The Gritty Truth (The Whiskeys Dark Knights at Peaceful Harbor #7) - Melissa Foster Page 0,16

out of it, don’t show your face around here again.

Roni lifted troubled eyes and said, “I haven’t seen him since I was five.”

He looked at Roni, with her sweet demeanor and clean life, hating that she’d experienced such ugliness and wondered if he was selfish for wanting to continue getting to know her. But he wasn’t that drugged-out guy anymore. He’d proved that every day for the last two years, and he would continue to do so until they buried him six feet under. Pushing that hesitation aside, he said, “I’m sorry you went through that, and I’m glad you had your gun-toting grandmother.”

“I told you she was fierce.”

Damn, he loved how her smile lit up her face. He’d planned on laying out all of his ugly truths for Roni tonight. He’d owned up to his past to plenty of people, without hesitation. But he’d never been faced with sharing that darkness with someone he wanted to become involved with. He knew that once he did, it had the power to change everything, including the way she was looking at him as she sipped her water, and he wasn’t ready to give that up just yet.

They made small talk as they finished eating, and then Quincy said, “If I remember correctly, there is one thing Gram didn’t teach you.”

“What’s that?”

“How to roast marshmallows.” He reached behind a pillow and pulled out a bag of marshmallows and two sticks he’d whittled into sharp points.

“Are you kidding?” She let out the cutest squeal and went up on her knees, his jacket dwarfing her lithe frame as she threw her arms around him, hugging him tight.

He was glad he’d waited to tell her about his past, because nothing was better than the look on her face or the feel of her embrace.

“You are full of surprises!” she said as she drew back.

You don’t know the half of it.

“Come on, beautiful. Let’s get you hot and sticky.” The blush that earned rivaled the flames in her eyes. He was wrong before. That look was miles ahead of the last one.

They roasted marshmallows until the fire was nothing more than embers, and Roni tied him in all kinds of knots as she moaned with each bite of the sticky treats and licked melted marshmallow from her fingers. It was torture keeping his hands and mouth to himself. They made small talk and laughed at silly jokes, and man, he really dug her laugh. They talked about his job at the bookstore, and he told her how much he loved it and that his favorite part was reading to the kids for story hour. When he asked her what it was like teaching dance, her face lit up as it had earlier, and she raved about the classes she taught—contemporary dance (her favorite), hip-hop, and ballet. Her tone warmed as she told him that she and Angela had known each other since they were kids, and he sensed something bittersweet when she mentioned that Angela was engaged and they no longer spent much time together outside of the studio.

“I bet you two drove the boys mad when you were growing up,” he said, setting down his stick while she roasted another marshmallow. He’d thought his life these last two years had been pretty fucking amazing, but Roni’s sunny disposition, sexy innocence, and sassy sense of humor made it feel like he’d been only half living.

“Angela did, but I was always at the studio dancing or helping with classes. I didn’t have much time for boys. To be honest, I still don’t.”

“So I’ve noticed.” He leaned his arm against hers and said, “Thanks for giving me a few hours tonight.”

“I still can’t believe you did all of this for me.” She lifted her marshmallow away from the fire and pulled it off the stick. Her eyes swept over the twinkling lights framing the truck bed, the trash from their meal they’d put in bags and moved to the side, and settled on the wildflowers, lingering there. When her gorgeous eyes found him, the intensity in them stoked the flames that had been simmering between them for months. “I’m really glad Angela won a date with you for me. This has been the best night I’ve ever had.” She licked her lips, her cheeks pinking up as she said just above a whisper, “I like you, Quincy.”

“Even though I make you nervous?”

“It’s a good nervous. Butterflies-in-my-belly nervous.” She held up the marshmallow for him to eat and said,