Page 21 of Always Be My Baby

“Be right back.” He turned to leave and after only a few more minutes, he returned with two platters, one for me and one for himself. He’d plated our signature mac and cheese topped with crispy shallots, a side of greens, and a fluffy, buttery breadstick. All the most comforting foods on our menu, in my opinion. It was hard to stay in a bad mood surrounded by all this comfort.

“Knew you hadn’t eaten lunch yet.”

“No,” I admitted honestly.

“Now we can finish getting the menu into place so we can get the ordering done.”

By the end of our planning lunch, I started to think that maybe it was all in my head—that maybe he wasn’t holding something back. He was the closest he’d been to the regular Girard that he’d been for a while.

With Lena now taking on some of my day-to-day tasks, I didn’t feel so overwhelmed, and thus, I now left a bit earlier. Lena came in later. She didn’t mind staying until close. She actually wanted me and Girard to have more free time together.

He left the kitchen cleanup to his staff, trusting them to do their jobs the way he’d trained them.

By the end of dinner service, I was more than ready to head home. I grabbed my purse and coat and waited in the corner of the kitchen for Girard, who was in his office changing out of his uniform.

The man never ceased to take my breath away. Those dark, bourbon-soaked eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, and for just a moment, I had the urge to run my fingers through his thick, dark tresses. But that was best left for when we got home after taking Floyd out and eating dinner—maybe before dinner, but when I had the time to divest him of that honey-colored T-shirt. Snug at the shoulders, arms, and chest to show off all his incredible upper body, slightly looser at the waist because he’d never been one of those gym guys who purposely bought their clothing skintight.

I was torn momentarily about removing his jeans because Girard wore jeans like he commanded the jean-wearing universe and it was his job to inspire the troops. He inspired me.

Good thing I loved what he hid underneath better.

I took his offered hand and we said our goodbyes as we snuck out the back door.

No snow tonight. Abundance of cold. Clear and cold.

We stopped off at this little taco truck parked in the front lot of a small convenience store situated directly next door to a bar. Smart. Drinkers loved tacos. It was the reason Taco Bell had grown so popular—but here, the proprietor and his wife made real street tacos. Homemade tortillas. Homemade salsas, and probably the best rice and beans on the planet.

We’d spoken with the owner on several occasions and he told us these recipes had been passed down in his family for generations. You could taste that kind of love in every bite.

Finally, we made it home and I heard our boy, Floyd, whining inside the house. He bounded out the door when Girard opened it, only to stop once he hit my legs, pressing his face against my thighs. He got his ear scratches and smooches from me, then he moved to Girard. While Floyd pressed his face to Girard’s calves—he stood much taller than me—Girard hooked the lead onto Floyd’s harness.

We typically did his walks together, but seeing as I carried bags of tacos, rice, and beans that I needed to keep warm, I left them to it and went inside the house, where I got the food set out for us.

When a frigid Girard returned, pressing a kiss to my cheek, I handed off a plate of wonderful in return.

Then we ate.

Then we went to bed to work off dinner.

He really had us working off those calories. Once he returned to bed after cleaning up, he rolled onto his back, bending his arms to rest the back of his head on his hands tucked between him and the pillow. He stared up at the ceiling.

I took the opportunity to clean myself up and then joined him in bed, snuggling against him. My hand on his belly. My head resting on his chest. My leg cocked and lying over his thighs. Not a more comfortable position existed in my opinion, and I smiled contentedly.

“I have something to tell you,” he said and my sense of calm, of sated replete faded as fast as morning summer fog on a sunshiny day. But this was it—well, possibly it. The thing that’d been bothering him, unless something new popped up sometime today.

My body tensed, but I still said, “Okay.”

“A couple weeks ago…” he sighed and I didn’t know how to take it. God, he almost sounded defeated. Did he cheat? Was that what he was about to confess? With Serena, maybe?

Tears pricked my eyes, but I managed to tamp down the sniffle.

“A couple weeks ago,” he said, repeating himself, “a man came into the bistro.”

A man? Did he cheat with a man? He never told me he was attracted to men.

“Go on,” I pushed then held my breath because it felt like he carried a lifetime in every one of his.

“Sweetheart, he introduced himself as Lachlan Bell. He said he’s your brother.”

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