Page 37 of The Spite Date (Small Town Sisterhood #1)

ONE BIG HAPPY FAMILY

Simon

This is undoubtedly the most charming farm I have ever visited.

As we pull beneath the iron gateway announcing our arrival at Sunrise Fresh Farm, I notice rows of leafy green plants, a red barn, and a white farmhouse.

Trees and a few buildings dot the rolling meadow, which is sectioned off by natural wooden fencing, with some sections having rows of plants, while other sections appear to be unbroken ground or simply grass.

Although the temperature is still fairly hot, the sky is a brilliant blue and spotted with thick clouds that may or may not drop rain and thunder on us later.

The charm doesn’t entirely make up for the fact that my balls are still achy and unsatisfied after being interrupted with Bea, but at least my boys are happy.

And I certainly have new fodder for fantasies.

Which I will be acting out alone for the foreseeable future.

I nearly sigh, but catch myself as I remember where I am.

Namely, in a car. With my children.

About to have dinner with Bea and her family.

Charlie is the first to realize how wonderful this place is, nearly as soon as he tumbles out of the car. “Dad! Dad, there’s a dog !”

“Is it friendly? Can we pet it?”

“I want a dog.”

“I wanted a dog first.”

“You wanted one of those dogs that always needs to be groomed and looks like a pompous arsehole.”

“I wanted a mutt!”

“You can only pet the dogs if you don’t argue with each other, and you can’t try to ride the dogs,” Bea calls from a concrete slab set a reasonable distance from the house but somewhat close to the broad deck on the farmhouse’s side, where she is monitoring a barbecue grill.

“Sprite is the bigger one, and Digger is the furrier one.”

The boys both dash after the dogs lying in the shade beneath a large tree between the house and a row of fencing holding in grass.

“Be nice to the animals,” I call after them. “Your mother will have my head if either of you provokes a dog attack.”

“They’re pretty tame,” Bea tells me.

“So long as your hooligans don’t try to wrestle them or steal any of the goats,” Daphne adds behind her.

“Got ’em, boss,” Butch says. “Go and do…date things.”

“It’s not a date.”

He grunts, a noise that clearly means if you say so .

Pinky shakes his head at me, also clearly thinking I’m daft for not realizing what this is.

Tank has the evening off, so he isn’t here to comment.

With five adults already in attendance for this cookout, two security agents seemed more than sufficient.

Also, with five adults in attendance for this cookout—before Pinky and Butch—this comes nowhere near qualifying to be anything date-ish in nature.

Though the sundress Bea has changed into, showing off her legs and shoulders and arms and I daresay a hint of cleavage as well, which I shall have to inspect in more detail once I’m closer to her, is making me wish it were a date.

It’s also making me think I should’ve brought all three of my security agents.

One more to help me remember we’re not alone and keep me from blatantly ogling her this evening.

I give myself a mental shake.

This level of infatuation is rather unlike me.

A hint of woodsmoke and cooking meat lingers in the air—likely thanks to the grill that Bea is manning—or is it womanning?—and there are enough trees around the house to provide a break from the sun’s heat.

She’s applying sauce to the meat she’s tending, but she keeps sliding looks my way.

Looks accompanied by small private smiles that make me rather glad smiling is my default.

I’d look like a lovestruck fool as I smile back at her otherwise.

Not that I’m lovestruck.

Smitten, possibly. Horny, most definitely. But never lovestruck.

“May I be of assistance?” I ask her.

“Nope. Go sit. Get a drink. Gird yourself for the other grilling that’s coming.”

I smile broader.

She smiles back again, but while my smile is easy, hers seems laden with apprehension.

“Second thoughts about the family dinner?” I murmur. When she explained what she was making—over text message, as Ryker hustled me out of her bus rather quickly, and my security man did nothing to help me—she added that it was impossible to cook her family’s favorite meal without involving them.

And being the spitefully happy prat that I regularly am, I insisted I was ecstatic at the opportunity to get to know her better through her family.

“Not second thoughts, but definitely guilt,” she replies. “Terrible, horrible, insurmountable guilt. You should’ve held out for a private dinner later. They’re going to eat you alive.”

“Are you worrying yourself over me, Bea?”

“It’s more that I don’t want to face the backlash from the town when everyone finds out you fled the entire state in terror because of my family.”

“Have no doubts. I survived my own youth. I can survive an evening of uncomfortable conversation. Is this your magic sauce?”

Her cheeks turn a lovely pink. “Family secret magic sauce.”

“It smells almost as good as you taste.”

Her eyes go dark and her lips part as she draws in a quick breath.

“Drinks on the deck, you say? Lovely. I’m parched. And hungry.”

