Her CEO Stalker and Her Second Chance Mate Chapter 27

Briar

When I went to eat, I braced myself for the nauseating feeling to take over at the first bite, instead I was surprised it was rather subdued, I could actually taste the food.

“You know, you made enough food for four people?” I asked. Carter chuckled.

“Like I said, I don’t cook often, so if I’m going to cook, I’m going to thoroughly enjoy it to the point of putting myself in a food coma. I eat a lot anyway, I have a fast metabolism,” he elaborated.

He popped open a couple of beers and passed me one before sitting down. He went straight for the salad and groaned.

“That’s some good shit, you cook a lot or something?” he asked. 

I shook my head no. “I haven’t had a reason to in a while. Mama always cooked from scratch; had me canning in the kitchen with her since I was little.”

“Where did you grow up?”

“Kentucky, good ole Appalachia, poor and simple living.”

“Some people think that’s the best kind.”

“The best,” I agreed, a pang of sadness washing over me. “I was a bit of a wild child, I didn’t conform, gave my mama more grey hairs than she cared to have. She blamed Uncle Jake, of course,” I said, smiling fondly. Carter stilled a fork full of steak halfway to his mouth.

“Ya know, Jake never mentioned you.” 

I shrugged, “I suppose he wouldn’t, he said my daddy would have wanted me to grow up with my mama. Said his people would have tried to take me from her. It was for the best really, I wouldn’t have traded my life I had with her for anything.” I went quiet after that digging into my overloaded baked potato. Carter was quiet, too deep in thought, as he ate his meal.

He broke the silence halfway through the first plate. “Jake ever visit you?”

“He never missed a birthday, drove that bike of his across the country every September to sleep on mama’s couch for a week,” I said, smiling fondly at the memory. “Even busted me out of school a few times after she finally let me ride with him.” 

Carter chuckled at that. “Now that sounds like Jake.” He got up and pulled some whisky and glasses out of the cabinet by the fridge. He poured us each a short glass, handing me one. “To the old ornery fart, “ he toasted.

“May he ride smooth, with the wind on his back, on the open road to the sky,” I added, and we clinked glasses.