Page 61 of Kiss the Girl
“Returning to the scene of our first date, where we got to second base before I even saw your face,” Grace said.
I snorted. “I refuse to let you count that as a date. If I took you on a date, you’d know.” I stopped and considered that. “Maybe you wouldn’t. Brooke and I went out to dinner once, and neither of us used the word ‘date’ but it kind of felt like we were on one. It was so weird and awkward that we decided it wasn’t a date, that it would never be a date, and then it just turned into a good dinner.”
“Wow, you’re really selling me on the magic of Noah Redmond here,” she teased.
“Would you let me?” I wasn’t sure what prompted the question. “If I said I wanted to convince you that we should date for real, what would you say?” I reached out and touched a strand of her hair, and when she didn’t pull away, I picked it up and rubbed it between my fingers, feeling its silky slide, while she tried not to meet my eyes. “Grace.”
She finally met my gaze straight on at the quiet sound of her name. “Noah.”
I let go of her hair and grazed my fingers down her cheek, sliding them beneath her chin to cup her jaw. I stroked my thumb softly over her lips. “What if this were real?”
She blinked slowly, her eyes not leaving mine, and pressed her lips in a kiss against the pad of my thumb. I stilled, her touch scorching through me. Slowly, watching me the whole time, she closed her lips around the tip of my thumb and bit it gently before letting it go.
“Grace.” I drew her toward me. I’d been dying to taste her, and there was no holding back now. My head dipped toward hers, and just as our lips touched, a voice from the terrace called, “Dinner, y’all.”
Landon.
I’d liked him the few times we’d met, but as I lifted my head, I wanted to break him into small pieces with my bare hands.
I held up a hand to let him know we’d heard him, and he turned and disappeared. I looked down at Grace, ready to continue what she’d started, but she blinked again, and I bit back a curse. It was the kind of blink you did when you were waking up. Or coming back to your senses.
“Grace, I—”
“We should get back,” she said. “Brooke said dinner will be amazing.”
This time Grace set the pace, keeping a polite distance as we headed back, a distance that wouldn’t hint to anyone that she’d just lit my nerve endings on fire in the vegetable garden.
When we walked back into the great room, Miss Lily rose and clapped her hands twice. “Wonderful. This way to the dining room, please. Evie, would you do me the honor of escorting me there?” When Evie looked at her in confusion, Miss Lily smiled. “It means hold my hand and make sure I get there safely.”
Evie skipped forward to take Miss Lily’s hand, and we followed them into the dining room.
The long table wouldn’t have even fit into my apartment, but it easily accommodated all of us plus the pastor, his wife, and her card friends for a total of seventeen guests. “Now boys, you and Izzy go help Mary bring out the food.”
The rest of us found the correct place cards and took our seats. A minute later, the cook appeared bearing a good-looking roast turkey on a platter which she set in front of Miss Lily to do the carving honors while everyone applauded.
“That’s a gorgeous bird,” Grace said. “And I would know because Tabitha spent four years in high school trying to perfect Thanksgiving turkey.”
Each of the Greene grandchildren appeared with a dish in each hand, and soon an assortment of rolls and sides graced the tables. Grace and I grinned at each other when the platter of cinnamon and pecan roasted butternut squash ended up in front of us. Miss Lily carved the turkey with surgical precision, and the dishes began to circulate, one incredible side after another passing beneath our noses.
The cook, Mary, refused Miss Lily’s invitation to join us, taking off to be with her own family.
“She does this every year,” Miss Lily said with both a smile and a sigh. “She prepares the most incredible meal and then leaves instead of eating it. Says she doesn’t trust anyone else to make it correctly, and that once it gets to the table, the best part of her day is leaving and knowing she doesn’t have to clean up.”
Mrs. Winters held up her wine glass. “To Mary, who is doing it exactly right.”
The rest of the table joined the toast. “To Mary!”
The food was amazing. “I may have only caught a passing glimpse of her when she brought in the turkey then disappeared,” I told Grace after a bite of the bird, “but I’m pretty sure Miss Lily’s cook is the new love of my life.”
“I’ll fight you for her,” Grace said.
When the clink of forks against china slowed then dwindled, Miss Lily said, “Let’s adjourn to the great room to relax and digest so we have space for pie and all the other delicious goodies you brought.”
We’d each been asked to contribute one dessert per household. “Pumpkin dump cake which is a million times tastier than it sounds,” said Grace.
“Pumpkin cheesecake. From scratch,” I said.
“Oooh, nice. I like a man who can cook.”
