Liars (Licking Thicket 2)

When he turned and found Stewie and me staring at him, he squeaked. “Oh, oh, sorry. I didn’t even see you there. I’m sorry to interrupt.” He looked between the two of us and finally settled on me, blinking his eyes rapidly and flushing pink. “I, um… I came to apologize. And, um…” He looked like he was about to faint from discomfort or something. “Do you like chicken? Never mind, of course you do. Everyone likes chicken. Don’t be ridiculous, Parrish. Lord.”

He was goddamned adorable.

And I wanted him to come closer. In fact, I wanted him full stop. He was easy on the eyes, perfectly put together, gainfully employed, and great with babies. It was like Jesus had looked down on me and sent me the answer to Stewie’s punch list.

And desperate times called for desperate measures.

“Of course I like chicken,” I lied, stepping closer to the flustered man. “Honeybunch. Now come on over here and meet our lawyer, Stewie.” I slid my arm over Parrish’s shoulders and beamed at Stewie. “This here’s my fiancé, Parrish Partridge. Parrish, this is Stewie, the lawyer helping me with Marigold’s custody case.”

I knew the poor barbecue man didn’t have a clue what I was talking about, but I at least hoped I’d confused him long enough to stay shocked into silence. Besides, he’d mentioned wanting to apologize, so maybe he’d go along with it as a favor to me, even though Lord only knew what he’d needed to apologize for.

Parrish’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. Good.

“Fiancé?” Stewie looked poleaxed. “But you never mentioned a fiancé! Diesel, this changes everything. We gotta—”

I ushered Stewie toward the door with a firm hand on his shoulder. “What we gotta do is to get to work on this list! I’ll give you a call in a couple of days. Alright, Stewie? Great. See ya!”

After making a big show of waving him off, I hustled Parrish into the house and shut the door behind me. “Fuck,” I muttered. What had I done?

“Um…” Parrish said, shrugging out from under my arms. “Hi? I’m Parrish Partridge and… have we actually met?”

I ran my hands through my hair and looked around, suddenly wondering if the house was even fit for company at the moment, much less whatever the hell groveling session I was getting ready to host. I’d only had Marigold at the house for a week now, and it already looked like a tornado had whipped up all the contents of the house and spilled them back down in no particular order, hence the terrible initial home visit.

“I’m Diesel Church. Sorry about all this.”

“The sudden marriage proposal or the dirty diaper on the floor?” Parrish asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh shit,” I said, spotting the offending item. I lurched forward to dispose of it, taking it to the small kitchen and shoving it in the lidded trash can before washing my hands at the sink.

Parrish followed me and set the baking pan on the counter. “This is really pretty, actually.”

I followed his gaze as he looked around at the honeyed wood paneling I’d installed on the walls and ceiling in the kitchen and the living area just beyond it. Despite baby crap everywhere, my home was clean and bright. It may have been small and really run-down on the outside, but I’d been working hard to fix up the inside myself, and I was proud of it.

“Thank you,” I said gruffly, turning away to look for enough space in the fridge to fit his chicken dish. I didn’t have much in the way of food right now, so it was mostly an excuse not to have to meet his eyes after throwing him under the bus like I had.

“So… this is chicken pot pie with bacon-and-cheddar biscuits. I forgot to write down the reheating instructions. Do you have a pen and piece of paper?”

I glanced up at him from the door of the fridge. That was it? He wasn’t going to ask me what kind of crack I was smoking and why I’d claimed him as mine before we’d even officially met?

“Uh, sure. Lemme see…” I rooted around in the nearby junk drawer until I found a sticky-note pad and half-chewed pencil. “Sorry,” I muttered.

He took it delicately between two fingers and began to write the instructions in tidy penmanship before placing the sticky note onto the tinfoil.

“There. I hope you like it. I know it’s not much, but… I wanted to apologize for the way I snapped at you the other day, and Uncle Beau says no one’s ever gone wrong with an apology casserole.” He blinked rapidly and began looking everywhere but at me. “Which is probably not true. I kind of wonder if anyone’s accidentally poisoned someone with one, you know? Like, God forbid, at a funeral or a wake? What if they’d accidentally used old mayo or bad eggs or…” He blinked up at me and blushed as red as his old beater car out front. “Maybe that’s inappropriate. I promise I used all fresh ingredients in yours.”