Swing (Landry Family #2)(40)

“Good to know.” I pick up my glass of water and take a sip so I don’t laugh.

“Also, he went to all this trouble for you,” Hux continues. “We bought all this food and he got coffee because he said you like it.”

My eyes flip to Landry.

“And he bought plates and cups because he wanted you to like it here.”

My heart mushes. I have to force myself to take my gaze away from the handsome man at my left and look across the table at Huxley. “That was awfully nice of him.”

“Yes, it was. So you should be super nice to him, okay? He’s a nice guy. He—”

“Laying it on a little thick now, Hux,” Lincoln chuckles. He clears his throat as he dabs his mouth with a napkin.

“Okay, okay.” Huxley looks at me. “Can I go get a shower and maybe lie down? We traveled all day and Barrett bought me a book in the airport and I really want to read.”

“Sure,” I say. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“I will.” He stands and heads to the doorway. I’m not sure what he does as he stands there, but it makes Lincoln nod and laugh.

Once he’s sure Hux is out of earshot, Lincoln reaches under the table and takes my hand. He laces our fingers together, his nearly swamping mine. His thumb caresses my palm.

“So, you going to be super nice to me tonight?” he teases. “I can think of super nice ways for you to show me you like me.”

“Can you?”

“Since I know your favorite ways to come, thanks to your little declaration on the phone today, I thought we could start there.”

“Don’t embarrass me,” I say, tucking my chin.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, baby.” He squeezes my hand until I look at him. “Want some wine?”

“Sure,” I nearly whisper.

“Red or white?”

“White.”

He brings our interlocked hands to his lips and presses a kiss against them before letting mine go. My normal wit is long gone, sitting in a puddle along with the rest of me on the floor. I watch him uncork the wine and pour us both a glass. “Come on,” he says, exiting the kitchen.

I follow him into the living room where he gets comfortable on the sofa. A fire is burning in the fireplace, the crackling of fake logs making the room feel intimate.

“Sit,” he instructs, motioning with his chin for me to land beside him. He doesn’t have to tell me twice. I curl up next to him, his arm stretched along the back of the brown leather couch as I tuck my head into the crook of his shoulder. He hands me a glass of wine. “This is nice.”

“It is.” I take a sip of the full-bodied liquid and feel every stress in my life float away. A niggle in my subconscious tries to remind me not to get too close to him, but it ends up on the stress-exodus and vanishes.

It’s too easy with him. It’s too much like what I’ve always wanted. Sitting with him and Huxley tonight had such a feeling of family, something I’ve never experienced.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks.

“What a nice time we had tonight.”

He kisses the top of my head. “I’m glad you liked it. I almost had a fucking nervous breakdown.”

“You could’ve ordered takeout,” I giggle. “Or I could’ve brought something.”

He stills, his heartbeat loud against my ear. “I wanted to do something for you. I wanted you to feel special, to know I wanted to make you feel happy.”

“Damn it, Landry. Don’t go getting all swoony.”

“Why?” he laughs. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Not when you look like you,” I giggle. “That makes you impossible to forget.”

“Good. Unforgettable is what I was going for.”

“You gave me a taste of something tonight,” I whisper. “I’ll never forget how it felt to sit at the table with you and Huxley. It was so welcoming, like I belonged in this greater plan.”

“You do. You belong here.”

I look away. I don’t want him to see the emotion in my eyes because he’s too good. He’ll capitalize. He doesn’t miss a thing.

Is he right? Do I belong with him? Or is this just a really good time in between seasons?

“Hey,” he says, reaching forward and sitting his wine glass on the coffee table. He takes mine from my hand and places it next to his. In one swift motion, he lifts me onto his lap sideways. “Your shoulders just got all tense.”

“That happens,” I say.

“Not with me. I don’t want you stressed with me. I thought you were enjoying yourself.”

“I was. I am,” I correct myself. “I just can’t shut my brain off.”

“You overthink everything. I think your brain is the only part of you I have a love-hate relationship with.”

I press my lips together. “So you think you have a solid love relationship with the rest of my body?”

“Uh-huh. I love every,” he says, his fingertip touching the center of my lips, “fucking,” the pad of his finger trails down my chin, in between my breasts, “thing,” it descends across my stomach and landing between my thighs, “about you. And I’m certain your body loves me just as much.”