Page 68 of Recipe for Rivals
“Tacos,” I told him. “Courtesy of Coach Hayes.”
His eyes brightened when he noticed Dusty near the table. It did a weird, dangerous thing to my stomach.
“Will you get your sister, please?” I asked.
Ben ran into my room, calling for Alice as he went. I watched him hurry to the table and eagerly sit in the chair closest to where Dusty hovered. Alice rolled into the room in a long series of somersaults before climbing onto her seat across from Ben, her pink monkey on her lap.
Dusty said nothing, like it was totally normal to roll into the dining room, but I caught the glint of amusement in his eyes while he stood beside his chair. I fetched sour cream and a spoon before sitting, and he waited until I was in my chair before lowering himself into his. Sometimes the country boy manners were a bit much, but other times they were just sweet. Right now, while the reality that Carter had fully and completelymoved on hovered in the back of my mind, I was leaning toward the sweetness.
Was it unhealthy to appreciate Dusty right now? I didn’t have to marry the guy to like how he treated me or my children. Maybe I was leaning a little too easily into enjoying the way he seemed interested while Alice quietly told him the history of her pink monkey—how she’d gotten it on a trip to the zoo. I was tired of resisting, of being strong for three people instead of just one, and I let my walls down the littlest bit. Only for this dinner, I would let myself enjoy a moment where my kids felt heard by an adult who wasn’t me, where I didn’t have to cook after working all day and mom-ing all afternoon, and where the man at the other end of the table wasn’t leaving me alone so he could move in with his new upgraded girlfriend.
Okay, I clearly wasn’t over it. Carter’s life change still bothered me. The weirdness of it more than anything else. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t shake it—he wasn’t the type of guy to jump into a commitment in general. He’d asked for the divorce and left me over a year ago, and if Trish could be believed, he’d been dating around. Thenbam, full on live-in girlfriend.
That was probably what bugged me about the situation. Not how quickly he’d moved on from me, but how fast he’d committed to this girl when they couldn’t have been serious for very long. It was out of character.
I needed to stop thinking about Carter, so I bit into my taco and moaned with appreciation. “Okay, you win. Your tacos trump my lasagna.”
Dusty shoved the last bite of a taco in his mouth, shaking his head. “You can’t compare Italian to Mexican. That’s unfair to both parties. They’re different.”
“I stand by what I said.”
“Let’s take it to a vote.” Dusty looked Ben and Alice in the eye one at a time. “The kids can decide. What did you likebetter? Your mom’s amazing, mouth-watering, rich lasagna or these frumpy tacos?”
I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Raise your hand for lasagna,” he said, shooting his arm in the air. Alice giggled, raising her hand. “Now tacos.”
Ben put both arms in the air,wiggling them around, and I joined him.
“Shoot, it’s a tie.” I scratched an itch on my arm, then reached for another taco.
Dusty looked at me with a smile that melted my insides just a bit. “Guess we’ll need a rematch.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
DUSTY
Stop flirting.Stop. It.If I commanded myself enough times, would it work? In an effort to be myself, I kept saying things that could be misconstrued. Really, it was no surprise Nova thought I was coming on to her when we’d first met last month.
I wasn’t trying to. I just liked her and her kids and wanted to make them smile.
Okay, so maybe I was flirting a little. But I was trying my darndest not to.
By the time we finished eating, it was getting late. Way past the kids’ bedtimes, I was guessing. Alice had chatted through dinner—well, she spoke a few times, which I thought was the equivalent to her being a chatterbox—and now her eyes were getting droopy.
“Let’s get that bed assembled, then worry about putting this away,” I suggested, rising from the table.
Nova looked from me to her kids. I could tell she didn’t like the idea of leaving a mess. She glanced at the clock and seemed to like delaying her kids’ bedtime even less. “That would be great.”
The kids’ room was cluttered with screws and washers andpieces of wood. Their mattresses were shoved vertically along the wall, with a pine structure mostly put together in the center of the room. A second bed frame was on the floor, taking up the remaining space. We oriented ourselves with the final few steps of the bed, then took our positions and prepared to lift.
It wasn’t very heavy by itself, but the size and shape made it impossible for one person to lift and hold it in place. I was impressed with how much Nova had done on her own before she’d reached the desperation point, especially when I imagined how difficult it was for her to ask anyone for anything. If she couldn’t let her own aunt buy her a sofa, she was the worst kind of stubborn.
“Do you have it?” she asked, her arms lifted to hold her side in place.
The bed felt secure. “Yeah. You can let go.”
Nova did so slowly, then hurried to retrieve the screws and washers and things she needed to fasten the rest of the bed together. It took less than fifteen minutes. She worked fast and knew exactly what to do. We each took different ends of the mattresses and slid them into place, then Nova bent and made the beds with what looked like clean sheets.