touch are more difficult to explain than the hand-holding.
“Um . . .”
“Spill while you finish my hair,” Deloris demands. “And don’t leave any of the good stuff out.”
“Yeah, sugar, don’t leave any of the good stuff out,” Grams agrees, giving me a wink.
I sigh, start up my blow-dryer, and then spill about Tyler and me. Unfortunately for all the women listening, I leave all the good stuff out, because that’s for me and me alone.
“Tell me what happened with Charles,” Tyler says as he lifts me up to sit on the counter next to the stove, where he’s been cooking. I thought maybe we would skip over this conversation since he didn’t mention it when I got to his house, and I’ve been here for over an hour now.
When I got home from work, Bruce was at my house to greet me like he normally is, and Tyler came to walk me over after I sent him a text and told him I would be at his place after changing my clothes and feeding Mouse. When we got here, he started dinner, and we both chatted about work while I played with Bruce, until Bruce decided he wanted to head outside. I thought for sure Tyler was letting go of what had happened this afternoon.
No such luck. When he looks at me, raising a brow, I sigh and tell him, “After our date, he texted, asking when we could have dinner again. I told him I was busy with work but I’d let him know. I never messaged him again, so he stopped by the shop today.”
“So he didn’t take the hint when you never messaged him back?” Tyler questions while I take a sip of wine and watch him stir a jar of pasta sauce into the sausage, eggplant, pepper, garlic, and onion mixture he’s already cooked.
I shrug. “It’s my fault. I really should have just told him then that I wasn’t interested. I just felt bad. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.”
“He could have just taken the hint,” he says while looking over at me. “He knew you weren’t interested when you didn’t call him. Him showing up at the salon was about him putting you on the spot and forcing you to go to lunch. That old lady was right—his ego was bruised, and he knew if he cornered you at work, you likely wouldn’t refuse him.”
“Maybe.” I take another sip of wine.
“Known guys like him my whole life, baby. He’s not stupid. He had a plan showing up at your job, especially knowing that your mom likes him.”
“So are you still on track with the church?” I don’t want to talk about Charles—not now, not ever.
He grins at me, then asks, “Trying to change the subject?”
I roll my eyes. “Yes. Is it working?”
He sets down the wooden spoon in his hand and comes over to me, pushing my knees apart and settling his hips between my thighs. “I don’t like that guy in your space.”
“He’s not a threat,” I say as I stare into his eyes, swearing I see jealousy there.
Why do I like that idea so much? I’ve never made a man jealous before. If I’m honest, it makes me feel strangely secure in the way he feels about me.
“You’re right—he’s not, but I still don’t like him putting you on the spot. Hopefully, he doesn’t do it again. If he does, he and I are gonna have a chat.” I notice his jaw is hard before he brushes his lips over mine. He leans back, and his fingers curve around my neck. “Now, I wanted to talk to you about something.”
Oh no. Now what?
“Okay,” I agree, sounding reluctant, and he smiles before quickly brushing his mouth over mine again and pulling away.
“Thanksgiving.”
“Thanksgiving?” My head tips to the side in question.
“I’m gonna drive home to spend the holiday with my folks.” My heart sinks. Thanksgiving is still a few weeks away, but it won’t be long till it’s here, and then he’ll be leaving. Even if it’s for just a few days, I don’t like the way that makes my insides feel. “I was hoping you’d be able to get away for the weekend and go with me.”
“To spend Thanksgiving with your family?” Why does my voice sound funny and my chest feel so warm all of a sudden?
“Yeah.”
“Do you . . . do you think that’s a good idea?”
His brows pull together. “Why the hell wouldn’t it be a good idea?”
Because meeting your