Page 12 of Cherish

I know Tina has a brother who is eight years younger and got married two years ago. Since Tina never gets enough when it comes to talking about her brother or her son once I showed an interest, she was only too happy to show me pictures.

She even told me about her parents’ divorce twenty years ago, and her mother’s hostility and anger toward her father to this day.

“He’s so beautiful,” I say wistfully. “Have you met him yet?”

“Oh, yeah. I was over there last night. They couldn’t have children, so the baby is adopted. I had to wait for them to bring him home.”

I flip through several more pictures of Owen before handing it back.

“Hey, Tina,” a deep voice penetrates my thoughts. “Did I hear about a new addition in your family?” He doesn’t wait for Tina to answer. He gets up from his table and takes a seat directly across from me. Eager to continue talking, Tina hands him her phone, and I watch as he swipes through the pictures, touching the same screen I had just touched.

“I’ll have my usual, T,” he says, making no move to leave my table. Tina nods and practically skips to the kitchen.

I stare at him, waiting for him to go back to his table. Instead of leaving, he reaches over and grabs his coffee, sipping it slowly while he watches me. I try not to notice how sexy he looks in his blue scrubs or the muscular cut of his biceps.

I pick up my coffee and mirror his movements. His eyes are playful as he watches me. When he puts his mug down, I do the same.

“Listen,” I say to him. He looks at me, eyebrows arched, waiting for me to speak. “I’m sorry for my behavior last week. I was rude, and I’m never rude. You were right. You never said you were interested in me, and I made a bad assumption.”

“Abad assumption? No, darlin’, you made a lot of assumptions about me, didn’t you? Assumed I was lost. Assumed I was slow.” He does a small eye roll, as if the idea of him being slow is out of the range of possibilities.

“Yes, well, I apologize for those things too.” I decide to change the subject and say, “I really like working with your sister. She’s convinced we’re going to find a fourth girl, and we’re going to be Boston’s version of Sex and the City, brown girl style.” I say it with a laugh that’s way too loud for this place. I look around to make sure no one’s looking, only to find him smiling at me. “And what about my apology?” I ask when he doesn’t offer one.

“What do I need to apologize for?”

“Calling me weird. Remember that?”

“You were making rice sandwiches with pickle slices. That is weird. And,” he says playfully, leaning over the table and getting closer, “you didn’t share.”

“Is that what you wanted? You wanted me to share?” I ask, copying his movements and leaning across the table.

“I wanted you to share your food,” he says slowly. “But know this. There are certain things I won’t share under any circumstances.”

“Interesting. And what kinds of things might those be?” He looks into my eyes and slowly his gaze travels down my body, stopping on my breasts. His perusal travels back up and he licks his lips as he stares at my mouth. Desire pools between my legs. I know exactly where his eyes would look next if the table wasn’t blocking his view.

“You don’t get to decide what happens with those things. Whether you like to share them or not, that’s not your decision to make.”

He continues to undress me with his eyes, not saying a word. My nipples have turned to granite, practically begging to be free of this bra.

“What’s the matter?” I ask. “Did you go mute on me again, Jason?”

He smiles a genuine smile, showing off his perfectly straight, white teeth. “I like the sound of my name on your tongue. I want you to say it again, but under different circumstances.”

His food comes, and I’m surprised to see French toast with a side of bacon and eggs. With his physique, I would have assumed he’d have ordered an omelet.

“You like French toast?” I ask.

“I do. It’s my favorite breakfast food,” he says, cutting into his food. He cuts the toast in equal bite-sized pieces before taking his first bite. “They do a good job here, but it’s not as good as the French toast my best friend’s fiancée makes.”

“Yeah? What’s so special about hers?” I ask, eager to hear more about any aspects of his life.

“I’m not sure. Anything she makes is amazing. Anyway, they’re getting married next month and I’m the best man.” I listen to every word, eager to glean any information about his life, but he doesn’t say anything else except, “You want some?”

I eye his food again and nod. He pushes his plate to the middle of the table, and when I reach over to take some, he pierces a piece with his fork and offers it to me. Before I can talk myself out of it, I open my mouth and take it. I close my mouth around the fork, savoring the bread and the sweetness of the maple syrup, but most of all, relishing having my mouth where his had just been.

I moan loudly. Embarrassed, I look around the restaurant, and I’m relieved to find no other customers staring at me, but when I look back at my table mate, his already dark eyes have darkened even more.

“See? You do share.”

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