Liars (Licking Thicket 2)

“And I wanted to help,” Riker finished in a voice nearly as deep as my own. He looked past me to Parrish and up-nodded. “Think you know my husband, Colin.”

I looked over my shoulder in time to see Parrish do a double take. “Colin?” he squeaked. “As in, Partridge Pit’s interior designer Colin? Sadie’s dad Colin?”

“One of Sadie’s dads, yeah.” Riker winked and folded his arms over his leather vest. “Col says he really enjoys working with you, and I appreciate that. Good work-life balance is crucial when you’re raising a family.”

The other Dogs nodded amongst themselves, pursed their lips, and murmured in agreement.

“Anyway,” Riker said. “My usual crew’s scheduled out on some other projects, but the Dogs here are looking for some extra cash to fix up their clubhouse, so Jackknife, the Sims brothers, Grover, and Hatch volunteered. And Crow’s here to supervise, of course, since he’s the Pres.” He clapped a hand on Crow’s shoulder. “So here we are. Cool with you if we do the pressure wash tonight so we can start painting in the morning? Sooner we get started the better, since I promised I’d be home by tubby time.”

I nodded. I vaguely recognized the name Richards Renovations from around town, so I was pretty sure I could trust them. Besides, with the caseworker’s home visit happening in a few days, I couldn’t exactly be choosy. If they were here to help, I’d take it and be grateful.

“What do you need from me?” I asked.

Crow smacked his hands together. “Point me to the nearest spigot and flick on those big lot lights if we’re still at it when the sun goes down. That’s it.”

I hustled out to help them and was surprised to find Parrish already feeding Marigold her dinner when I came back inside. “Find everything okay?” I asked stupidly. My kitchen was probably the size of Parrish’s bathroom wherever it was he lived when he wasn’t in Licking Thicket.

“Yeah. Just sitting here thinking there’s probably an interesting story about how Riker and Colin met because you could not imagine two more different people.”

“Even more than us?”

“Yeah.” Parrish swallowed. “I think. Anyway… I figured Marigold might get upset at the noise, so if we feed her now, we can distract her with a bath when the pressure washing starts.”

God, he was good at this. I wouldn’t have even thought about something like that. “Thanks,” I said, wanting so badly to lean in and drop a kiss on his forehead before returning to the stove.

But I didn’t. I got to work on our own dinner so the sauce could simmer while we wrangled Marigold into a bath.

It turned out to be a wasted worry. She made ten times more noise in the bath than any MC crew of pressure washers ever could. Then Parrish found a lullaby station on the music app, and Marigold fell in love with it. We brought my portable speaker into the bedroom and let her fall asleep chatting lazily with the music.

We moved back out to the kitchen and finally sat down for our own meal. I’d made sure to close all of the window blinds for our privacy, and it felt a little bit like being safely tucked inside during a thunderstorm.

When Parrish took his first bite of the pasta, he moaned in pleasure. The sound went straight to my dick and made me shift awkwardly in my seat. “This is amazing. I can’t believe how good this is. Is it because everything is so fresh, or is it the recipe?”

I shrugged. “A little of both, probably. I usually make a bunch of this sauce when the tomatoes come in and then freeze it to use during the winter. I have a deep freeze out in one of the sheds.”

He took another bite and closed his eyes to savor it. After he swallowed, he told me about learning how to cook from his grandmother.

“Beau’s wife?” I asked.

“Oh, heck no. Aunt Marnie is really good at arranging for catering and even takeout. Give her a party to plan and she will be in seventh heaven. But the woman is allergic to her own kitchen. She says she’s had more than her fair share of cooking after decades of being around a restaurant business. My maternal grandmother, though, she was a farmer’s daughter in Kentucky. Her mom taught her how to make all the traditional American dishes and how to preserve and put up stuff for winter. Actually, I have a pepper jelly recipe from her that’s to die for if you end up with peppers left over.”

“I’d love that,” I said. “Thank you. Maybe you could come over and help with it. Make sure I do it right and all.”

He flushed and studied his pasta. “I’d like that.”

“Tell me about your parents. Where did you grow up? Nashville?”