Choosing Happy (Madison Square #2) by Samatha Harris Page B

marrow of life. Without it, life had no flavor.
    “Emily told me you brought a girl with you, but she didn’t say how beautiful she is,” Gran said.
    If it was even possible, Madison’s blush deepened as she tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear.
    “Well,” Gran said. “Time to get back to work.” She dropped a hand to my shoulder, fixing me with what she called her stern look, which was far from stern. “You say good-bye before you leave, okay?”
    I nodded and smiled back at her as she affectionately patted my cheek.
    Gran turned to leave and stopped by Madison’s chair. She leaned down and whispered, “Make him work for it, honey.” Then she headed back to the kitchen, nodding at a few other customers as she passed.
    I lost it. I burst into laughter, nearly doubling over as Madison dropped her head back into her hands. “I’m sorry,” I said, out of breath and still trying to get my laughter under control. Tears welled in the corner of my eyes, and I wiped them away with my napkin as the laughter finally died down.
    “I’m glad you enjoyed that,” she said, her face still a bright shade of red. She set her napkin on the table next to her plate. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m just going to go slit my wrists.” She started to push back in her chair, and I reached out, taking ahold of her wrist to stop her.
    “Come on, don’t go,” I said with a sympathetic smile. “Your food is here. The damage is done. Stay.”
    She watched me for a moment before scooting her chair back under the table.
    I picked up my fork, my mouth watering as the scent of Gran’s famous pot roast and garlic mashed potatoes flooded my nose.
    She took a deep breath and took a bite of her food, a sigh of pure satisfaction escaping her lips as she relaxed into her seat. Fuck me, that sound. I could spend the rest of my life searching for more ways to get her to make that sound again. If her laugh had turned me on, that fucking sigh made things almost painful.
    She looked up from her plate. “What?”
    I shook my head. “I’ve just never been so turned on by watching someone eat before.”
    She broke off a piece of bread from her plate and tossed it at me. I watched as it bounced off my chest.
    I laughed, she laughed, and it seemed that the awkwardness was beginning to fade. I was overwhelmed by how much I wanted her. Not just for sex—don’t get me wrong, my respect for Gran was the only thing keeping me from clearing the table with a sweep of my arm and fucking her right here on this table—but there was something about her. I wanted to protect her, make her laugh, make her smile, help her to find her own happiness.
    “Isn’t this a French restaurant?” she asked, bringing me back to the moment.
    “It is,” I said, digging into my meal.
    “Then what’s with the pot roast?”
    “You seem to be enjoying it.”
    “It’s amazing, but it seems a little strange for a French restaurant to serve pot roast.”
    “True,” I said, taking a sip of wine. “Gran’s parents were French. They came over from Nice in the thirties. The menu is full of recipes passed down in my family for generations. Gran’s mother passed her knowledge down to Gran, who’s now passing it down to Em.”
    “Did she do the same with your mom?”
    My chest ached. I didn’t like to talk about mom. “She did.” I nodded. “For a while.”
    She looked up at me with a confused frown. I sighed. If I wanted her to open up to me, I would have to trust her enough to open up to her. “She was killed in a car accident when I was a kid.”
    “Oh Sean,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”
    “It was a long time ago.” I gave her a sad smile and we sat in silence, awkwardly pushing our food around on our plates.
    After a moment, she looked up at me with that adorable confused frown again. “That still doesn’t explain the pot roast.”
    I breathed a sigh of relief, glad to be moving back to a lighter topic. “It’s actually a pretty great