Page 20 of Old-Fashioned

She looked at me, tilted her head to the side, and asked, “It’s not going to put you out or make you late for anything, right?”

I shook my head, “Nope. Got all the time in the world. Take a seat, Birdie.”

She nodded, then slid into the side of the chair.

And the moment she did, a sound squeaked from underneath her thigh.

She looked at me with those innocent doe eyes, and the moment I read her face, she read mine, we both chuckled.

“So, she wants her yard to look like yours?” I asked her as she grabbed a menu.

She smiled that shy smile that always seemed to do something to my heart, “Yeah, I had her over about a week after I moved into the house. We planted those flowers in front of the house.”

I nodded, “I gotcha. You been here before?”

She looked at me and shook her head, “No. First time.”

I gasped, mockingly, “You’re not a true local then, Birdie.”

She tossed her head back and laughed, that smooth column of her throat, I wanted to take my time and lick up the veins on either side of her neck.

And where her neck met her shoulder, I wanted to bite her. Mark her. Show the world she was taken.

I shook my head to clear it of those thoughts. Blasted for wanting something you know you can’t have.

She chuckled and said, “Well, I will remedy that by eating here once every two weeks or so? Does that work?”

“We don’t have any fast-food places here. So, what do you do if you don’t feel like cooking? You don’t feel like having a sit down in a restaurant? And you’ve never been to the diner?”

She shrugged her shoulders, “I meal prep every Sunday. A lot of it, I make extra, so my freezer is slap full. So, no worries. It’s like I have gourmet food with the press of a button at my house.”

I lifted a brow, “You a good cook?”

“I like to think so. I haven’t poisoned myself yet. The only thing I struggled with was making bread and making sure it was done in the middle and not doughy. Besides, you ate my brownies. Did you like them?”

I leaned in and rested my forearms on the tabletop, “Can you keep a secret?” Before she could reply, the waitress stopped at our table, I didn’t want to be a dick, but couldn’t she have waited another minute?

Therefore, I became a dick for that reason alone, I held my finger up to her and looked at Birdie.

The moment she bit her bottom lip, I wanted to pull it between my teeth. Fuck my life.

But I didn’t get to think about all the ways I was so wrong for her, because she leaned in too, and whispered, “I totally can.”

“I ate all the brownies before I headed home that night,” I winked at her.

Then looked at Gladys, “Sorry about that. As long as Birdie is ready, I’m good.”

Gladys pretended it was hot in here and used her notepad to fan herself, “You take your time, sugar. Every woman wants to be made to feel important. Abel Black, you need to give the men out there some flipping pointers.”

“I’ll say,” Birdie muttered under her breath, but I caught it.

I smirked at Birdie, shook my head then said, “After you.”

She looked at her menu, then at Gladys, “I’ll take a double bacon cheeseburger, all the way, sweet potato fries, and a chocolate shake.”

“What’s all the way to you, sugar? Do you want lettuce, tomato, mayo? Or do you want chili, slaw, mustard, onions?”

Birdie licked her lips and said, “The latter. Totally.”

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