Page 82 of The Mistletoe Bluff
“You must be the girlfriend.”
“She has a name,” Oliver bit out, but his father brushed him off.
“I’m Leander Lewis.”
I gripped his hand, squeezing it tighter than necessary, trying to show him I wasn’t scared of him, even though I was shaking in my socks.
“I’m Maya.” I mimicked his stern voice.
I had a strange stare-down with Oliver’s father, and I lost track of how long we stood there, still shaking hands and glaring at each other, until Molly put us out of our misery by clearing her throat and giving a loud clap of her hands.
“Leander, come help me set the table so these two can get settled in.”
He grunted, flicking a disdainful look at Oliver before he followed his wife.
For a second, neither of us moved or said anything. Then, in typical Maya fashion, I blurted, “That went well.”
Oliver snorted, his full lips twitching against a smile as he wrapped his fingers around my bicep and pulled me toward him. He planted a soft kiss on my cheek. My eyes fluttered open as he pulled away, and when I met his gaze, everything I was feeling toward him reflected in his eyes.
I could get used to him looking at me like that.
But my stomach grew uneasy, a heavy weight building in my chest. While I had told Oliver I had feelings for him, I hadn’t said those three words, and suddenly that felt like it was vastly important. Maybe it would circumvent whatever happened tonight—or at least lessen the blow.
I was about to pull him into the bathroom and tell him I loved him—yes, so romantic—when Molly popped back into the living room.
“Dinner is served!” she announced, waving her hand toward the formal dining room.
I swallowed down the words as Oliver’s fingers intertwined with mine and he led me to the table.
One would have thought that she had planned a dinner for twenty people. The long, wooden table was decked out in poinsettia and pine centerpieces, candles flickering away between them. A huge roasted duck was set on one end, surrounded by various vegetable casseroles, potatoes, bottles of wine, sparkling juice, and a pitcher of water.
“This looks incredible, Molly,” I said, and she lit up from head to toe.
“Let’s sit.” Leander’s gruff voice rang out. His chair squealed against the floor as he pulled it out and sank into it.
Molly deflated a bit, and Oliver was quick to step in, giving his mom a side hug, and murmured something in her ear that brought that smile right back.
The rest of us sat down, and Molly started passing dishes around and we each helped ourselves. Minutes passed in silence as we ate, the only sound the grating of knives on porcelain. The food was amazing, perfectly seasoned and cooked, and Oliver and I were quick to tell her how delicious everything was.
Neither of us missed the grumpy way Leander sat there, sawing through his duck and shoving it into his mouth. He didn’t compliment his wife on a good meal, nor did he offer any sort of conversation. Molly kept glancing at him, as if she were waiting for his approval or reassurance, but he sat there in moody silence, and she shrunk a little more as each minute passed.
I raised a questioning brow at Oliver, and he gave a half-hearted shrug and a minuscule shake of his head as if to say,That’s just my father. This isn’t anything new.
Gears started turning in my head and the urge to meddle rose to the surface. If Elsie were here, she’d tell me to just leave them be, to think of the contest and not poke the bear, but at the moment the contest was the furthest thing from my mind, and Leander needed to be poked. Preferably with a cattle prod.
I took a sip of water and cleared my throat. “Mr. Lewis,” I began, and both Oliver and Molly perked up, looking at me with wide eyes. “Do you dislike roasted duck?” I nodded toward his plate where he’d eaten every last piece. If I hadn’t watched him eat, I would’ve assumed he had licked the plate clean.
His lips turned down into a deep scowl that rivaled Grumpy Cat’s. “No.”
I plastered a pleasant smile on my face. “Well, if you liked it so much, don’t you think you should give compliments to the chef?”
Oliver tensed beside me. Molly continued to stare at me with wide eyes, her cheeks turning pink.
“My wife knows I like her food,” Leander growled, glaring at me.
I put my hands up in fake surrender. “I’m simply saying, sometimes it’s nice to be told when the hard work we do is appreciated. My Aunt Maggie always said, ‘please and thank you goes a long way in showing someone you appreciate them.’”
Leander’s glare could’ve caused glass to shatter, but I kept a close-lipped smile on my face. Infinite seconds passed as we stared each other down before, to my surprise, he eyed his wife and mumbled, “it’s a lovely meal.”
