"I'll be honest," I say as I lower myself into the chair. "I love steak but I have no idea what the other thing is."
His laugh fills the air, floating on the gentle breeze that flutters the candlelight. "It's a French wine. My favorite. You do like wine, don't you?"
"Do I like wine?" I scoff. "What kind of question is that?"
"A question someone asks someone else when they want to know more about them.”
I grin as he sits across from me. I love watching him move, his muscles flex as he bends and pushes.
He lifts the silver lid in front of him and I do the same. Sitting beneath the cover is a large steak, heat still rising from the plate. I have no idea how he managed to put all of this together, but I suppose it’s easy when you’re a Landry.
“Did your day get any better?” I ask, watching a shadow roll over his face.
“Not really. It won’t get any better for awhile.” He looks up at me. “As far as work goes, anyway.”
A smile stretches across my face and I’m happy to see it returned.
“How was yours?” he asks.
“I got a little studying done before I left for work. I’ll have to finish it when I get home. But otherwise, it was good.”
“You could’ve brought your homework here,” he suggests. “I could’ve helped you study.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Sure. It would put you to sleep.”
“If I can stay awake in meetings about a dog park, I’m pretty sure I can stay awake watching you read. I’d probably even like it.”
Flushing, I take a sip of my wine. It’s rich and delicious.
“Did your son have a good day fishing today with your father? They went again, right?”
“Yeah,” I laugh, remembering his call on the way here. “They had fun.”
“Did his father ever do that kind of thing with him?”
I look away. “No, not really. Hayden was always busy.”
“I shouldn’t have asked that. I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s fine. I just don’t think about that any more than I have to. I avoid it at all costs, really.”
“I can understand that,” he smiles softly. “Hux just seems like a great kid. Lincoln loved him.”
Laughing, I place my glass back on the table. “Because he called you out about your pitch.”
Barrett chuckles.
“Hux liked Lincoln too. He pretty much thinks he met a rock star.”
“Yeah, well, that’s because they’re probably interested in the same things. Baseball and girls.”
“My son doesn’t like girls!” I exclaim.
“Give it time,” Barrett chuckles. “They’ll be calling your phone all hours of the night.”
“I’m not ready for that,” I say, feeling a bit of panic. “I don’t even have a gun.”
Barrett bursts into a fit of laughter. “I’ll let you borrow Troy. He can be Hux’s new security guy.”
He seems to think nothing about what he’s just said, but I do. I watch him slice his steak, but I can’t shake the idea that if something did happen between us, Hux might actually need a security guy. The thought really bothers me.
“What’s the matter?” Barrett asks, setting his fork down.
“I know we’re eating and conversation is usually kept light, but what you just said made me think.”
“What I just said?” He scrunches his face, trying to figure out what I’m referring to. “About Troy?”
I lean back in my chair, putting a little distance between us. “We keep talking and seeing each other. And I can’t imagine that stopping anytime soon.”
“God, I hope not.”
My cheeks flushing, I try not to swoon and stay focused. “But then what, Barrett? What would that mean for Huxley?”
He considers my question. He takes a sip of wine before responding. “Well, you’re his mother. It’s your decision.”
“I mean, I know this might not go anywhere,” I say hurriedly. “I know it’s awful timing for you, and I’m not even sure I want it to go anywhere anyway—”
“I do.”
I force a swallow. His bluntness, his quick interruption, startles me. I search his face for a moment of, Oh fuck, I didn’t mean to say that, but I don’t see it. It’s not there.
“You do?”
“Even though you’re right—this is the wrong time to be starting a relationship with someone. Not even just that, I’m basically the guy you’ve been avoiding and I know that puts extra pressure on things. I want this to go somewhere. I want to see if it can. And maybe it can’t,” he adds with a small smile, “but I don’t want to always wonder.”
My eyes squeeze shut. He’s saying the things any woman in the world would love to hear him say, yet I don’t know if I can reciprocate them.
“I’m scared,” I admit. “I don’t want to be in the media or Huxley to lose his freedom. I don’t want to be harassed for questions and . . .” I look at him with as much seriousness as I can. “I don’t want to be embarrassed publicly.”