I’m already smiling. Her sputtering is endearing as hell. I like it.
“Lyndee?” She looks up at me with gorgeous wide eyes. “What’d ya make me?”
She clears her throat and steps forward, setting the white bag down on my desk. “I was experimenting with peppermint for the shop. Since it’s close to Christmas, I wanted to offer a few items that feel holiday-ee.”
“Holiday-ee?” I ask, grinning like a lunatic and feeling lighter than I have in days.
“Of course,” she says, pulling the small white box out of the bag. “There are two different baked goods. A cranberry white chocolate muffin and a peppermint twist scone.”
My stomach chooses that moment once again to growl. “Those sound great,” I admit, examining the muffin with a critical eye before taking a small bite from the top. My tastebuds explode with the sweet, yet tangy treat I’m sure is going to be a hit. “Very good.”
“Thanks.” She beams, before pointing over her shoulder. “Well, I should go. Dustin is in the car waiting. We’re going to head home and make dinner.”
I’m up and out of my seat before I can stop myself. “Wait.”
She stops moving and meets my gaze. “What?”
“I’m, uh, getting ready to head home now. I was gonna make a pizza. The homemade kind, not the ones you pull from the freezer,” I tease. “Why don’t you and Dustin join me?”
She opens her mouth, no doubt to decline, but the words seem to stick to her tongue. I use that to my advantage.
“It wouldn’t take too long to make. You could probably be home and in bed by nine,” I blurt out, taking a few steps around my desk until I’m standing in front of her.
“I, uh, don’t want to impose,” she maintains, shaking her head.
“You’re not. If anything, you’re helping me by ensuring I don’t have nearly as many leftovers.” I throw in a panty-melting grin, just to seal the deal.
“Pizza, you say?” she asks, her eyes dancing with hope and excitement.
“Margherita.”
“Really? I haven’t had that in years. Dustin won’t eat it though.”
“Well, good thing I have some pepperoni too. So what do you say? Will you and your brother let me feed you dinner tonight?” I try not to sound hopeful, but I’ll admit, it’s hard. I really want her to say yes.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
She nods.
“Great. Let me grab my coat and we can head out. Do you guys want to ride with me?” I ask, shutting down my laptop.
“That’s silly, Jasper. You’d have to drive me back here then afterward, and that’s not reasonable when you’re already home.”
I give her a small smile. “I wouldn’t mind.”
“Still, I can just drive.”
“All right,” I reply, grabbing my coat and the dessert she brought, and flip off my light switch. “Let’s go.”
Chapter Twelve
Lyndee
I’ve made a terrible mistake. The moment Jasper opens his front door for Dustin and me, I realize my error. Sure, I thought twice—hell, a million times—about my decision to agree to dinner on my way to his place, but Dustin talked a mile a minute the entire trip, ensuring I barely got a word or thought in edgewise. Now, I’m stepping into the foyer of his gorgeous home and recognizing I should have declined his offer. This place is…wow.
“Come in,” he says, stepping aside to allow us entrance. “Let me take your coats.”
I slip off my puffer coat and unwrap the scarf around my neck. “Wow, this place is gorgeous,” I state as he hangs our coats in the entry closet.
“Thank you. It’s a touch on the big side, but I’ve always been a fan of the Tudor-style architecture. How about I start on the pizzas, and we do a tour later?”
“Sounds good! I’m starving,” Dustin replies quickly, following behind Jasper as we head to the kitchen.
And what a kitchen it is.
It’s a chef’s space, for sure. Gorgeous cabinets, a massive island in the middle of the room, and a double oven I’m totally jealous of. Sure I might have plenty of baking space at work, but at home, I have a standard single unit. Then my sights land on the refrigerator. “Jesus,” I mumble, stepping up to the gleaming stainless steel and running my hand down the handle.
“It was a requirement when I remodeled the kitchen. A standard refrigerator wasn’t going to work for my needs,” he says, stepping up beside me and pulling items from within, including bottles of water. I steal a peek inside the space, smiling by how organized it is. The containers all have labels and dates.
Jasper moves to a massive pantry and grabs what he needs, setting it all on the island behind him. When my brother takes a seat on one of the barstools, I ask, “What can I do to help?”
“Do you want to pick a wine from the fridge?” he asks, washing his hands at the sink.
“Sure,” I reply, opening the big appliance, but not finding any wine.
“Oh, I have a wine refrigerator over there,” he adds, pointing to a cabinet along the side wall.
It’s only upon further inspection that I realize the handle is different. When I pull it open, I’m surprised to find a custom space just for wine. There are several bottles of whites and reds with vintage years older than me.
“There’s another cabinet next to it with room temperature reds, if you prefer that,” he adds.
Opening the cabinet, I find more bottles of expensive wine, as well as glasses and a variety of openers. I choose a chilled red that will pair well with pizza and use the electric opener to remove the cork. Plus, it’s a sweeter red, which my brother likes. Pouring two glasses, I set one down in front of Dustin and take the other around to Jasper. They’re in a heated conversation about the Reds and how their lackluster season played out this year.
“Thanks,” he says, reaching for the glass and taking a drink. “Aren’t you having any?”
“No, I’m driving,” I reply, reaching for one of the bottles of water.
Jasper nods and reaches into the bowl to start mixing the dough with his hands. I watch for a few minutes, ignoring the conversation they’re having, and just focus on his hands. They’re large and press the ingredients together so easily, so effortlessly it’s hypnotizing. All I can picture is those hands kneading other things…
“Lyndee?”
“Huh?” I ask, glancing up into Jasper’s chocolate orbs. His dance with delight, as if he knows what I was thinking about.
“I was just asking if you’d cut the tomatoes for me.”
I make a noise of confirmation before moving to the sink and washing my hands. I retrieve a large knife from the block on the island and find a bamboo cutting board in the cabinet below it. Carefully, I slice into the tomatoes. “Wow, these knives are amazing,” I state when there’s a lull in their conversation.
“I custom ordered these knives from Japan. They’re designed specifically for my hand. Expensive, but so very worth it. Once you use one of those babies, you’ll never buy another Target knife again,” he says, holding up his dough-covered hands.