Page 77 of Tell Me Again
“I’m real good at carryout,” he told her, then nudged his daughter. “Tell your aunt how much you love carryout.”
“Oh, yum,” Grace said with totally flat inflection. “Kung pao chicken again. My favorite.”
Sam smiled at Grace’s attitude. “When I lived in New York City, there was this restaurant in Chinatown that I went to every single week for the Moo Goo Gai Pan. I was such a regular the owner set up a tab for me.”
“See,” Trevor said to Grace. “I’m not the only one who loves Chinese.”
“What was my mom’s favorite food?” Grace asked suddenly.
He saw Sam’s sharp inhale and knew the question shocked her as much as it did him. Until now, Grace had seemed hesitant to ask for details about Bryce, and Trevor would have liked to keep it that way.
“She loved Mexican,” Sam said after a moment. “Enchiladas were her favorite, and she could have eaten chips and salsa at every meal.”
Grace’s gaze darted to Trevor’s. “Ilove chips and salsa,” she said, her voice filled with wonder.
“You sure do,” he agreed, and hoped to God that was the only thing she’d have in common with her biological mother.
He waited for more questions but Grace only pulled her phone out of her back pocket. “I need to text Monica before dinner. She needs help with the study guide for the algebra quiz.”
“Five minutes until dinner,” Sam told her. Grace nodded and turned for the stairs that led to the bedrooms.
It was all so normal, Trevor thought, as if Sam were really a part of their little family. For years, he’d prided himself on managing most of life on his own. Once his nana died, it had been difficult to imagine letting anyone else in, but with Sam it felt natural.
It was more than simply her relationship with Grace. She belonged... to him... with him.
“Thank you for staying,” he said as he moved around the island.
She arched a brow. “How’s Jolene?”
“Needy and demanding.”
“Do you like her?”
He shrugged. “She’s trying to make her own name in a business run mainly by men. I respect how hard she works and how much she cares about her project.”
“But do youlikeher?” Sam lifted the bubbling pot of water off the stove and dumped the noodles into a colander perched over the sink. Steam rose up around her, making the tiny hairs that framed her face curl as she set down the pot.
“Ilikeyou,” he said softly and reached for her, wrapping a hand around the back of her neck and pulling her closer. He kissed her slowly, savoring the taste of her lips and the way she sighed into his mouth. “I like you a lot. I like you here in my house and with Grace. I like the way I feel when I’m with you and the way you feel against me.” He trailed kisses over her jaw and nibbled on the sensitive shell of her ear.
“You shouldn’t like me,” she whispered, then moaned as he sucked the lobe into his mouth. “I shouldn’t want you to like me.”
“But you can’t stop yourself,” he said, and slid the fingers of his free hand under the hem of her shirt. “Me, neither.”
She wrenched away, picked up the colander, and shook out the excess water. “No. We’re here together because of Grace.”
“That’s not the only reason, and we both know it.”
She shook her head. “It has to be.”
“Why?” he demanded, even though he could already guess what she was going to say.
“Because we agreed to go slow. If something goes wrong, it will hurt her.”
He hated hearing those words, even though he’d told himself the same thing earlier. “What if I want more?”
She opened her mouth to answer, then shifted away. He turned to see Grace at the door of the kitchen, her gaze watchful and curious.
“Dinner’s ready,” Sam announced, pouring the noodles into the stockpot that held the red sauce. “It’s a simple pasta sauce and roasted vegetables.”
