The kiss was hard, it was heated, it was hungry, it was long, and it was beautiful.
Deacon ended it by shoving his face in my neck, his hand cupping the back of my head, guiding my face into his neck, his other arm holding me tight to his body.
As for me, I had one arm around his shoulders, fingers in his hair, one arm around him, forearm angled up his back.
I held tight too.
“Missed you,” I whispered into his skin.
Deacon didn’t reply, but he did. And he did by squeezing me so hard, his fingers digging into my scalp, I found it difficult to breath.
He released the pressure but still held me snug to his frame.
I turned my head and asked against the hinge of his jaw, “Have you had dinner?”
“Baby,” he replied, and my insides melted and that was even before he got to the good part. “You think, I got that job done, I stopped to eat on my way to you?”
It was my turn to reply nonverbally and I did this by clutching him even tighter.
“Feed me,” he ordered into my neck. “Then I’ll fuck you.”
That was definitely a deal.
Before I could share that with him, his head shot up, his neck twisting. I looked at his profile and saw his eyes narrowed.
Then he looked down at me. “Company.”
I stared at him for a beat before I looked around him, Deacon turning slightly, and I saw the nose of Milagros and Manuel’s SUV butting beyond my house.
“Your girl,” Deacon said, obviously having taken note of the car Milagros drove.
“She does this, pops by,” I told him. “She worries about me. So does Manuel.”
Deacon said nothing to this, just watched me say it, no chin dip or head tipping to share he heard it. Still, I knew he heard it.
Then, strangely, his gaze shifted high but toward the trees, yet I knew not to the trees. They were focused but unfocused. It was weird, I could tell he was taking note of something, I just didn’t know what.
I didn’t have the chance to ask before I heard Esteban, Milagros and Manuel’s oldest boy, shout, “Tía Cassidy! We have hot fudge!”
I stood still, letting Deacon guide this. Another thing it occurred to me right then that I knew about him was that he was observant. He had to know Milagros and I were close.
So he had to make the decision of what would come next.
He did.
And to my way of thinking, it was the right one.
He let me go, wrapped his big hand around mine (and when he did, my heart clutched because I missed feeling his hand around mine), and he pulled me toward the door, through it, the kitchen, and the foyer.
It was him who opened the front door but he did it hauling me to his side, hand still in mine.
I wanted to laugh at what happened next, I really did. But I loved Milagros and Manuel too much to do it.
This was because, the minute Deacon opened the door, Milagros’s head visibly jerked and then her body shot straight as a board, her eyes on Deacon. Manuel blinked and his mouth dropped open, his eyes also on Deacon.
As for the kids, three of them shouted varying things including, “Tía Cassidy!” “Hot Fudge!” and “I gotta go to the bathroom!”
Gerardo, their youngest, dashed straight through Deacon and my legs on his way to take care of business in the bathroom.
Esteban forged in toward our sides, which meant Deacon moved me back as he turned us toward the boy who was holding up a plastic bowl with a plastic top that held a melting hot fudge sundae.
“Mamá said you were sad so we got this for you,” he declared, thrusting the sundae toward me.
“Papá always gets me a sundae when I’m feeling sad,” Araceli, their second oldest daughter (third oldest child, with Silvia, at twelve, being first, Esteban, ten years old, second, Margarita, at six, fourth, Gerardo, four and a half, coming last). “It always makes me feel happy.”
“Well, that’s awesome and sweet,” I replied, because it was and I wasn’t surprised my mood had been read by my friend.
I pulled my hand from Deacon’s in order to take the sundae.
“You have to eat it, like right now, or it’ll be all melted,” Margarita advised.
“I’ll just pop it in the freezer. Dea…uh, John hasn’t had dinner. We’ll share it when he has. Now, everyone come in,” I invited, grabbing on to Deacon’s wrist and pulling him back to give the invitation physically as well.
“Dee-uh-John, that’s a weird name,” Margarita declared, taking two skips in—skipping her way of ambulating everywhere. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen her take a normal step.
“Rita!” Milagros snapped.
She tipped her head back to her entering mother. “Well it is.”
“Name’s just John,” Deacon stated and I looked to him to see him looking to Manuel. “John Priest.”
He stuck out a hand toward Manuel.
Manuel looked at it then took it. “Manuel Cabrera.” They separated and Manuel put his hand on Milagros’s shoulder. “My wife, Milagros.”
Deacon offered Milagros his hand, stating, “Cassie has a lot of good to say about you.”
Milagros took Deacon’s hand but her eyes were on me as she replied, “Cassie?”
“I…uh, yes. Cassie,” I blathered. “Priest, I mean, John and I are…uh, well—”
Deacon saved me but he unfortunately did it by ordering, “Woman, put the sundae in the freezer.”
I looked up at him, eyes narrowed. “Boss much?”
“You want a melted sundae?” he returned.
“Maybe,” I shot back.
“Well I don’t,” he retorted.
“They didn’t bring it for you,” I pointed out.
“You gonna eat it in front of me?” he asked.
“Of course not,” I snapped.
“Then put it in the freezer.”
I made a face at him.
He grinned.
I stopped making a face at him and my heart leapt as my vagina pulsed.
Manuel cleared his throat. Deacon and I quit bickering and looked to the Cabrera family.
“You guys are funny,” Araceli declared when we did.
“I’ll help you put the sundae in the fridge,” Milagros offered unnecessarily, but didn’t allow me a chance to decline. Her hand shot out, clamped around mine, and she dragged me through the foyer and into the kitchen.
Once there, she went direct to the freezer, opened it, snatched the sundae, shoved it in, slammed the freezer door, and directly invaded my space.