Foreplay (The Ivy Chronicles #1)(23)

With shaking hands, I tried to focus on spooning the thick red sauce over the noodles, but I was acutely conscious of Reece’s every move. The faint sawing sound of the knife as he cut the bread into slices. The girls’ silly chatter behind us. It was such a strange, domestic moment. I could almost fool myself that it was real . . . a peek into the life, the future, I wanted for myself.

“I want three meatballs!” Sheridan announced.

“Yeah?” Reece said as he carried the bread to the table. “I’m going to eat fourteen.”

Sheridan giggled. “You can’t eat fourteen!”

My lips curved as I poured only a small spoonful of sauce over Madison’s noodles. Just enough to coat. Setting the girls’ bowls before them, I went back for mine and Reece’s.

“Sorry,” I said, meeting his eyes as I sat between the two girls. “I couldn’t fit fourteen in your bowl.”

“There’s always seconds.”

My pulse spiked as he said this because for the barest second he looked at my mouth, and it was like he wasn’t talking about food at all.

Sheridan provided a welcome distraction, tossing her head back in a fit of giggles. “You’re so crazy, Reece!”

He made a funny face at her as he shook Parmesan over his noodles and then did the same over the girls’ bowls. Something inside my stomach flipped over. It was an odd thing, reconciling this Reece with the guy from the bar.

I realized I didn’t know him. Not really. But this. This him. It felt . . . wrong somehow. Like trying to force two mismatched puzzle pieces together. He even looked different. No longer cast in the hazy amber glow of the bar, but in the warm yellow of the kitchen. There was no way to hide the faintest flaw in this bright light, and yet, believe it or not, he looked hotter.

Sheridan stared at him with wide eyes. “Momma says you get a tummy ache when you eat too much.”

“What? This belly?” He sank back in his chair and patted his flat stomach. “No way. It’s made of steel. You should have seen what I ate for breakfast. My pancakes were stacked . . .” Squinting, he held his hand two feet above the table. “ . . . this high.”

Madison smacked a hand over her mouth, stifling her gasp.

“Sharks eat tires,” Sheridan volunteered loudly, and not entirely on topic.

Madison nodded sagely in agreement. “Momma read that to us in my shark book. They found a tire in a great white’s belly.”

“I could eat a tire,” Reece replied with utter seriousness, popping a whole meatball into his mouth and chewing.

More giggles erupted at this claim.

Smiling, I twirled spaghetti around my fork and tried not to compare this to the dinners of my childhood, when I usually ate in front of the television. If I was lucky enough to be in a motel room. Often it was the backseat of Mom’s car. Either way, there was rarely a microwave handy so I ate a lot of cold SpaghettiOs straight from the can. “Eat up, girls.”

The girls obliged, slurping noodles into their mouths and making a general mess. Sheridan stabbed her fork into a meatball and lifted it to her lips for a bite. She ate about half of it before it fell into the bowl with a splat, spraying sauce.

Madison proclaimed herself full after three bites, but I coaxed her into eating a little more, bribing her with the lure of bread. All the while, I tried to ignore Reece’s watchful gaze, hoping I was playing it cool as I wiped sauce off chins. Lowering the napkin, I glanced at Reece, only to find him staring back at me.

Heat prickled over my face and I looked away quickly, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear self-consciously.

“C’mon.” I waggled a slice of bread at Madison. “One more bite and you can have this yummy yummy bread.”

Eyes glued to the bread, the toddler shoveled one more tangle of noodles into her mouth and then snatched the promised bread from my fingers.

Sheridan was another story, happily devouring her spaghetti and moving on to her second meatball. I picked at my dinner as they polished off their milk. Everything I chewed sank like lead into my stomach. It was hard to eat with Reece across from me. Watching. Eating with gusto. Apparently he had no such troubles.

“All right,” I instructed when the girls declared themselves stuffed. “Let’s hose you down and get in your pj’s and ready for bed. I promise to read to you if you guys don’t stall.” I clapped once. “Chop chop.”

“Two stories,” Sheridan wheedled.

“Um.” I pretended to think hard. “Okay.”

“Three!” Madison shouted, holding up four fingers.

Sheridan pointed at her. “Ha! You can’t count! You’re holding up four—”

I closed a hand around the seven-year-old’s arm and lowered it to her side. “I think three stories sounds perfect.”

“Yay!” The girls cheered and climbed down from their seats, Madison unlocking her own booster strap in her eagerness.

“Wait. Wash hands first.” I led them to the kitchen sink and supervised as they stepped up on the stool and washed up. They raced from the kitchen.

Turning, I faced Reece. He was watching me intently, relaxed in his chair, one arm reclined along the surface of the table. “You’re good with them.”

“I was thinking the same thing about you.”

He shook his head. “Not really. Just experienced. I grew up with a little brother who insisted on shadowing me everywhere.”