Page 22 of Pucked Up Plans
Jumping in before she says anything ruder, I grab it from Lennon’s hands. “Squirt, it won’t hurt you to taste it. Here’s a little.” I pour a minuscule amount on her plate, dip one piece of a nugget into it, and hand it over. Lennon eyes it wearily, almost as if she’s never seen a nugget covered in ranch dressing before. After what seems like an hour, she puts the damn thing in her mouth. Out of habit, my hand cups under her chin, prepared for her to spit out the offending food. Which never comes. She chews—way more than she needs to for the tiny bite—and swallows, offering a thumbs up in my direction.
“More than acceptable,” she states, motioning for more ranch.
Forgetting we have an audience, Tate’s stifled laughter catches me off guard. My eyes search hers out. Her hand hides her smile, her eyes alight with amusement.
Something in Tate’s eyes immediately relaxes me, staving off the embarrassment I should feel at Lennon’s behavior.
“You slay me, kid,” I sputter instead, pouring more ranch on her plate. Looking at Aubrey, she devours the chili, in the way a five-year-old can do. “Lennon, take notes. No complaints about the dinner, and she’s enjoying it. Want a taste?”
She has the decency to look over at her friend, who swallows a bite and smiles at my daughter. Lennon’s expression sours further, complete with an “Ew” before going back to her frozen chicken nuggets.
“Can’t say I didn’t try.”
To add insult to injury, Aubrey keeps her spoon in her bowl, her head cocking up to me. “It’s so yummy, Mr. Walsh. Just like Nana’s.” Without waiting for a response, she goes back to eating.
Stunned into silence at her compliments, I don’t realize Tate puts another bowl of chili in front of the empty chair. “Sit. Enjoy your mother’s food.”
I obey her directions, the thought of her having to stand while she eats not even a blip on my radar. Lennon’s manners have rubbed off on me.
Lennon’s eaten one full nugget as Aubrey chimes in, “More please, Mommy,” handing an empty bowl over to Tate.
I eye my daughter, who’s analyzing the exchange. “Seriously, Len. Watch and learn. Your etiquette could use some enhancement.”
“Those are big words, Keeley. Was that even English?”
My hand smacks my forehead to the tune of Tate’s laughter. “Just eat your nuggets, Squirt. We’ll circle back to thisconversation at a later time.” My eyes meeting Tate’s above Aubrey’s head, I mouth, “I’m sorry.”
She waves away my apology. Aloud, she states, “I’m loving this dinner entertainment.”
I wince at her comment, reading into it too much. However, her mouth continues to grin widely at me, and I can’t help but smile back, embracing the awkwardness.
“The first one’s free, but if you want more, you’ll have to pay up.”
It’s not until Tate’s expression changes do I grasp what I’ve said. I’m not even sure how to decipher the countenance on her face, nor which part of my comment elicited it. I don’t know what it is about this woman that has me twisted up inside, bringing out a side of me I try to keep hidden until people get to know the real me. With her, I can’t help it. If I’m being truthful, there’s a part of me who wants her to see my true self. As long as it doesn’t push her away. If that’s the case, he won’t be allowed to come out and play for a long while.
Instead of saying something else as utterly ridiculous, I finally clue into the fact she’s standing up and eating her dinner. And my butt’s firmly planted in the only available chair.
Rushing out of it, almost knocking the chair down, I stand. “Tate, sit.”
Her head shakes before the two words are out of my mouth. “No, I’m fine. You’re our guests. And I didn’t have to cook dinner and still had a delicious meal. Finish yours.” She points at my half-eaten bowl, leaving no room to argue.
As much as I shouldn’t give in so easily, I fall back into the chair. Thank goodness my mother isn’t here to witness this debacle of behavior, both by her son and her granddaughter. She’d surely have some words for us.
We eat the rest of dinner in silence, except for Lennon’s usual “food noises.” I hardly notice them anymore, but Megan hates the way she hums whenever she eats, no matter the food.
By the end, Aubrey consumed two toddler-sized bowls of chili, some carrots, and two nuggets. Lennon’s barely eaten the three she started with. Tate offers them both a wipe for their hands and face and excuses them back to Aubrey’s room to play for a little while longer. The wide grin on Aubrey’s angelic face matches Lennon’s squeal of delight.
Slumping in my chair—I’ve seriously given up at this point—Tate slides into the seat Lennon vacated.
“Please tell your mother the chili was delicious.” The smile she presents reaches her eyes. Everything about this woman is so genuine.
“I will. She’ll be happy to hear it. I may omit the fact Aubrey ate two bowls. Purely selfish reasons on my part.” Here I go again, admitting truths to this woman I’d normally keep inside.
“If Lennon doesn’t out it first.” A twinkle in her left eye stirs something inside my pants. I almost don’t recognize the feeling of lust starting behind my zipper.
Tamping down those thoughts, I say, “Accurate.” She’s got my daughter pegged.
Tate surveys the kitchen. “I should clean up this mess.” There’s a wistfulness in her tone, propelling me into immediate action.
