I let out a little laugh. “I don’t know much about South Beach, but I’m pretty sure that’s where the South Beach diet originated. I’m also pretty sure you can’t eat sugar-filled, butter-laden muffins on that diet.”
“I guess not. Maybe I’ll have to come back here for another one soon,” he said with a smirk.
“Umm, not sure a muffin is reason enough to come back here,” I said as I pinched off a tiny nibble of my own treat.
“Well, it would only be one of them, although I may have to wait until spring. This weather here, it leaves a lot to be desired,” he said and for a moment, he got a faraway look in his eyes, as if he went somewhere else for a second or two. The pain—so palpable—I’d sensed a few days before when I’d seated him at the restaurant, seemed to ice over the bright blue of his eyes, dimming them for a moment. And then, just like that, his eyes sharpened and focused on me, exuding warmth again.
“I guess I’m just used to it,” I said with a shrug. “What’s the temp now at home for you?”
Weather is a safe subject, unlike him coming back to the WildFlower.
“Gorgeous, warm, but not stifling. You should come see for yourself.” He finished his muffin, then drained his coffee cup.
I had to remind myself to breathe. “I’m not sure that’s in my budget for right now, but someday, maybe I will.” My skin was prickly with nerves at what he was suggesting, itchy with how much I actually wanted to do that. Visit Florida ... and see him again.
Taking the last few sips of my own coffee, I stood up and said, “I’m going to get back to work now. I mean, my actual job, but this has been really nice of you to take the time to meet me and get to know me. I’m sure management appreciates it.” Then I stuck out my hand and said, “Nice to meet you, Mr. Wrigley.”
“Once again, it’s Lane,” he said, “and I really appreciate it.” But he didn’t shake my hand. Grasping my fingers with his larger ones, he brought my hand to his lips and placed a light kiss right above my knuckles, his lips lingering and torturing my senses.
“Umm, well, it’s been a pleasure doing this.” I stumbled over my words, working my hand free and waving it around since I had no freaking clue what else to do with it.
“No, the pleasure’s been all mine. Meeting you hasn’t felt like work at all.”
The spot where his lips had made contact tingled; the small patch of skin, on the bone and near a vein, must have been singed or burned. I expected to look at my hand and find a hole.
“’Bye, Lane,” I said, rushing out as fast as I could.
Does he kiss all hotel employees on the hand?
I couldn’t wait to leave work that day. Despite my best intentions, I’d fueled the employee gossip mill, a position I didn’t like holding and wanted to desperately shed. As I was hightailing it out of the building, Maddie stopped me again.
Shit.
Standing in front of me with a gift-wrapped box blocking half her face, she called, “Bess, one sec!”
Seriously, what now?
I stopped moving but didn’t speak.
“Thank you so much for taking one for the team and graciously meeting Mr. Wrigley. Apparently the hotel got the deal with him, and management is tickled,” she said while bopping back and forth from foot to foot in her sensible flats.
“No thanks needed. I did it, and Mr. Wrigley already came to thank me in person, as I’m sure you heard, so the whole thing can be put to bed now. I gotta go,” I said as I started moving down the hallway, leaving in my ugly work clothes again.
“Wait!” Maddie called for me again.
I turned on my heel and looked at her with one eyebrow arched.
“This. This is for you,” she said while shoving the gift toward me.
“Oh, that’s not necessary.” I shrugged and turned on my heel for the second time.
“Bess! It’s not from me,” Maddie yelled.
This got my attention.
“Who’s it from?” I asked as I whipped back around, afraid of what she might say.
“Mr. Wrigley, of course.”
“Of course,” I repeated, grabbing the package and walking straight to my car, not stopping to say hello to anyone else. Then I threw it—not gently—into the trunk, where it taunted me the whole drive home.
