CHAPTER 8
Charlie
Gavin’s blue eyes were smoldering with heat as I looked up at him, realizing that I’d been stuffing myself like a woman who hadn’t eaten in days. My tongue darted out to lick my lips, realizing they were syrupy sweet with maple syrup.
My dad had always chastised me about my table manners. Yet I pushed thoughts of him and his words from my mind, not wanting Gavin to start asking questions. He noticed everything, that was for sure.
I dropped my food back on my plate and awkwardly reached for a napkin, doing my best to clean up the stickiness on my face. “I’m sorry. My manners are horrible. I’m used to eating alone.”
“Hey,” Gavin said in a low quiet voice. “Don’t ever second-guess yourself with me. I love a woman who enjoys her food. And I’m just as sticky and greasy. But that’s what good food is about, right? Simply enjoying it.”
It was true that he was enjoying himself, since he’d already devoured most of his meal, and he hadn’t had any issue using his hands for the chicken. And his lips were shiny with syrup—just like mine.
“You have some…” I pointed to my own face trying to let him know that there was bit of crumb in his stubble, but when he went to the opposite side, I grabbed my napkin and quickly wiped it from his face before I could think about my actions. “All set.”
Yet, I suddenly felt ignorant and stupid. What sort of woman cleans up a guy she barely knows? I dropped my hand and my gaze lowered to my plate.
“Hey, love… what’s wrong?” Gavin set aside his fork, his gaze focusing on me as if I was the only thing that mattered. “You’re not eating.”
“I guess I wasn’t as hungry as I thought,” I answered vaguely.
Gavin reached over and gently tipped my face up to look at him. “Talk to me, Charlie… I hate it when your smile fades to nothing. Tell me what’s wrong. Because you seemed to be enjoying yourself just moments earlier, and now…”
“It’s nothing.” I thought of my father who always told me I ate like a pig.
He shook his head. “It doesn’t look like nothing—and I want you to be able to talk to me. About anything. And I can’t imagine what’s upset you when we were doing nothing but enjoying a damn good meal.”
I shrugged. “I guess I’m just a bit self-conscious. My table manners… My dad… he always used to tell me that I didn’t eat like a civilized person.”
“That’s a load of crap, Charlie.” Gavin’s eyes flared with anger. Yet I couldn’t remember if anyone had ever gotten angry on my behalf—and it only endeared him to me all the more. “How exactly would he eat his chicken and waffles?”
I nearly laughed at the thought of my father eating in a place like this. “First off, he wouldn’t be caught dead eating chicken and waffles. But if by some fluke he had to, I can guarantee you, he’d be cutting his chicken with a knife, and he’d never in a million years use his hands.”
A puzzled look appeared on Gavin’s face. “Who in the hell uses a knife and fork to eat fried chicken?”
I shifted my attention away from his gaze, unable to handle the intensity of his ocean-blue stare. Sometimes, I swore he could see right through me. “My father.”
I’d always been expected to have good manners. Both of my parents had come from wealth, and it seemed like I was forever trying to fit into the world of old money and snobbery.
“Sweetheart, there’s something seriously wrong with that,” Gavin observed as he picked up a chicken leg and took a bite, as if to make a point.
“You think so?” I asked, slightly bemused as he finished up his chicken, not bothering once with a fork or knife.
“I know so,” he said with a knowing smile as he dropped the clean bone on the plate. “Eat, Charlie. There’s a good chance you’re stuck with me for the foreseeable future, and I’m likely going to offend your sense of etiquette if you never use your hands to eat. Frankly, I’d feel better if you just enjoyed yourself, and ate with me, instead of second guessing everything you do.”
A small smile did form on my lips as I picked up a chicken leg. “They were never my rules,” I explained. “My dad had…high expectations.”
I left it at that, not wanting to mention the fact that my father hated me because I was alive, and Jessie was gone.
Gavin continued to devour his meal, clearly enjoying himself. “Your dad has to be damn proud of you, Charlie. You’re trying to change the world for the better with your research.” He hesitated before he added, “I’ll bet you graduated from college with honors.”
“Summa cum laude,” I admitted hesitantly.
I’d never gotten any grade that was less than perfect in any of my studies. Not since Jessie had died. Sometimes I thought I was trying to prove to my father that I deserved to be alive. But it didn’t matter how much I excelled. In my father’s eyes, I’d never be able to live up to what Jessie would have been, and all he’d have accomplished, if he’d gotten the chance to live his life.
Gavin gave me a charming smile as he finished his waffle, and then reached for his coffee. “Always perfect.”
I didn’t know if he meant me—which I wasn’t, despite Gavin’s delusions—or the coffee, but with my appetite back, we fell into a comfortable silence as we filled our bellies with food. And it really was delicious. I couldn’t help but let out an occasional little moan at the crispiness of the chicken and the sweetness of the maple syrup—which was the real deal, and not just caramelized sugar water.
The waitress brought us towelettes, and we used most of them to clean off any stickiness at the end of our meal.
“So what’s your final verdict?” Gavin asked, his plate clean except for the discarded chicken bones.
“It was amazing,” I answered honestly.
“Once you got over using your hands?” he teased.
“I’m sorry,” I said in a quiet voice. “Old habits, I’m afraid. I honestly don’t cut my fried chicken with a knife. But I didn’t want you to think I was barbaric, either.”
“I think I’ll be fine unless you start tossing your bones on the floor and start calling a serving wench to bring you another tankard of ale,” he joked.
I laughed freely at his joke, almost able to visualize the scene. “Nope. I didn’t once have the compulsion to toss my bones.”
“Good, since I like heading to unique places to eat, and it’d be nice if you came with me.”
I’d happily go almost anywhere with Gavin, and likely love every minute of it. I was having a love/hate relationship with my attraction to him, but he was nearly irresistible. Not that I thought he’d ever be interested in me as anything other than a friend. But honestly, I could use a companion who didn’t see me as strange or boring.
He dropped several large bills on the table with the check the waitress had dropped off while we were eating.
“That’s an enormous tip,” I said without censoring my words.
“Dolores is a great waitress. I come here a lot, and she’s always taken good care of me. Good service deserves compensation, and she has a kid in college. Can’t be easy as a single mom.”
My heart warmed at his thoughtfulness. Gavin obviously had no chip on his shoulder, despite his wealth. He’d greeted the waitress like a friend, hadn’t expected special treatment, and paid her well as he left the table. So different from my father who treated hired help like his personal servants, and always complained that things weren’t up to his demanding quality. “That was really nice of you.”
Gavin stood and held out his hand. I grasped it and he pulled me up, though he was quick to wave off my comment. “I’m not that nice,” he said, not letting my hand go as we made our way back to his vehicle.
When we were settled into the car, and he was headed toward a place to shop, I finally said what was on my mind. “Gavin?”
“Yeah?”
“There never has been and never will be anything bad about being a nice guy.” In fact, his thoughtfulness was an amazing character trait.
Gavin was silent for a moment before he answered, “Charlie, I’m honestly not all that nice.”
I ignored him. He was nice, but if he didn’t want to admit to it, I’d be more than happy to keep his secrets just like he was keeping mine.