And the more time they spent together, the more that she was sure that she was crazy in love with McCrae King. Duval.
The man who made her laugh and melt.
The man who helped Ciela over her aversion to people with badges, espeically Texas Rangers.
The man who’d become a part of her family without even needing a ring or a formal declaration.
He was, in a word... everything.
The driver’s side door opened, and she scrambled to sit up and put her feet down on the ground.
McCrae was laughing as he handed her a large bag and climbed up into the cab of the truck. “What’s with the guilty look, babe?”
She sat up and adjusted her seatbelt.
“Sorry. I had my feet up on the dash.”
He shrugged and put his own seatbelt on. “I don’t care. I like that you’re comfortable in my truck.”
She looked over at him with a slightly curious expression. “It’s your Texas Ranger vehicle.”
He reached over a hand and put in on her knee. “It’s my personal vehicle. I use it for work. It’s not the same thing exactly. They want me to be on call? I have to get there.”
She nodded, but she wasn’t all that comfortable with the idea that she was possibly making a mess of his work truck.
“Now, let’s get over to my place,” he grinned at her and winked. “The smell of that food is going to drive me nuts if we don’t start eating soon.”
As he pulled out of the parking spot she tipped her chin down and took a long inhale from the open top of the bag.
He wasn’t kidding.
It smelled like heaven. Meaty, spicy, heaven.
“I can see you smiling,” he chuckled. “I told you to trust me.”
McCrae wasn’t wrong.
It only took a few minutes to get to his house, but when they did, they didn’t bother with setting the table or even getting out plates.
He took the top of the brown paper bag in his hands and ripped it down one side and then the other, folding the paperbag open like a kind of a placemat.
“This,” he announced as he took out the containers of food, “is the Backdoor Chicken special. Only available on Mondays, so we’re in luck. A whole damn rotisserie chicken, blue corn chips and a mess of sides.”
He reached in again and pulled out one last container.
“This,” he opened the top, “is probably the reason why they call it Velvet Taco.”
Inside of the take-out container was a two-layer red velvet cake covered with pure white whipped frosting and a little container of, “That looks likecajeta.”
McCrae looked at her with a little frown.
She waved him off. “It’s a caramel.”
“Ah... Okay.”
They sat down beside the coffee table, both of them on the floor and dug into what had to be the most delicious chicken she’d had in a long... long time.
Something she told McCrae, following it up with a shy smile. “Don’t tell my mom.”