A Pound of Flesh (A Pound of Flesh #1)(163)

“Not at all,” Carter said with a half smile.

Nana Boo cupped his cheek and tapped it tenderly. “And, darling, you’re just as gorgeous as she described.” She laughed at the speechless expression on Carter’s handsome face, and snaked her arm through the crook of his elbow. “Let’s get you inside. It’s too damn cold out here. Kat, give Trevor the keys. He’ll collect the bags.”

Carter pulled Kat with him, gripping her hand as if his life depended on it. She rubbed her palm up and down his forearm in placation. God, he’d been truly terrified when they’d been in the car. The distress was almost visible around him, evil and unrelenting. She knew where it came from; he carried it around with him like a lead weight.

Kat bit the inside of her mouth. The hate she harbored for his family made her teeth snap. They’d treated him so appallingly, never loving, caring, or nurturing him as he grew, and he now considered himself unworthy, with no comprehension of just how incredible a man he had become. It was painfully tragic.

“Was the drive good? The car was all right?” Nana Boo asked. She shut the front door behind them and pulled off her hat.

“Yeah.” Kat took a step closer to Carter’s side, knowing his need for contact. “He didn’t complain about my driving once.” She smiled when she saw him roll his eyes, his finger twirling a piece of her hair on her shoulder. “You may have even turned him into a Jaguar fan.”

Nana Boo’s eyes lit up. “You like cars?”

Carter scratched his neck. “Yeah, I, um, I dabble.”

“Carter likes motorcycles, too,” Kat interjected, ignoring the pointed look he shot her.

Nana Boo gasped. “A real-life Steve McQueen! Oh, be still, my beating heart.”

Kat giggled into Carter’s shoulder and closed her eyes when she heard him burst with laughter.

“I wouldn’t say that,” he murmured. “But I like them.”

“Well, I’ll show you the Triumph I have in my garage later.” Nana Boo winked. “You kids need a warm drink.”

Carter stared after the little woman as she scurried past them to the kitchen.

“She has a Triumph?” His blue eyes twinkled.

Kat laughed. “And an antique Aston. Come on, Steve,” she teased. “She makes a killer hot chocolate.”

Seated around Nana Boo’s huge wooden table, Kat allowed the warmth of her grandmother’s house, love, and acceptance seep into her, filling up the gaps of shame and uncertainty that had opened over the past few months. Carter, with his free hand always touching her, sat and listened while, before, during, and after their dinner of enchiladas and Oreo cheesecake, Nana Boo told him story after story of Kat and her childhood escapades. Stories detailing Kat falling off horses, climbing trees, and smashing baseballs through windows kept Carter enraptured.

Seeing him so relaxed, hearing him laugh, and having him slowly realize there was nothing to be afraid of was more than Kat could have dreamed. All she wanted from their weekend with Nana Boo was for him to see he fit into her life. She wanted him to see there were people who didn’t care about his past and the mistakes he’d made. It was important for Carter to understand not everybody would hold them against him. They didn’t define him.

She listened when Nana Boo asked him questions about his hobbies, smiling when Carter became shy and modest about his musicality and his love of all things fast and metal. He explained about Kala, and his desire to buy another motorcycle, which led to Nana Boo telling stories about Kat and her father riding up and down the beach for hours, simply to have the sound of the engine in their ears and the wind on their faces.