Page 66 of The Darkness Within

“Ooh, maybe I’ll change your name from Daddy to Daddy Warbucks,” Tex gushes.

Nash picks a chunk of tomato from the salad bowl and chucks it at him.

Silence descends as we stuff our faces and our bellies until Nash remarks, “This is nice.”

He’s not talking to anyone in particular, just more of a comment or observation. How lonely has he been? So in need of a family dinner and friends.

He feeds Valor a nibble of pork, and I find myself envious of a damn kitten, getting to lick his fingers clean. What the hell is wrong with me lately? I’m acting as if I’ve never been laid before. Thoughts of him invade almost every waking hour of my day, sometimes several times an hour. I can’t stop thinking about him. About his mouth, about his smooth hard chest, fantasizing about what his lower half looks like. I don’t want to dream of it, I want to know from memory.

I want to experience him in the flesh.

“Brewer?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I said the toilet upstairs is running.”

“Thanks for letting me know. I’ll take care of it after dinner.”

“I’ve always liked a man who is capable with his hands,” Tex admits, doing some slinky thing with his body like a cat in heat.

“Shocker. You like all men for one reason or another,” Miles points out.

“Hold off on seconds. I’ve got a tray of pastelitos for dessert.” I glance at Nash, and he looks back, raising his eyebrows in question. I’ve definitely got his attention.

When he finally takes his first bite, there’s no longer any question. “These are from…Violet. G’s mom made these.”

“She did. She wanted to make sure you were eating well.”

“Every time he went home to visit, he’d come back with containers of these things, and we’d sit in front of the TV and polish them off in one sitting,” he recalls fondly.

“Maybe don’t tell her that,” I say wisely, laughing. “But I’m positive there’s more where these came from.”

Nash stares at the tray of pastries, looking conflicted, and I wish I knew what he was thinking. But then he grabs another and shoves it in his mouth, licking his fingers clean. Thank God I made the right call. He needs a bit of her love in his belly.

They clear the platter within minutes and then kitchen cleanup begins. We all take turns washing and clearing, and in under fifteen minutes, I’m alone with Nash, nursing the last pastelito and a cup of coffee at the kitchen table.

My phone chimes with a message.

Speak of the devil.

Violet:

Did he like them?

Loved them. The platter is already empty.

Violet:

I’ll make more! I have a favor to ask. I don’t know who else to turn to.

Ask me anything

Violet:

I have a growing honey-do list since my husband passed. Do you know anyone I could hire to fix things around here?

I’ll see what I can do.

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