“This looks incredible,” he said, surveying his plate. “I think I took too much of everything.”
“That’s the point of a buffet.” I laughed. “Besides, you worked hard yesterday. You’ve earned it.”
He took a bite of Stacy’s green bean casserole and his eyes widened. “Damn, this is good. Does everyone in your family cook like this?”
“Stacy’s the real talent in the kitchen. Like I said, Mom tries, but she gets distracted easily. And I am not great. I really don’t even try. I don’t have the time to learn.”
“You’re the brawn,” he said.
I laughed. “You could say that. I can handle the basic stuff. I can make a mean grilled cheese, and I won’t poison anyone with my spaghetti, but nothing fancy. When you’re working fourteen-hour days during the busy season, cooking becomes more about fuel than flavor. I’m usually eating on the run.”
Kent nodded thoughtfully, cutting into his slice of ham. “I can’t remember the last time I cooked anything myself. We had kitchen staff growing up, and now I mostly eat out or order in.”
“That must be convenient,” I said, though I couldn’t imagine not being able to make my own meals.
“Convenient, sure. But this?” He gestured around the room, taking in the warm atmosphere, the families eating together with the genuine laughter filling the space. “This feels more real somehow. More like what a meal should be.”
There was something wistful in his voice that made me curious. “What were family dinners like when you were growing up?”
“Formal. Quiet. My father believed meals were for eating, not talking.” Kent’s expression grew distant. “We had a dining room that could seat twenty people, but it was rarely used. All of us had shit to do. Everyone was in sports and clubs. It was rare thatwe were all at the table at the same time. We usually ate in the living room while watching TV or in our rooms.”
“That sounds lonely.”
“It was what it was.” He shrugged, but I caught the hint of sadness he was trying to hide.
After dinner, it was time for the dancing portion of the evening. I found myself on the makeshift dance floor with Alder and Aspen and some of the other children who were still awake. We were doing some silly group dance that involved a lot of spinning and giggling. I was having such a good time that I’d almost forgotten about the adult drama happening around the edges of the party.
Almost but not quite. Because even while I was laughing and twirling with the kids, I was acutely aware that Kent was watching from across the room, leaning against the mantelpiece with that intense focus that made my stomach do little flips.
I was just about to excuse myself from the children’s dance circle and go ask Kent if he wanted to dance when Tom Bradley, one of our lodge guests, approached me with a polite smile.
“Mind if I steal you for a dance?” he asked.
Tom was a nice enough guy, a widower in his sixties who’d been staying at the lodge for the past few days. He had been nothing but courteous and friendly. I couldn’t very well turn down a guest without seeming rude, especially not in front of half the town.
“Of course,” I said, taking his offered hand.
It was just a harmless little dance. Tom was a gentleman, keeping appropriate distance and making pleasant conversation about how much he was enjoying his stay at the lodge.
We were maybe fifty seconds into the song when I suddenly saw a hand on Tom’s shoulder.
“Mind if I cut in?” Kent’s voice was polite but carried an undertone that suggested this wasn’t really a request.
Tom looked confused but stepped back graciously. “Of course, no problem.”
Kent smoothly took his place, pulling me into his arms without even acknowledging Tom’s retreating figure. The dismissal was so complete and casual that it bordered on insulting.
“Kent!” I scolded as Tom walked away looking somewhat bewildered. “That was incredibly rude. You couldn’t have asked nicely?”
“Thatwasme asking nicely,” Kent said firmly.
I pushed at his chest, though he didn’t budge an inch. “You’re the worst.”
“Only at some things,” he replied with a cocky smile that made my chest pulse with desire. “I’m the best at others. Maybe I can show you before I head back to the city.”
The words sent heat racing through my veins. I found myself stammering like a teenager. Was he hitting on me? What exactly was he implying? Was I overthinking this, or was there a definite invitation in that statement?
It was exactly what Emmy warned me against. But damn. Being up close with him made me want to pretend I never heard her stupid warning.
