Page 57 of Say It Isn't Snow
We’ve only been apart for a little over a day, yet my heart thuds as if it was far longer. I rub my chest and exhale in contentment.
“Hi,” I murmur.
Holly freezes. Her gaze rakes over me, lips parting.
I grin, smoothing a hand down my dress shirt. “Do you like the suit?”
She nods, dazed. “Um, yes. Like, a lot.” She licks her lips, hastily setting her piping bag aside and dusting flour from her apron. “You look…Wow.”
“Wow, huh.” I can’t wipe the broad smile off my face at seeing her so speechless. “Noted.”
“Did you come right here from the city?” she asks.
“You bet. I didn’t want to be late to pick you up for our date.”
I saunter to her, lacing my fingers behind her back and giving her a kiss. She sways into me, then breaks away.
“Wait, I don’t want to get your nice suit all dirty. I’m a mess.” She checks the time. “The bakery should be closing up. I got wrapped up in working on these because they’re being picked up next week. Can you give me a little bit to get ready?”
“You’re not a mess. Take all the time you need.”
She ducks through the door to talk to her brother, then blurs past me on her way out the back door. An invisible tether permanently looped around my heart tugs with the desire to follow her.
Instead, I hang in the kitchen and take care of the stuff waiting to be washed in the sink. Folding my suit jacket over a stool, I roll my sleeves up and borrow one of her aprons.
Leo’s steps falter behind me when he finds me scrubbing mixing bowls clean. “I was supposed to do that.”
I shrug. “I’m waiting for your sister anyway. I’ve got it.”
“Okay. Thanks.” He busies himself with storing the cookies Holly was working on.
We work as a team, prepping the bakery for a new day tomorrow. By the time Holly comes back, we’ve finished. I’ve got her brother cracking up over a story of how I ended up getting talked into a beer league game for an old teammate’s charityevent, but got thrown out of the game for tussling with the mascot when he mistook me for his rival from college.
She pauses in the door, surveying the clean kitchen and row of packaged cookies in a basket labeled with the customer’s order sheet.
My story cuts off mid-sentence. I’m awestruck by her.
The velvet red dress fits to her curves, flaring out from her waist and falling to her knees. The neckline dips into a point, giving me a tantalizing peek of her cleavage. Her pink hair falls in loose curls, partially pulled back by a sage green bow.
“Wow,” I rasp.
She blushes, tucking a curled lock of hair behind her ear. Leo looks between us, popping off the stool.
He fist bumps his sister. “Later.”
She admires my forearms. “It looks great in here. Did you help Leo clean up?”
“Yes. You’re the one that looks great.” I catch her by the waist, thumbs caressing the soft material of her dress. “Ready to go? I made a reservation.”
“You did?” She gives me a pleased smile. “Where?”
“There’s an inn that had a special winter three-course dinner. I thought you might like it.”
Her eyes widen in delight. “The Silver Bell Inn? It’s so hard to get a table for their holiday dinners! I’ve been trying for months because their desserts are to die for.”
It was hard to get the reservation. I convinced the concierge to contact the other couple who reserved the table to let them know I wanted to buy them dinner at the most expensive steakhouse in Mayfield. To my relief, they accepted and relinquished their reservation slot to me.
The corner of my mouth lifts. “So I did good, then?”
