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That rewarded me with a twitch of her lips, and she walked two fingers farther up my arm. She had to lean forward, her full chest brushing the table in the most distracting way. I had to draw my attention back to her fingers when she stopped at a tattoo of a bundle of daisies.
“Got that one when Maya was born.”
Her fingers traveled toward some more flowers.
“When Knox married Larkin, I needed one for Emily and Jackson.”
“I can’t reach any farther,” she pouted, dancing her fingers at the edge of my shirt sleeve.
So I took her hand in mine and kissed her fingertips. “There are plenty more to ask about later.” Some of them had meaning, some of them held stories, and I found myself looking forward to sharing all of them with her. The experience was a mix of old and new—walking down memory lane but doing so with someone new.
And Della had so many opinions. She always made me think of things in a new way, even when she was arguing with me.
“What are you thinking?” she asked me.
I turned her hand over in mine, tracing the soft lines on her palm. “Thinking I should get your name tattooed on me.” I dragged my free finger along the blank space from my ear to my forehead. “Here.”
Her eyes widened in shock, and I burst out laughing.
“You suck,” she said, swatting at my arm with her free hand. But her other hand was still resting in mine.
I smiled back at her—it was fun to get a rise out of her from time to time. “I’ll get it somewhere better. Like my co?—”
“Here’s your food,” Agatha cut in, an amused smile dancing in her eyes. As she slid our plates in front of us, she added, “You’re about as much trouble as your dad.”
I gave Agatha a salacious smirk. “Tell me more about this trouble.”
“Hayes,” Della said with a roll of her eyes. Even so, Agatha’s cheeks were flushing red.
“Let me know when you need something—like a whoopin’,” she retorted, walking away.
But I winked at Della. “I think I’ll get the whoopin’ from you.”
Her laugh was deep and throaty. “You’re incorrigible.”
“Thank you,” I replied, reaching for my sandwich. The smell of fried chicken lifted from the plate, and my mouth was already watering. I took a bite, and damn, she was right. “This is incredible.”
“As always,” she said with a smile over the half of the chicken-bacon-ranch sandwich she held in her hands.
“I think you’ve ruined me for all other sandwiches.”
“That’s what every girl wants to hear,” she fired back, wiping a bit of ranch from her lips.
God, that had me turned on. Suddenly, I was thankful to be sitting at the table. I ran through a list of engine parts in my brain, and then, when I cooled down, continued the conversation.
“You never told me if you have any tattoos,” I said.
She made a show of chewing for a long time, the apples of her cheeks tinging pink. “I didn’t,” she finally said.
I grinned wide. “You do have a tattoo.”
She took another bite.
My smile grew. “It’s a butterfly, isn’t it?”
“Fuck you,” she mumbled over her food.
“Where is it!?” I said, way too excited to see it. “Tell me it’s on your lower back.”