Cocky Secrets (Cocker Brothers #29)

80. Meg

EIGHTY

Meg

F or two reasons I chose Cirino’s, an Italian restaurant on Broad Street. One, there aren’t a lot of choices in Nevada City, and I don’t want to go to the neighboring towns. And two, I want him to warm up to Christmas. It’s an important holiday for me. I love this time of year and I don’t want to give it up or enjoy it alone.

The delicious aroma of garlic travels on the air as we step inside the lovely single room with red brick walls, warm ambient lighting and easy going conversations floating across Christmas music from the Rat Pack era.

Honey Badger side-eyeballs me and says, “Frank Sinatra I like.”

“I’m glad you approve,” I tease him, walking to the pretty local girl standing at a small host stand. “Two please.”

She smiles but her eyes keep drifting back to my date. The biker jacket has turned more than a few heads, but the gleam in her is pure sexual attraction.

His forehead is scrunched up as he takes a menu for himself and starts reading. I don’t think he knows how dangerously hot he is, which I’m very grateful for.

Her eyes flit guiltily to me as she realizes she was staring, and she whips around to search for an empty table. “Right this way,” she motions, grabbing a menu for me and heading off.

A few conversations pause as we follow her. I nod to my dentist, “Dr. Norman.”

“Margaret,” he nods back, his eyes hovering on the beast I’m with, before rejoining his friends with a look that says everything. Nobody will say it aloud but they’re a little afraid of Honey Badger. And I kinda like it. Isn’t that strange…

But when the food comes I have to say enough is enough. Laying my hand on his arm to arrest his attention, I whisper, “Slow down. It’s ravioli. It’s not trying to run away.”

His coal-black eyes blink at me as he straightens his hunched back. “Oh,” he mutters, cracking his neck and shaking out his shoulders like he’s preparing for a war — him against his bad manners. He picks up two instead of five raviolis and brings them to his mouth like a normal human being, chewing more slowly than he probably has in his whole life.

“Are there just men where you live?” I ask, glancing around at the people as they turn back to their meals.

He shakes his head and sets the fork down for his pint of lager. Gulping it, he blinks and slows that down, too, glancing to me. “Men, women and kids. But we don’t poke our nose in anyone’s business too much. Didn’t have to answer to no one.”

I could point out that he just used a double negative in that sentence, but I’d rather be happy than right.

I’m very curious about this living arrangement. If he’s thinking of me in the way he says he is, I would like to know more.

“How many women?”

“Depends on who’s living there at the time. We have another station in Montana, and two smaller factions of our club in other states. Mostly it’s – wait, just the women? It’s Luna, Melodi, Hannah, Mona, Louisa, and Beth. They’re usually there. There’s about seven kids there now. But Louisa and Beth travel back to Montana a lot. I don’t know. It’s not always the same, but we’re all a family.”

“You all get along?” I ask before taking a slow sip of my Cabernet.

“Most days. It’s a tight group. You’ll fit right in.”

I almost spit red wine all over the white tablecloth. Amused, he goes back to eating while I remain speechless.

After we continue our meal for a time, I finally blurt, “You’re very direct.”

He shrugs, “Yep.” His expression changes to less cocky as he asks with a careful tone, “Where are your parents? They pass on?”

“Oh, they’re not dead.” He relaxes and I explain, “They found Jesus and now they travel to third world countries as Missionaries.”

“Was he lost?”

“Not funny.”

He chuckles, “I thought it was.”

“They’re doing good work out there.”

“What about you?”

I blink to my mushroom risotto. “It wasn’t my calling. It’s their thing.”

“No, I meant, what about being around for you. It’s Christmas and where are they?”

“Guatemala.” He stares at me like his point has just been made. Defensively I argue, “People need their help. They’ve built schools in villages where the children didn’t even know how to read and write. Besides, you don’t even like Christmas, so what do you care?”

Our eyes hook and hold. I know what I’m saying is true, and that I shouldn’t complain about being alone when they’re helping so many… and I’m just one person. But I have been feeling the loss of not having a family to spend time with for the holidays. They’ve always meant a lot to me, and I don’t like having no family to spend them with.

Honey Badger lays a heavy hand over my much smaller one. “Before I joined The Ciphers I had no one.”

My eyebrows flinch at this quiet disclosure. “So you know.”

He nods once, just a subtle dip of his chin, his eyes still holding mine. “I was raised in foster homes.”

“Plural?” I ask. He cocks his head and I use a different term. “More than one?”

He releases my hand and picks up his beer, his eyes glazing over. “Lost count, but it’s way more than one.” He downs the beer and starts back into the raviolis.

We finish our meals and when our waiter asks if we want dessert, I decline. “I’d like to take him to The Truffle Shop.”

All the locals know it, so the older man’s eyes alight with understanding and excitement for us. “Now that’s a treat! I’ll get your check.”

We both watch him walk away. “Do you mind if I call you Antonio?”

“I like it,” Honey Badger says with a sexy half-smile. “Surprised me to hear it. But only you can call me that. That’s why I like it.”

Happy to be special, my mind is light and I’m unaware that what I’m about to ask should be treated with care. My tone is far too casual as I ask, “Do you hate Christmas because you never really had one?”

The smile in his eyes evaporates, and suddenly I want to kick myself. He glances away from me toward the front door but his eyes are locked on something in his childhood. I can tell he’s extremely upset because the skin around his eyes is twitching. That’s all the answer I need.

I stand up and go to him, bending down to kiss him and make him forget his past. The restaurant disappears as we look into each other’s eyes. “I’m sorry you lost Christmas.”

His frown deepens like it hurt to hear that. His calloused hands cup my face and he kisses me, pulling me to sit across his lap, the kiss deepening to where it shouldn’t be seen in public.

We have to force ourselves to pull away.

Okay, it’s really just me pulling back.

If it were his choice our dishes would be on the floor right now, with us in their stead.

The waiter returns and sets the check down, awkwardly mumbling, “I’ll take that whenever you’re ready,” before he hurries away.

Like I’m the only person alive, Antonio is gazing at me. “Meg, I’ve missed you.” Now that I know what it means, I go boneless and accept the rocking hug he gives me, whispering in my ear, “I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you…”