Trent chuckled, shaking his head as he covered some kind of fish in a seasoning. “Good job, Dean. Thanks for making the introductions.”
“Welcome,” Dean beamed, turning back to me.
The little boy quieted, and went back to petting Bartholomew. I stretched my legs out on the ottoman, adjusting my hold on both the ferret and the toddler, since my arms felt like they were seconds away from falling asleep.
When I knew Trent was occupied with what he was doing, I watched him out of the corner of my eye. He was reading something off his phone. A recipe maybe? He kept flicking his head to keep his dark hair out of his eyes. His thumb scrolled the screen on his phone and his tongue stuck slightly out of his mouth as he concentrated. He muttered under his breath and began opening cabinets as he looked for something. He finally located it and added it to a bowl. As he worked he hummed under his breath. I didn’t recognize the song—and wasn’t even sure it really was a song, or just something he was making up as he went along.
He turned on two of the gas stove eyes and set something across it…it looked like he’d be grilling the fish…at least I thought it was fish.
Feeling like a creeper for spying on him as he cooked, I glanced back down at the warm bundles in my arms. Both the ferret and the toddler were sound asleep. It didn’t look like I’d be moving anytime soon. For once, I was okay with that. I didn’t feel the need to run. I was actually enjoying myself, and I wasn’t even really hanging out with Trent. But I was here, in his house, and I didn’t have an urge to leave. I was…comfortable.
“You okay?” Trent asked as something sizzled on the stove.
“Mhmm,” I hummed, “I’m great.”
Trent turned to look at me over his shoulder, and at his grin, I couldn’t help but smile in response. “Good,” he said, his eyes devouring me the way one would their favorite piece of chocolate.
Goosebumps broke out across my skin as he stared at me. That look…it turned my insides to mush. It felt good to be desired.
With a wink Trent turned back to what he was doing. I wondered if he was aware of the delicious feelings coursing through my body from a single glance. The boy was good, and he didn’t even have to try. It was quite a talent he had.
I must have dozed off as well, because some time later I was awakened by Trent gently shaking my shoulder. Bartholomew was gone, and I started to panic, but I immediately glimpsed him snoozing in his hammock. Dean was still curled in my arms, his body providing warmth to mine. His tiny lips were pursed in sleep.
“Dinner’s ready,” Trent told me.
I nodded, stifling a yawn.
Trenton picked Dean up off my lap and the little boy came awake with a start. “Rent?” He asked quizzically, looking at Trent with sleepy eyes.
“It’s Uncle Trent,” he assured the toddler, carrying him over to a highchair by the dining table.
“You have a highchair for him?” I tilted my head, taking in the sight of Trent tending to Dean.
“Well, I didn’t buy it,” he chuckled. “I watch Dean as much as I can when I’m home. Trace works a lot and Olivia’s home with this goober all the time,” he affectionately kissed Dean’s cheek, making a loud smacking sound with his lips. “Sometimes they need a break, and I’m happy to help. I like kids,” he shrugged. “I even have a pack n’ play for when we have sleepovers,” he winked, ruffling the toddler’s hair, and sauntering into the kitchen.
I sat down at the table in front of a steaming plate of deliciousness. My stomach rumbled as I inhaled the scents of rosemary and garlic. It was official, the man could do anything, he was perfect.
“Do you drink wine?” He asked, looking at me over his shoulder.
“I’m legal if that’s what you’re asking, but no, I’ve never drank any…” After what I saw at home, how could I want to? I didn’t want to become my mother.
“This is really good with our dinner,” he held a bottle aloft. “Would you like to try some?”
I frowned, prepared to tell him no, but he was already pouring a glass. I didn’t see how one glass could turn me into a raging alcoholic. Besides, if I hated it, I didn’t have to drink it.
Trent set our glasses down and went back to the kitchen, returning with a plate of food for Dean. He took the seat beside the highchair and fed Dean a spoonful of mashed potatoes. “If I let him feed himself, he throws his food at me,” Trent explained. “I’m really sorry about this,” he tilted his head to Dean, who was making a humming sound as he ate a gob of mashed potatoes. “This wasn’t at all what I had planned for tonight.”
“And what did you have planned?” I ventured to take a bite of the grilled salmon—and holy shit, it was the best thing I had ever tasted.
“Dinner,” he nodded to our plates, “talking…kissing…”
“Always with the kissing,” I laughed—the sound surprising me. I was laughing, and if I recalled correctly, there had been other times when Trent had made me laugh…a real genuine laugh, not one I had to force. The man had superpowers.
“I like kissing you,” he winked, feeding Dean a piece of roasted chicken.
“Did you have anything else planned?” I questioned as I took a hesitant sip of wine. It was actually pretty good and went well with the fish.
“Nope.” Mischief danced in his eyes when he looked at me.