Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
He smiled back. “Good. Me too. It sure as fuck beats that wine mixer.”
I laughed under my breath. “Definitely. I won’t be accompanying my brother to another one for a long time, that’s for certain. Next time our mother reminds us to spend quality time together, there are bars.”
Macklin planted his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand. “So your mom’s fussing, huh?”
“Always.” I could only smile as her expressions of motherly worry appeared in my mind. “Mind you, Dean and I are neighbors. We see each other almost every day, but we both work so much that it’s mostly in passing. So she will call us every week to remind us to slow down and spend time together.”
“That’s sweet. Do you have more siblings?”
I inclined my head. “My mother’s an old social worker with a big bleeding heart, so the house was always full growing up. She adopted Dean years before I was born. Then me and my two biological brothers followed, then four more from foster care. All boys. She would’ve adopted every kid in Knoxville if she could’ve.”
I loved them all, but Trent, Brad, Devon, and Jacob were significantly younger, with the latter two still in high school. We didn’t have a whole lot in common. Although, I was probably closer to Devon than my biological brothers. At least I shared my interests of woodworking and leathercraft with Devon. Whenever he came out to visit, we’d spend most of the time in my studio in Alexandria.
I didn’t know why, but I ended up telling Macklin about all my brothers. About the rough backgrounds my mother had brought them out of. How they were thriving and figuring out what they wanted to do with their lives. Rowan and Hayden, my biological brothers, lived on the West Coast and worked in entertainment. Hayden as a photographer and Rowan as an actor.
“Or, trying to be an actor,” I corrected with a smirk. “He just landed his first commercial, so fingers crossed that’ll take off.”
Macklin smiled and was about to respond, but the server arrived with our food.
The table quickly filled up with the smaller dishes he’d asked to be in charge of ordering, introducing me to yet another passionate side of Macklin. He’d fired off a series of rapid questions to understand my food preferences, the flavors I liked, what kind of food cultures I was into, and then put together little morsels for me to try based on my responses.
“Spicy, you said,” he replied with a nod. “Try this, please. It’s a super-spicy chorizo with a bit of smooth sweet-corn purée, garlic, parmesan, and a nutty, mild Nocellara olive from Sicily.”
He’d plucked all the bits from various dishes, and he extended a fork to me.
How was he only eighteen years old? Or almost nineteen as he’d reminded me twice already.
“Chew slowly,” he cautioned. “You want all the flavors to mix.”
Hrmmh. Bossy little boy. He just got cuter every minute too. I did as told and let the flavors blend in my mouth, and fuck me if he wasn’t onto something here. Macklin knew food. At such a young age, he knew what combinations went perfect together.
Christ, that was good.
“I’ll tone down the control freak and let you eat on your own very soon,” he informed me. Then he continued with the next morsel, filling a fork with flame-grilled lamb kabobs, a piece of roasted potato that had some spicy rub on it, and doused it all in a light dip consisting of Greek yogurt, lemon zest, garlic, and herbs.
I could quite happily let him feed me all night, but this second taste made me realize how fucking hungry I was, and patience wasn’t my strongest suit. Not once I understood I wanted something.
Or someone.
Hell.
“Maybe diplomas at fancy culinary institutes aren’t always necessary,” I admitted. “This is amazin’.”
He beamed. “It’s even better when I do the actual cooking. Believe me.”
I cursed internally and followed his lead; I ate what he ate and mirrored his combinations. All while I fought a losing battle within me. He was something else, this guy. I’d thought it before, and I thought it now. A breath of fresh air.
I wasn’t only hungry for the food.
“You mentioned a chaotic background,” I said in between bites.
He nodded with a dip of his chin, and his carefree mood was suddenly a tad forced. “Let’s just say I wish someone like your mom had been around when I was growing up.”
Let’s say more.
“Broken home?” I guessed.
He shrugged and dragged a piece of bread through the bowl with olive oil. “Both parents are drunks. No siblings. But I’m really close with my grandpa on Mom’s side. He’s supported me a lot. Mom’s sister has been there too. I have a nephew—I mean, sort of. He’s my cousin’s kid. He’s a hoot. For a five-year-old.”