Page 31 of Gideon's Gratitude

Archer continued to scrutinize his food.

“A knife and fork will work just fine.”

Another long look. “Feels inappropriate.”

“It’s a dinner, not a hot-dog stand. No one expects you to scarf down that monstrosity without help from a knife and fork.”

“Yes, I suppose utensils will be required.”

“It’s like you’ve never eaten a hot dog in your life.” This time, the fry I popped into my mouth was cooler. I sized up the burger, planning the best strategy.

“Well, I suppose I have. I mean—” He scrunched his nose. “—perhaps in the fourth grade. We went to an amusement park, and my parents insisted.”

My eyebrow shot up. “You don’t eat hot dogs?” I hadn’t eaten so many when it’d just been me and Leo, but the kids adored them, and I found it easier to feed everyone the same meal at the same time.

Don’t go there.

Archer scooped up some chili with cheese sauce on it. “You must think me peculiar. My parents were big on nutrition. I’m pretty certain my siblings bent the rules—or, frankly, broke them—but hot dogs have a lot of nitrites. I probably shouldn’t be eating this one.”

I picked up my burger. “One will not be your death. Unless you choke on it. One hot dog, one beer, one soda, one burger. It’s when you eat a bunch of bad things that things go wrong.” I dropped my burger. “Overindulgence. Excess. Addiction. Not being able to stop.”

“You know of which you speak.”

“Maybe.” Why did I want to open up tothisman? Tell him everything?

Because he’s safe.

We’d likely never see each other again. Two ships passing in the night. I’d go back to my mid-century home, and he’d complete and move into his monstrosity of a mansion.

I startled when he laid his hand on mine. “Lawyers also make good counselors—for other people. We’re crap at doing it for ourselves. As they say, lawyers make the worse clients. I’m quite certain the woman I hired to handle my divorce didn’t think highly of me. But I paid her, and she did what I asked, so that was an end to it.”

“You?” I shouldn’t have been surprised. Over fifty percent of all marriages ended in divorce. Mine had. Why not Archer’s?

“Me.” As if realizing what he’d done, he withdrew his hand. “I married Thea, believing the commitment to be lifelong. I believed she felt the same way. I was wrong.” He rubbed his nose with his knuckle. “Now, I want to hear everything you’re willing to share, but I must insist we eat first.” He ate the forkful of chili, and his grin increased. “This is delicious.”

I eyed my burger.You need to eat. My headache lurked just below the surface. Too much longer without food, and it’d likely come back with some force. I picked up the burger, angled my head, and took a bite.

The sweet caramelized onions hit my tongue first. Next came the seasoned patty and the soft bun. The bacon flavor made itself known at the end. Just as I remembered. Stunningly delicious.

Archer groaned around a mouthful of hot dog.

Huh, never ate hot dogs? Always ate healthy, then? His body reflected that. “You work out a lot?”

The man nodded. “Several times a week. Running, weights, and circuit training. I need to keep myself in shape.”

Don’t we all.

“And you?” A dribble of chili escaped his lips and slid down his chin.

On instinct, I nabbed a napkin, leaned over, and caught the liquid before it left skin and traveled to the very expensive shirt.

His eyes grew impossibly large. Our gazes held.

Finally, after a very long moment, I sat back. “Kids.”

He cocked that damn eyebrow again.

“When you have kids, you’re forever trying to keep their clothes clean. It’s a losing battle, of course, but you do what you can. Pasta sauce and chili are a pain to get out.” I laid the napkin on the table and snagged a fry. “You don’t need me cleaning up after you.” I ate the fry.

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