here are going to the Coliseum for today’s one o’clock game, including the guy at the counter and the boy in the white T-shirt. They all know we won’t have a game without me, so everybody’s happy to help.”
She leaned forward, leveled her gaze with his. “You do know that is the most absurd thing I’ve heard in years.”
Chris smiled into her eyes. “A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do to win the woman he loves.”
“I have never, ever met a bigger flirt in my life.”
“I flirt with you because it’s fun. And I might say outrageous things, but I do it to make you laugh, but I don’t say anything I don’t mean. And I fully intend to make you my woman. It’s just a matter of time.”
“No.”
“Come on, darlin’. Work with me.”
“Why me? Why not another waitress somewhere else?”
“I’m not interested in a waitress, Lauren. I’m interested in you. I saw you at the ballpark and I just”—his big hands lifted, an expansive gesture—“knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That if you were single, you were meant for me.”
“That’s not love, Chris. That’s lust.”
The corner of his mouth tugged. “Then I fell in lust with you at first sight.”
She glared into his blue, blue eyes. She was not amused and not going to fall for this any longer. She wouldn’t smile back, and wouldn’t listen to this banter.
He was trying to tease her, trying to make her laugh, and it was how he was trying to win her over. But she wouldn’t be won. She wouldn’t. The fact was, she didn’t even like him. Didn’t even like—