The way my shirt covers my backside. How my pants are a little loose in the leg and probably make my thighs look big. The crazy strands of hair that I had planned on taming before Holden got home from work.
I gulp back my self-consciousness and hold a plate out to him.
“Here,” I say. “If you want dinner.”
“I thought it wasn’t included in my rate.”
His grin is adorable. I get now how women say they want to kiss a smile off a man’s face, because that’s exactly what my instinct is to do—reach up, cup his face in my hands, and kiss the heck out of him.
But I won’t. Because I don’t hate myself.
Too much.
He takes the plate from me. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I bat my eyelashes at him and then bump him with my hip. “I do draw the line on making your plate for you, which is a total thing around here. And I’m also filling my plate first, because I’m starving.”
He laughs as I take a slice of meatloaf from the platter. Next to it, I add some mashed potatoes and baked beans. He trails behind me, taking a scoop of each, and then follows me to the table.
“What did you do today?” he asks.
“I booked two reservations for next week. Washed down the staircase. Priced some sheets.” I fill both glasses up with ice. “Do you have any idea how expensive sheets can be? It’s crazy.”
“I love good sheets,” he says, taking a glass from me. He fills both with tea before leading me back to the table.
We sit across from each other like we’ve done it a hundred times before. It seems so normal to have this man sitting in my kitchen, the evening sunlight dancing across his face for only me to see, while we have a conversation about our day.
It’s strange and sort of great if you like that kind of thing. I could like this kind of thing. The concept has me looking away from him in case he’s a mind reader.
I shake my head. “Well, I suggest you keep your expectations low around here, because I’m not shelling out that kind of money for a damn sheet. I don’t care how many customers I might be able to attract.”
He opens his mouth and then closes it. The corners of his lips curl toward the ceiling.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing.”
“You were going to say something.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Liar.”
He sits back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. “My comment, while true, was probably inappropriate, and I’d like to have this evening go smoothly. Especially since you’re trying to seduce me with meatloaf and potatoes instead of luxury linens.”
I snort. “Is that what you think this is?”
“I mean, I can’t say it’s a bad plan.”
I scoop a spoonful of mashed potatoes into my mouth and shrug. The move is more about putting myself into a position where I can’t respond, because I don’t know what to say to that.
He leans to the side and plucks a piece of paper out of his pocket. “Here. I paid your taxes today.”
Sure enough, the bright-red ink at the top of the sheet of stapled papers proves my taxes are paid in full. As in, until the spring of next year. Meaning a zero balance.
I fall back in my chair and sigh. “Talk about seduction.”
The tension I’ve carried at the base of my skull melts away. My body is looser, my smile wider. My brain shoots endorphins through my bloodstream like nobody’s business.
Suddenly, I’m not hungry. I don’t care if the dishes get done. I just want to . . . celebrate.
“You think that’s seduction?” he asks.
There’s a gravelly timbre to his voice I tune out. Instead, I get to my feet and dig a pint of ice cream out of the freezer.
“How’s that not seduction?” I ask. “Isn’t seduction when someone does something that has an attractive element?”
He stretches his legs out in front of him. I try not to focus on how his shoulders fill out his scrubs when he flexes and instead scoop ice cream into two bowls.
“Is that how you define it?” he asks.
“No. That’s how Webster’s defines it. I think.” I carry both bowls back to the table and hand one to him. “The art of seduction is a process of making someone attracted to you, right?”
He quirks a brow. “Yes.”
“Well, Doc. I find the fact that you stayed true to your word and helped me out of a bind very seduction-y.”
He snorts as he lifts a brow. “Seduction-y, huh?”
“Seduction-y,” I affirm. “I mean, there was a part of me—a teeny-tiny one—that considered that you could completely bail out on your part of this deal and I’d be screwed.”
I take a big bite of ice cream and watch him watching me. There’s a lot going on across his features—confusion, amusement, questions. And sexiness. But I think he wakes up like that.
File that under “things I’d know had I woken up on time today.”
“You thought I wouldn’t have paid the taxes after I agreed to?” he asks.
“If I would’ve really thought that, I wouldn’t have agreed to this. But I find you to be a respectable man, so I took a risk.”
I scoop another bite of ice cream into my mouth as a shadow passes across his face.
“What?” I ask with my mouth full of dessert.
He shakes his head.
I shrug. “So, what happened at work today?” I ask. “How was Fred?”
Holden takes a long, deep breath. He starts to speak a couple of times but stops.
“He’s jealous you got to marry me, huh?” It’s a joke, clearly, but I’m trying to give him an opening to play off whatever he’s thinking. Because an inkling in my stomach tells me he’s avoiding my question.
“I got a call from Montgomery,” he says carefully.
My spoon pauses for a half of a second before sinking back into the ice cream again. “That’s good, right?”
“He’ll be here this week.”
My throat burns as I focus on the black flecks in the vanilla. “That’s awesome, Holden. I’ll help you however I can.”
He laces his fingers together on the table and works them back and forth. His teeth rest on his bottom lip as he seems to wrestle with something in his head.
I can’t make heads or tails of it, so I just take another bite. Finally, his hands break apart.
“I know. I never second-guessed you for a minute,” he says.
“Because that’s me. Dependable.”
I take my time getting another spoonful. There’s no rush as I bring the utensil to my lips and wrap them around the cool metal. As the ice cream melts in my mouth, I close my eyes and pretend like I’m not here. That I’m not having a conversation with Holden about him leaving. I imagine instead that this is just my normal life with a cute guy and no worries.
A girl can dream.
But when I open my eyes again, his are fixated on me. His eyes burn with an intensity that chills me way more than the frozen cream.
I shift in my seat, needing the fire inside me to stop. But when I look into his heated gaze, the warmth only spreads from my core.
My head starts to cloud, as one’s does in this kind of circumstance. I’ve been in them enough in my life to know this is the moment where things can go one way or the other. Good decisions versus bad ones. And I know I have to get ahold of myself right now, or I’ll be on the dark side of things.