Heartless (Chestnut Springs, #2)(21)

“You sure as shit are not.” Cade pushes the salad around his plate even harder. Hard enough that the tines of his fork screech across his plate. This guy needs to work out some goddamn tension.

My mom would say he needs some good sex.

I’m not so sure she’d be wrong.

“Luke and I have had some good chats about food scarcity this week,” I pipe up to defuse the conversation. “That not everyone is as fortunate as he is. We dug out a garden and today we planted our lettuce seeds, didn’t we?”

He nods enthusiastically at me, and I’m relieved I wasn’t a total buzzkill. Five isn’t too young to hear some truths about the world, but I’m wondering if I overstepped.

When I peek over at Cade, though, his scowl is less irritated. Possibly an appreciative scowl?

I mean, fuck my life. How did I get to the point where I’m analyzing the way a man scowls at me?

Beau chuckles. “Well, you know. Boys will be b—”

“No,” I cut him off. Because that saying is straight trash, and years of bartending have given me plenty of time to see boys being boys. Which really is just boys being shitheads. “Boys will be gentlemen.” I point my fork at the big army Ken doll sitting across from me.

It’s then that I hear a huff of air in the otherwise dead silent dining room, and I almost drop my fork when I figure out it came from the least likely person.

Cade is still moving food around on his plate—like barbecue ribs require a fork or something—but the corner of his mouth slants upward. The angle of his face and the darkness of his beard make it hard to see, so I squint a tad, jutting my chin at him to get a closer look. I’m not sure I can call it a smile.

An amused scowl?

The hockey player clears his throat, not hiding his amusement at all. “Well, Harvey, what have you been up to this week?”

He chuckles and wipes a weathered hand across his mustache. “Thanks for asking, son . . .”

I find myself glancing between him and Cade, wondering how Cade might look with a mustache. A joke about free mustache rides pops into my head, and I blink rapidly to clear it.

I glance around the table to see if anyone noticed I was thinking about riding Cade’s face. Thankfully, that would be impossible, and everyone has fixed their attention on the head of the family, who’s running down what he’s been up to this week while I’ve been thinking about how Cade’s beard and tongue would . . .

Then I feel it. The scowl. My eyes shift, and Cade is staring right at me, bulging arms crossed over his impossibly broad chest. Biceps straining against his signature black T-shirt. And my cheeks heat for no good reason other than my body is a traitor and I’m probably ovulating.

I stare back at him across the table, refusing to look guilty. Trying to stretch my consciousness back to whatever the sweet patriarch of the family is talking about.

“ . . . Today I got to tidying up around the property a bit. There were leaves everywhere, so I gave the yard a good blow job.”

Cade’s eyes widen. Comically wide. Playfully wide. And I can’t help the hysterical little giggle that bubbles up out of me. I slap a hand over my mouth to cover it.

Rhett chokes on a piece of his food, and Summer slaps his back and coos at him like he’s a baby choking on applesauce while trying to suppress her giggles.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” Beau says with a playful glint in his eye. “You’re gonna have to explain that one to us again.”

Harvey shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “You not wearing ear protection at the shooting range? I said the yard was a mess. Next time you can make yourself useful and blow it yourself, Beau.”

My god. Is Harvey Eaton a sheltered simpleton or a comedic genius? He’s got the entire table stunned speechless, struggling to hold in their laughter, and he’s just munching away at the food on his plate, looking oblivious.

“Do you have a special technique he should know about before he gives it a go?” I don’t have a clue how Jasper is keeping a straight face after delivering a line like that. Is this something they teach you in the NHL? Because I’d like to have that training.

“Excuse me for a moment,” Cade bites out in a strained voice before pushing away from the table and heading toward the front of the house. I can’t make out his facial expression. Not even a little bit. Is he sick? Is he pissed that this conversation is going on in front of his kid? Am I fired for not instantly giving Luke earmuffs?

“Hey, Luke,” I say, my voice strangled, “why don’t you tell everyone about our guitar lessons this week? I’m going to go check on your dad.”

I smile as politely as possible, refusing to glance at Summer. Because if I meet my best friend’s eye, I’m going to get the giggles.

Uncontrollable giggles. Totally impolite.

I can see her from my periphery, craning her neck to catch my eye, but I just toss the cloth napkin on the table beside my plate before following the same track as Cade.

I walk through to the other side of the house, admittedly not really knowing where I’m going. Where Cade’s house is bright and airy with a cottage-type vibe, the main house almost feels like some sort of hunting lodge—wide floorboards, dark wood beams beneath vaulted ceilings, brass hardware, and dark green walls. I peek down a hallway and see nothing, so I continue toward the front door, seeing that it’s propped open.