“I suppose that’s a good attitude to have.”
“Yup.”
The doorbell rings and I jump in my seat. I wasn’t nervous, until I heard the doorbell. Now butterflies are roaming my stomach and I want to hide behind the giant salad bowl.
Jacob turns the stove off before walking away to answer the door.
“Hey, man. How’s it going?” I hear him ask as the door opens.
“Good. Thanks for inviting me.” I hear another man reply, his voice low and gravelly.
It perks my attention, and when he rounds the corner into the kitchen, it perks up so much more. He’s tall, brown messy hair sticks out from under his ball cap, scruff of facial hair is scattered across his jaw, his tan shirt is stretched across his chest, the sleeves tight around his biceps. His jeans are tight in all the right places, and he’s wearing brown square toe boots that look like they have seen better days. Yeah, I know, he looks like all the rest of them. But he’s sexy.
I watch him as he follows and talks with Jacob as they come our way. He laughs at something Jacob says and my eye’s land on him. I take a deep breath when his ice blue eyes pierce any calm demeanor I had left.
“Vance, you know the wifey. This is her sister Lily. They run the store together,” Jacob tells him. He looks to Laylaand gives her a little wave then looks to me again.
I look down at my shirt, regretting not putting a little effort in. I could have at least worn jeans and a fitted tee. Vance put his hands out and I take them. His big hands engulf mine. They are warm and rough.
So he works with his hands.
“Hi, Lily. It’s nice to meet you,” he says. His beautifully pink lips smile at me, and I internally melt.
“Hi. Yeah. You too,” I reply. I pull my hand away gently, letting it curl into my lap with the other.
Vance rubs his hands together before turning back to Jacob.
“Is there anything I can help with?” he asks.
“Here,” Jacob replies, going over to the counter and grabbing the plates, forks and napkins. “Set the table and I’ll get the food out there.”
He nods, taking the dishes. I watch every move he makes. The way his arms flex as he takes the ceramic plates. The way his ass looks as he bends across the table to put plates down.
Damn.
I feel a tap on my shoulder then my sister’s belly leaning into me.
“If you take a picture, it will last longer,” she whispers in my ear.
I scoff at her, turning my head. “I was not staring.”
“Yeah, ok. Grab the salad. Let’s go sit down. You can sit next to the new hunk.”
I roll my eyes, grab the salad bowl and follow my sister. I pull the chair out next to her but her hand lands on mine. She shakes her head and points with her eyes to the seat across from her.
We talk to each other with our eyes. Sister language.
No. You can’t be serious.
I’m dead serious.
I don’t even know him. Why can’t he sit across from me?
Because, I want to sit next to my husband.
Whatever, you never sit next to him.
I’m older. You do what I say.