baseball, keeping an eye on my dark-headed son as he scurried around the 'bases'.
Meat stood at home plate gesturing for the ball.
I tossed the baseball his direction. He took a glance at Chance, then something odd happened. That baseball seemed to pause in the air, unmoving for all of three seconds, allowing enough time for Chance to run in, sliding into the piece of cardboard we used for home plate.
"Safe!" Sasha yelled as Meat caught the ball and put the tag on well after Chance had scored.
I smiled widely, watching the excitement, laughter, and absolute joy on Chance's face. He bounced, talked, and replayed his version of the play to Meat and Sasha.
Meat hauled Chance up on his shoulder, giving him a hero's tribute. Chance beamed from ear to ear. I had never seen him happier. Not to be left out, Sasha climbed up as Meat bent down, settling on his other shoulder, enjoying the festivities and celebration as well.
I met Meat's eyes, those dark blue eyes that sparked with the same excitement and joy as did Chance's.
My heart melted.
CHAPTER 10
I agreed to a dinner date with Meat for the same evening. A flurry of phone calls arranged for Dad to watch the boys overnight, after I answered twenty questions and promised to bring Meat around to meet the whole family. Translated, Meat would experience a modern day Spanish Inquisition by a dozen people, all whom call themselves relatives and consider it their duty to make sure this new man would meet and exceed their expectations of a boyfriend for me. Protective to the core, my extended family wouldn't be satisfied until they put a potential suitor through the ringer and declared him suitable.
He insisted on picking me up as well, which didn't quite sit comfortably with me. Meat rationalized that since he already knew where I lived and had met my boys, I should be able to trust him enough to transport me from Point A to Point B without damage. His point valid, I relented without further argument.
When he asked where I wanted to eat, I insisted on something casual as I could never understand spending over ten dollars for a single meal and I would never consider myself an upscale seven course kind of date, anyway. No matter the price or what you ate, the results were the same several hours later.
We ended up at a quiet neighborhood Mom and Pop restaurant, short on space, but long on atmosphere and quiet Big Band music that allowed conversation without yelling.
"How long has it been?" Meat asked between bites of his pasta.
I swallowed, then took a sip of my water with lemon. Tilting my head, I considered his question. "That depends."
His brow furrowed. "Depends?"
"Do you consider places where you stand in line, buy your food, complete with children's toy, then sit down and eat, as a restaurant?"
Meat blinked and shook his head. "Not what I was going for, but no, that's not a restaurant to me."
I took a small bite of my chicken fettuccini. "Then, a long time since I've eaten in one." Taking time to swallow, I met his look. His words replayed through my head. "What were you going for?"
He leaned in, one big hand wrapped around his fork, the other rested lightly on the table between us. "You know… how long?" He continued to stare as his baritone voice rumbled from his chest, low and sensual.
The heat flared in my cheeks. Breaking eye contact, I concentrated on my plate as I shoved a piece of noodle back and forth across the white china. "Four years," I whispered in a barely discernable decibel.
One hand reached out to cover mine; his thumb lightly rubbed, sparking nerve endings. "No, that's not what I meant either."
Looking up, I read his face. Amusement, maybe some tenderness reflected back to me. Confused, I tilted my head. "Then I'm lost. What were you asking?" I shot him a small smile. "Blonde here. You have to be precise sometimes."
Meat grinned back, his left dimple shyly popping out. "I take it you've been a widow for four years?"
Nodding, I waited for
Meat stood at home plate gesturing for the ball.
I tossed the baseball his direction. He took a glance at Chance, then something odd happened. That baseball seemed to pause in the air, unmoving for all of three seconds, allowing enough time for Chance to run in, sliding into the piece of cardboard we used for home plate.
"Safe!" Sasha yelled as Meat caught the ball and put the tag on well after Chance had scored.
I smiled widely, watching the excitement, laughter, and absolute joy on Chance's face. He bounced, talked, and replayed his version of the play to Meat and Sasha.
Meat hauled Chance up on his shoulder, giving him a hero's tribute. Chance beamed from ear to ear. I had never seen him happier. Not to be left out, Sasha climbed up as Meat bent down, settling on his other shoulder, enjoying the festivities and celebration as well.
I met Meat's eyes, those dark blue eyes that sparked with the same excitement and joy as did Chance's.
My heart melted.
CHAPTER 10
I agreed to a dinner date with Meat for the same evening. A flurry of phone calls arranged for Dad to watch the boys overnight, after I answered twenty questions and promised to bring Meat around to meet the whole family. Translated, Meat would experience a modern day Spanish Inquisition by a dozen people, all whom call themselves relatives and consider it their duty to make sure this new man would meet and exceed their expectations of a boyfriend for me. Protective to the core, my extended family wouldn't be satisfied until they put a potential suitor through the ringer and declared him suitable.
He insisted on picking me up as well, which didn't quite sit comfortably with me. Meat rationalized that since he already knew where I lived and had met my boys, I should be able to trust him enough to transport me from Point A to Point B without damage. His point valid, I relented without further argument.
When he asked where I wanted to eat, I insisted on something casual as I could never understand spending over ten dollars for a single meal and I would never consider myself an upscale seven course kind of date, anyway. No matter the price or what you ate, the results were the same several hours later.
We ended up at a quiet neighborhood Mom and Pop restaurant, short on space, but long on atmosphere and quiet Big Band music that allowed conversation without yelling.
"How long has it been?" Meat asked between bites of his pasta.
I swallowed, then took a sip of my water with lemon. Tilting my head, I considered his question. "That depends."
His brow furrowed. "Depends?"
"Do you consider places where you stand in line, buy your food, complete with children's toy, then sit down and eat, as a restaurant?"
Meat blinked and shook his head. "Not what I was going for, but no, that's not a restaurant to me."
I took a small bite of my chicken fettuccini. "Then, a long time since I've eaten in one." Taking time to swallow, I met his look. His words replayed through my head. "What were you going for?"
He leaned in, one big hand wrapped around his fork, the other rested lightly on the table between us. "You know… how long?" He continued to stare as his baritone voice rumbled from his chest, low and sensual.
The heat flared in my cheeks. Breaking eye contact, I concentrated on my plate as I shoved a piece of noodle back and forth across the white china. "Four years," I whispered in a barely discernable decibel.
One hand reached out to cover mine; his thumb lightly rubbed, sparking nerve endings. "No, that's not what I meant either."
Looking up, I read his face. Amusement, maybe some tenderness reflected back to me. Confused, I tilted my head. "Then I'm lost. What were you asking?" I shot him a small smile. "Blonde here. You have to be precise sometimes."
Meat grinned back, his left dimple shyly popping out. "I take it you've been a widow for four years?"
Nodding, I waited for
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