Yeah, it was more trouble than it was worth as far as she was concerned.
Which was why she found herself single since she had broken up with Tim, the man she’d dated for nearly five years. They’d been broken up for almost two years and though things had ended relatively amicably, Kennedy just hadn’t had much interested in going through it all again.
“Hey, kiddo.” The sound of her father’s voice when she stepped through the front door pulled Kennedy from her errant thoughts.
“Hey, Dad,” she greeted him in turn, giving him a hug as soon as she was inside, the door closed behind her. “How was your day?”
“Boring,” he replied with the same answer he usually gave, turning her toward the dining room.
“I guess that’s a good thing, considering you’re a cop.”
“True.”
When they stepped into the dining room—a room that she wasn’t sure her father had ever used since the day he moved in—Kennedy came to a stop, looking at the man whose face she was so used to seeing only behind a bar, slinging beers and pouring shots. “Mack.”
“Hey,” Mack said shyly.
Kennedy glanced over at her father.
She noticed one thing right away.
Mack did not look like this was the first time he’d been to her father’s house. He actually looked rather comfortable moving around, bringing the food from the kitchen and setting it on the table. There were three place settings, along with three beers.
“Have a seat, kiddo,” her father directed, his hand still on her back as he urged her toward one of the chairs.
Kennedy took her seat, continuing to watch the two men as they moved around, getting everything situated before they finally joined her at the table.
Reaching for her beer, Kennedy took a drink, her eyes sliding back and forth between her father and Mack. They were both nervous, she could tell. Really nervous, if their shifty eyes were anything to go by. They would look at one another then over to her, neither of them saying anything.
Kennedy figured now was as good a time as any to break the ice.
Leaning forward, she reached for the fork that was resting on the plate with some of the juiciest steaks she’d probably ever seen. As she stabbed one, she looked up at Mack. “I’ve got a question for you,” she said as seriously as she could manage.
Mack’s dark brown eyebrows shot upward, but he didn’t say anything. Unlike her father, there wasn’t a single strand of gray in Mack’s dark hair, although she figured them to be fairly close to the same age. Jeff had turned fifty-three on his last birthday in September.
“What are your intentions with my father?”
Her father choked on his beer while Mack’s ocean-blue eyes widened bigger than she’d ever seen them. Finally, after placing the steak on her plate, Kennedy smiled—just a little—as her eyes met Mack’s.
When she didn’t say anything else, he must’ve realized she was joking because a grin formed on his mouth. It was then that Kennedy realized just how handsome Mack really was. She was used to seeing him in T-shirts, sometimes with a hat on, but most of the time without. Tonight he was wearing a navy-blue button-down that brought out the deep blue of his eyes, and his dark hair was cut short, thinning at the front.
“Kidding,” she finally said, placing the fork back on the plate and retrieving a baked potato.
“That wasn’t funny,” Jeff said, chuckling.
Huh. So he did have more than just one expression. Obviously it just took the right guy to bring it out.
chapter SEVEN
“What’s up, man?” Sawyer asked Brendon when he stepped into his parents’ house, finding his brother sitting at the kitchen table, a bottle of water perched in front of him.
When Buster darted in through the door behind Sawyer, the little dog made a beeline for Scrap, Brendon’s wire-haired terrier mutt that he’d adopted from the animal shelter a couple of months back. The two dogs had hit it off from the beginning, and were proving just how much they missed one another as they ran circles around the kitchen table.
“Not much,” Brendon offered, his eyes glued to the dogs.
“You have dinner?”
“Not yet. Dad ran out to pick up food. Mom’s a little under the weather.”
“She all right?” Sawyer asked, suddenly worried. It wasn’t often that their mother got sick, but when she did, she was usually down and out for a few days.
“Yeah. She insists she’s just tired from bein’ up all night and her allergies are botherin’ her. Not the flu, which was what Dad’s been freakin’ out about.”
Buster and Scrap started yapping and Brendon shushed them firmly, both dogs perking up as they looked up at Brendon.