“Very.” Georgeanne walked over to Lexie and held out a hand to help her to her feet. “Let’s go find something to do and let John finish.”
“I am finished,” he said as he stood, keeping his eyes above chest level and trying not to stare like a schoolboy at her cleavage. He really didn’t want her to catch him ogling her body and think he was some kind of perverted bastard. She was the mother of his child, and although she never really said anything specific, he knew she didn’t have a very high opinion of him as it was. Maybe he deserved her low opinion. Maybe not. “Actually, I wasn’t going to do this today, but Lexie and I got a little bored waiting for you. It was either ride the exercise bike or play Barbie Beauty Parlor.”
“I can’t see you playing Barbies.”
“That makes two of us.” But there was just one problem with his good intentions; the halter top she wore was sapping his willpower. Kind of like Superman and kryptonite. “Lexie and I have been talking about finding some oysters for dinner.”
“Oysters?” Georgeanne turned her attention to Lexie. “You won’t like oysters.”
“Yeah-huh. John said I would.”
Georgeanne didn’t argue, but an hour later as they sat in a seafood restaurant, Lexie took one look at the picture of oysters on the menu and wrinkled her nose. “That’s yucky,” she said. When their waitress approached the table, Lexie ordered a toasted cheese sandwich on “fresh” bread, fries on a separate plate, and Heinz ketchup.
The waitress turned her attention to Georgeanne, and John sat back and observed the power of her southern charm and megawatt smile.
“I know you’re very busy, and I know from experience that your job is thankless and extremely hectic, but you look like a sweetheart, and I was so hoping I might make just a few little changes,” she began, her voice oozing compassion for the woman and her “thankless” job. By the time she was finished, she’d ordered salmon with a “lemon-chive brown-butter sauce” that wasn’t even on the menu. She substituted new potatoes for the rice, with “no butter, just a dash of salt, and a pinch of chives.” She ordered her cantaloupe served on a separate plate because “cantaloupe should never be served warm.” John half expected the woman to tell Georgeanne to go to hell, but she didn’t. The waitress seemed only too happy to change the menu for Georgeanne.
Compared to his two female companions, John’s order was extremely easy. Oysters on the half shell. Nothing extra. Nothing on the side. As soon as the waitress left, he looked across the table at the two females with him. Both wore light summer dresses. Georgeanne’s matched the green of her eyes. Lexie’s matched the blue of her eye shadow. He tried not to frown, but he hated to see all that makeup on his little girl. It was embarrassing and made him grateful for the darkness of the booth.
“Are you gonna eat those?” Lexie asked once their food arrived. She leaned forward, fascinated yet repulsed by his dinner.
“Yep.” He reached for a half shell and raised it to his lips. “Mmm,” he said, then sucked the oyster into his mouth and down his throat.
Lexie squealed, and Georgeanne looked a little squeamish and turned her attention to her salmon with lemon-chive brown-butter sauce.
The rest of the meal progressed fairly well. They chatted with a bit less tension than usual, but the ease of the evening ended when the waitress set the check next to him. Georgeanne reached for it, but he stopped her with his hand. Her eyes met his across the table, and she looked like a woman who wanted to drop the gloves and fight for the check.
“I’ll get it,” she said.
“Don’t make me get rough with you,” he warned, and squeezed her hand. He wasn’t opposed to the match, just the arena.
Rather than argue, she let him win, but the look she gave him said she clearly meant to discuss it again later when they were alone.
On the way home from the restaurant, Lexie fell asleep in the backseat of John’s Range Rover. He carried her into the house, feeling her warm breath on the side of his neck. He would have liked to hold her longer, but he didn’t. He would have liked to stay while Georgeanne got her ready for bed, but he felt a little funny about it and left.
Georgeanne watched John leave and reached for Lexie’s shoes. She dressed Lexie in her pajamas and put her to bed. Then she went in search of John. She wanted to ask him about tweezers for the sliver in her finger, and she needed to talk to him about the money he was spending on her and Lexie. She wanted him to stop. She could pay for herself. And she could pay for Lexie, too.
She found John standing at the bank of windows, staring out at the ocean. His hands were shoved in the front pockets of his jeans. The sleeves of his denim shirt were rolled up his forearms, and the setting sun cast him in a fiery glow, making him appear bigger than life. When she entered the room, he turned to face her.
“I need to talk to you about something,” she said as she walked toward him, bracing herself for an argument.
“I know what you’re going to say, and if it wi
ll keep that scowl off your pretty forehead, then you can pick up the check next time.”
“Oh.” She stopped in front of him. She’d won before she’d begun, and felt somewhat deflated. “How did you know that’s what I wanted to talk about?”
“You’ve been frowning at me since the waitress placed the check by my plate. For a few seconds I thought you really were going to leap across the table and wrestle me for it.”
For a few seconds she had thought of it, too. “I would never wrestle in public.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” In the gray wash of approaching night, she saw a corner of his mouth lift slightly. “‘Cause I could take you.”
“Maybe,” she said, unwilling to concede. “Do you have a pair of tweezers?”
“What are you going to do, pluck my eyebrows?”
“No. I have a sliver.”