His Little Sunshine by Della Cain

Chapter Three

Brad

I spent Quinn’s entire shower trying to decide if I wanted this to be a date or not. I mean I did… Of course, I did. His smile that could make me melt, he was hot as the midday sun, and his kindness lit up a room. And he could draw silly cows that made me smile, even if I hadn’t known that at the time.

And really it wasn’t his ability to draw the cow as much as the fact that he did draw it…and leave a note. He wanted me to feel at home, or at least welcome. And what was I doing…walking back and forth like a tiger at the zoo.

“What’s good here?” We sat in the corner booth. It gave us a view of the entire place and allowed us to sit close-ish together while still seeing each other, thanks to the single curved seat.

“I usually get the special.” Which explained why he hadn’t even opened his menu.

“I didn’t catch what today’s was.” There was a dry-erase board filled with dessert options, another with soup, but nothing with meal options that I could tell.

“I didn’t, either. But I know it’ll be good.” That didn’t help me much. I wasn’t exactly picky, but I…no, I was picky.

The menu had everything from breakfast all day to sandwiches to salads to homestyle dinner meals. There were too many options. Did I want pancakes or steak or grilled cheese? I couldn’t even decide what kind of food I preferred.

“You can’t go wrong with chicken fingers.” It wasn’t the best option, but it was one I could be decisive on, and that would have to do.

“Here are your drinks, fellas.” Our server, Tanya, set our iced teas down in front of us. “Havin’ the special, Quinn?”

“How’d you guess?” He handed her the menu. “What is it—for my guest?”

Guest. Not date. But also not a friend. Did guest mean sort of a date? Or nothing like one? He’d said I could decide, but sometimes it was better if someone else did.

“And the vegetable is corn.” Great. I missed her entire spiel. I could go for it and hope I didn’t hate it or stick with chicken fingers.”

“I think I’ll do the chicken finger basket.” I handed her the menu.

“Sorry, honey, we are sold out of the fingers. Did you maybe want nuggets instead? We got those.”

“And they come with pudding,” Quinn jumped in. “But will that be enough to eat?” He directed his attention to Tanya.

“I’ll hook him up. We don’t have those fancy computer ordering systems here. I got him.” She winked at Quinn and headed toward the window in the kitchen.

I sat there like a deer in headlights, and it all fell into place. I’d just ordered a kid’s meal but not. Or maybe yes. Please don’t let it come with a little plastic cup or crayons. Then this would most definitely be not a date.

“You didn’t hear the special, did you?” Quinn handed me a straw.

“Not so much. Is it a good one?” Not that I could be sad about my dinner choice. I loved chicken nuggets even more than fingers. They just weren’t what you ordered on a date. If this even was one.

“Open-face roast beef sandwich with mashed potatoes and corn. One of my favorites. Did you want to switch? I can call Tanya over, no big deal.” He was too sweet.

Did I? I liked nuggets. I liked mashed potatoes. No. They already swapped things around for me when the fingers weren’t available. Nuggets were fine.

“That’s an awful lot of thinking.” Quinn raised his hand and, when Tanya looked over, he held up two fingers and then pretended like he was holding a bag.

“Coulda guessed that,” she called back to him with a thumbs-up.

Quinn turned his attention back to me. “Now you have one to take back with you, and you can eat the chicken here. Nuggets really aren’t the best reheated.”

I slid a little closer. Not much. Maybe an inch. I wasn’t even sure why. But it felt like the thing to do.

“I was planning to maybe stay the day tomorrow.” At least I was now. I didn’t want to have to rush back to the city. Staying would allow me to just relax, and I had a room I could use. Declan’s place was built for a huge family once upon a time.

“And you don’t plan to eat before you go?”

“No. I guess I do. I can have it for breakfast.” I was an early riser, and it would be easy to heat up. It didn’t matter if I was working or had a day off. Naps? I could take one every day, but sleeping in never worked for me. “Thank you. I should’ve started with that, but then—”

“Your brain was going a mile a minute.” He picked up his glass and wrapped his lips around the straw. My eyes were glued to them, and I didn’t bother to try and hide it. I couldn’t…I was too busy enjoying the view and being a little bit jealous they were on the paper tube and not my body.

“Yeah.” No sense denying it. “I’m still getting used to the slower pace that is my life.”

“Ha.” He shook his head with a cross of amusement and disbelief. “Your life is not slower paced. It’s just different. I’ve seen Declan. He works and works and works, even when he’s not working. You can’t tell me you don’t do the same.”

“We both try not to work as much as before…we do. But now we’re doing what we love and not doing what others love for us to do because they pay the bills. It’s different.” And it was.

There was still the stress that came with our production schedule, but it had an end point, and that was huge. They were also a bit more accommodating now that they realized Declan wouldn’t race back to them and throw himself at their feet because he saw the “huge mistake” he made because he didn’t. This was better for him and me.

“I’ve seen one of your private projects. You’re very good.”

My face burned. Of course he’d seen it. Declan and Holden didn’t hide what their dynamic was around friends. Still…there was something so private about making a nursery, even as the designer.

“Thank you.” It came out as a whisper, and Tanya saved the day by arriving with our food.

“I’ll put in the to go now so it isn’t cold by the time you bring it home.” Neither of us corrected her. “I brought ranch—you looked like a ranch guy, and there’s ketchup on the table. If you want something else, I can fetch it. We have barbecue, sweet and sour, and possibly honey mustard. I’d need to check on that.”

“Ranch is perfect, thank you.” I also loved mayo-chup, but that was something I usually saved for private. People tended to have strong feelings about ketchup and mayo blended together and also tended to be pretty vocal about it.

She went on her way, promising to check on us. That was when I noticed these weren’t just chicken nuggets—they were shaped like dinosaurs. “I really did order off the kid’s menu,” I teased, picking one up and having him walk to the dip, instantly regretting it when Quinn didn’t laugh but instead watched me intently like I was some sort of mystery.

“Everyone likes chicken nuggets,” he finally said and scooped up a forkful of potatoes. “Just like everyone loves mashed potatoes.”

“Especially with cheese. My grandmother used to mash them with sour cream and cheddar cheese. They were so good.” There were a few times she even served them with noodles and called it inside out pierogies. She was such a good cook. “Have you ever had leftover Thanksgiving cakes?”

“I have not, but I feel like I’m missing out the way your face lit up like the sun, just mentioning them.”

“They are so good.” I went on to explain how she made the potato cakes with leftovers and how they were always different and how much fun I had in the kitchen with her back then. Quinn listened intently as if I was telling him the most fascinating story on the planet and not a childhood tale of comfort food.

“Pudding for both of you.” Tanya set them down and cleared our plates. “Want any pie to go home?”

“No, thank you.” I was all about this pudding, though—banana from the look of it.

“It’s Mama Louis pie,” Quinn said to me and then looked up to Tanya. “I’ll take a piece of the peanut butter pie for here. Do you have any whole pies to bring back to the ranch?”

“I’ll see what we have. Probably an apple and maybe a coconut cream?”

“I’ll take both if you have them. Brad, what kind of pie would you like?” He wasn’t asking me if I wanted any but what kind I preferred. Was it that obvious that them being from Mama Louis made all the difference, or did he just not want to eat two desserts alone…or maybe it was both? Not that it mattered either which way.

“Sugar, please.”

She wrote it down and promised to be back.

“Mama does make the best pie.” Quinn pointed his spoon at my pudding. “The pudding is good, too, so might as well dig in.”

I tried to grab the bill when it came, but Quinn insisted, adding to the feeling it was a date.

It had been a date. I should probably tell him that.