I leave her gaping after me and climb the three steps onto the broad wooden deck.

Though I do agree with her rather strongly on one point—I should have held out for a private payback dinner.

A naked private payback dinner.

Which I need to not ponder much longer until I’m in private again.

“Heard you Magic Mike’d Bea’s burger bus today,” Daphne says as I join her on the deck. She’s in loose jean shorts and a vest top. Her feet are bare, toenails painted a bright blue, her eyes hidden behind sunglasses, and her magically colorful hair tucked under a baseball cap.

I circumvent the long table adorned with a red checkered cloth and a basket of cutlery to lean against the railing in a position that gives me a view of both Bea at the grill and the boys in the garden.

“Going shirtless made the temperatures more bearable, though I only danced when the tips were high enough.”

“Must be nice to be a dude.”

“The drinks are in the cooler, Simon,” Bea says from the concrete slab below. “Ryker has everything from water to tea to soda to beer.”

“I brought wine,” Daphne says. “There’s this pinot gris that I get at a winery up the road that pairs perfectly with the risotto. And it’s local, so you know it’s not fake.”

Bea squints at her. “What? Why would it be fake?”

“Never mind. Want me to take over? Or do you actually trust Hudson with the risotto?”

“Gah. Two seconds…and done. This can sit for a bit. Wait. Simon. Drink.”

“I got him, Bea.” Daphne grins at me. “I want to pick his brain about people I used to know that he might know now.”

“Do not ?—”

“Give him shit about being naked in your burger bus and Ryker suspecting hanky-panky? Bea. Am I your best friend or not?”

“That’s a loaded question,” I observe.

“Very loaded,” Bea agrees. “Crap. The risotto. I’ll be back.”

She hustles past me to a side door, and the back door bangs in its frame as it shuts behind her.

“Sorry,” she calls. “Forgot to catch that.”

“He’s here?” Hudson says inside. “Can I go torment him?”

“Fine,” Bea says. “But he’s welcome to torment you right back.”

Daphne hands me a water bottle and then points to a folding chair at the head of the table that does not give me a view of both the grill and my boys.

“Is this the interrogation chair?” I ask her.

“Yep.”

The back door bangs again.

Hudson’s joined us.

“I get to go first,” he says to her.

“No, you don’t.”

“He who sleeps on the couch is crankiest, and the crankiest deserves the little joys,” he replies.

“Got a spare bedroom here,” Ryker says from the ground behind me.

I don’t jump in surprise, but only barely.

Daphne tosses a water bottle to Pinky, who’s settled in a folding chair in the corner of the deck and is watching all of us.

Then she looks at me.

I oblige the silent demand and take a seat.

“So, Simon, are you the marrying type?” Daphne asks while Ryker circles the deck to join us.

“Absolutely not.” It’s less me answering, and more years of training answering for me.

“And is Bea aware of that?”

“Bea prefers it that way,” Bea calls from the kitchen.

“When’s the last time you were tested for STIs?” Ryker hovers close enough to be mildly intimidating but far enough away to not provoke Pinky into telling him to back up.

“Oh my god, are you serious?” Bea yells.

“I’m glad she lacked the foresight to see why volunteering to make Dad’s risotto was a bad idea,” Hudson stage-whispers to Daphne. “It’s nice to have her occupied in the kitchen.”

“I had my annual exam two months ago, and I’m fit as a fiddle without any detectable traces of infection, sexually transmitted or otherwise,” I tell Ryker.

“Gonna need to see that paperwork,” he replies.

Pinky growls.

“He says he’s clear, Bea,” Hudson calls.

“Clear of what?” Charlie calls from the yard.

I look at Hudson. “Oh, do go on. You have such strong opinions about what my children should and shouldn’t know.”

“Acne,” Daphne calls to Charlie.

“I freaking hate that stuff,” Charlie says.

“Don’t say freaking when we’re at other people’s houses, dumbass,” Eddie says.

“Ryker’s house is your house,” Daphne tells them. “Use all of your words. Then I won’t feel bad for using all of mine too.”

“Please attempt to use your more polite words first,” I tell my children.

“Got it, Dad,” Charlie says.

Eddie salutes me, then returns to hugging the smaller of the two dogs, which is still a sizable mutt.

“Ryker, please check the chicken,” Bea calls from inside.

I start to offer my services, but both of the Best brothers and Daphne give me a look, echoed by Pinky, and I settle back the half inch that I managed to move before becoming the recipient of the sit still look.

“I can cook,” I mutter.

“If you were on a sinking boat and could only save one of your kids, which one would you save?” Hudson asks me.

I choke on my water.