Page 17 of Mack

She shook her head, moved to pull out her chair, and was startled when Mack did it for her. She sat, and then he did the same.

“What was that look for?”

“Mama always gives looks,” T.J. said, with the authority of long experience.

“Only when someone needs one,” Mallory said.

“It’s all the time,” T.J. whispered to Mack.

Mack pressed his lips together. “Moms are good at that. Mine does the same thing.”

T.J. leaned forward. “What does it mean when they do it?”

“Means they’re not happy but they’re letting you figure out why on your own.”

T.J. sat with that for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Yep.”

Mack glanced at Mallory and caught her biting her lip against a smile. She looked up and their eyes held for a moment before she dropped her gaze to her plate.

He didn’t push. He didn’t need her to tell him. He already knew.

****

Mallory shoved the platter toward him. “Take a piece, there’s plenty. I always make more than we need.”

“It smells incredible.” She noticed he waited until she’d served T.J. before reaching for anything, then helped himself to a thigh, corn, and mashed potatoes.

“It’s my mother’s recipe,” she said, because her brain had apparently stopped producing other words.

She picked up her fork and told herself to get it together. This man was sitting at her kitchen table making her think things she had no business thinking, and dinner had barely started.

She watched Mack take his first bite, chew, and close his eyes briefly.

“Fantastic.”

“Thank you.” She felt the heat rise in her cheeks and looked down at her plate.

“I told you Mama makes good chicken,” T.J. announced, mouth full.

“Timothy.”

He swallowed dutifully. “Sorry, Mama.” Then he leaned toward Mack and cupped a hand around his mouth. “She calls me Timothy when I do something wrong.”

Mack’s jaw tightened slightly, the way of a man working very hard to keep a straight face. “And how often does that happen?”

T.J. considered this with genuine thoughtfulness, then nodded. “A lot.”

Mack burst out laughing and Mallory felt something loosen in her chest as T.J. dissolved into giggles beside her.

She’d been so worried about tonight. T.J. knew only his uncle and his pap, and she didn’t know how he’d take to a stranger. But here he was, head bent toward Mack’s, deep in conversation about horses like they’d known each other for years. And Mack. She watched him with her son and felt something she wasn’t ready to name.

“I want to be a cowboy one day,” T.J. said. “I already have Marty, so I just need boots and a hat.” He turned to her. “Mama, I need those.”

“Maybe Santa will bring them.”

T.J.’s eyes went wide. “When does he come?”

“Not for a few months. You’ll have to visit him at the store and tell him what you want.”