Page 66 of Holly versus Mr. Ivy
Trevor picked up an electric carving knife and sliced thick pieces of juicy meat and placed them on a serving platter. When he’d cut enough for us to eat, he sat in his chair and we passed around each dish of food. Deidre and I scooped whatever Holly requested onto her plate.
I piled my food high, covering every inch of my plate. Every morsel would be devoured and savored.
Picking up both my plate and Holly’s, I moved to the counter next to the sink to feed myself and her.
Holly jutted her chin at my plate. “A meat-and-potatoes guy, huh?”
“I have some green beans,” I pointed out. “My mom drilled the importance of fruit and vegetables into my diet.”
“I don’t thinkthreegreen beans was what she had in mind.”
Three was better than none.
Deidre fluttered a hand at Holly. “He’s our guest. Leave him be, Holly.” Deidre then addressed me. “Do you have any Thanksgiving traditions in your family?”
That depended on which family we were with. I chose to speak about Mom’s side since they were a little more level-headed compared to Dad’s—and my favorite. “We also go around the table saying what we’re thankful for before eating. We play football after we eat to burn off energy before consuming pie, and we end the night playing games.” And sneaking more pie.
When I was seventeen, I took an entire Oreo pie to my room after my parents went to bed. Turned out, there was such a thing as too much dessert. Now I limited myself to two (sometimes three) slices, like a normal American on feasting day.
“What do you like to do when you’re not working?” Deidre asked.
Picking up Holly’s fork and knife, I cut her turkey into bite-sized pieces. “Lots of things. I enjoy working out, hiking, surfing, playing sports, hanging out with friends, and watching movies. What about you?”
I wasn’t sure what Deidre still had the energy to do. But I’d love to know more about the woman who’d raised Holly.
“I think you meant that question for Holly.” Deidre said with a twinkle in her eye.
I swallowed a bite of creamy, garlicky potatoes, then offered Holly a bite of her potatoes. Holly leaned forward, capturing the food waiting for her. Her mouth enveloped the white, fluffy potatoes, and almost purposefully slowly, she slid her lips off the fork. She closed her eyes, letting out a soft moan of appreciation. I wanted my lips to be that fork. How was it possible to be jealous of potatoes and a utensil?
Tearing my gaze away from her mouth, I swallowed hard. Heat curled like wisps of smoke rising in the air in my lower abdomen. Maybe feeding Holly was a bad idea.
What had Deidre said? Oh, right, that I meant to ask Holly and not her what she did for fun. “Nah.” I cleared my throat, needing to lighten up the situation. “I already know the only thing Holly likes to do in her spare time is think of ways to make her employees cry,” I joked.
Trevor laughed.
Deidre’s lips pulled to the side as if she wasn’t sure if she should laugh or be offended on Holly’s behalf.
Holly elbowed my arm. “Excuse me?”
“Am I wrong?” I asked innocently. “What do you like to do then,Chef Dewhurst?”
“I love to read, go for walks, see my friends, and shop for shoes.”
Ah yes, she’d mentioned something about shoes before Skye’s interview, and during the employee luncheon, she’d shared about reading fantasy novels. “What kind of fantasy books do you enjoy?”
“Fantasy romance,” she mumbled under her breath.
Good thing I had excellent hearing. “Not fantasy, but fantasyromance? Help this non-reader out. What’s the difference?”
She cocked her head to the side. “I think it’s pretty obvious.”
I shrugged. “Not really. Explain it to me.” I didn’t live under a rock. I very well understood the difference. But if Holly lived for romance novels, I wanted to hear her say it.
Trevor snorted. “Holly always has her nose in a book when she’s not in the kitchen. You should see the bookshelves in the basement. Crammed full of nauseating love stories.”
Holly narrowed her eyes at her brother. “You have no room to talk. You loveStar WarsandLord of the Ringsmore than anyone I’ve ever met.”
“I don’t have hundreds of novels about them,” he retorted.
