good,” Charles added. “The steak here is tender with just the right amount of fat. A little amount of fat is good on steak because it adds to the juiciness. The little specs of fat found inside of the muscle is called marbling.”
The brothers’ eyes swung Charles’s way. Mason’s mouth slipped ajar, and Brad covered his mouth to contain a laugh.
“What?” Charles shot out.
I didn’t understand what was so funny.
Brad tried to dim his amusement. “I didn’t know you were such a steak expert.”
“I …” Charles’s eyes flickered my way, then to his brothers’, and then to the girls. “I learned it from watching all those cooking shows with the girls.”
“Dad picks up on the most interesting information,” Sarah added. “I don’t even remember that fact.”
I smiled.
“Okay.” I shut my menu. “I’ll have a steak, medium.”
As our food was being prepared, I took in the interaction of the family—how over-the-top goofy Brad was; how Mason was the opposite in his demeanor, taking jabs at Brad when he could; how Charles sat back, simply taking in everything in his silent strength, which was overpowering.
Normally, a person of his stature and height would intimidate me, but there was a tenderness in his gaze as he dealt with his children that eased me and melted my heart into a puddle of goo.
I knew his wife had died during childbirth, which must have been traumatic for him, but I wondered if he was still heartbroken and if that was why he hadn’t remarried.
The moment that thought filtered through, I straightened and shook my head. I knew nothing about his life. He could very well be on the way to marriage with a girlfriend he’d been dating.
I bit my lip and told myself to stop wondering about my new handsome boss because that could lead to very dangerous things—one being unemployment.
When Brad and Mason bickered or Mary and Sarah started up to annoy each other, Charles silenced them with a few words. When he spoke, there was an authority in his tone that made everyone listen.
“Daddy,” Mary whined, “where’s the food? I’m hungry.”
Charles tipped up Mary’s chin. “Soon.”
“I can’t believe the service right now. Usually, it’s impeccable but not today,” Mason added. “We’ve been waiting over an hour for our food. This is a little bit ridiculous.”
“Mason, dear”—Patty patted his hand on top of the table—“patience. And it seems like it’s a busier night than normal.”
My eyes made it around the room, to the packed restaurant beyond the glass doors. Every table was occupied.
A good while later, the two waiters held two large, circular trays as they entered. When they placed our plates in front of us, my mouth watered as the spices from the steak filtered through my senses.
It had been a good long while since I’d had a steak, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a steak at a restaurant.
When my knife cut into the juicy, tender meat, I frowned. The meat was practically breathing, red and medium rare, if that. I had asked for it to be medium.
“Yeah, that won’t do. I think it’s still half-alive,” Brad peeped up beside me.
“It’s fine.” I could eat the potatoes and vegetables, but boy, did I want a steak. I didn’t want to make a fuss.
Charles’s eyes flitted my way and back to my steak. The muscle in his jaw twitched, but he stayed quiet.
When the waiter came to drop off more food, Charles lifted a finger to get his attention. He motioned to my plate. “Her steak is rare. She ordered it medium.”
The poor waiter lowered his gaze, already grabbing the plate. “I’ll have it up to the kitchen in no time.”
“When can we expect it back?” Charles asked.
The waiter shrugged and teetered back on his heels. “Honestly, sir, we’re kind of backed up. I’d say, ten or fifteen minutes.”
With a shake of his head, he said, “That won’t do. Set it down.”
The waiter grimaced. “Are you sure?”
Charles pointed to the table. “Set it down.”
The waiter did as he had been told, most likely at the seriousness in Charles’s voice.
“Becky, you can have my steak.”
I shook my head. “No, it’s fine. I’m fine.”
When he reached for my plate, I took the other side. We both stood, the table between us, playing tug-of-war on a plate of raw steak.
“Just eat mine. It’s a perfect medium.”
“No, really, I can deal. That’s your steak.” My face warmed. I hated everyone’s eyes on me. I did better in the corner, unnoticed.
“Becky …” The tone he