“Friends, hmm?” The corner of his lip twitches, and the hand that still holds my chin curls around my jaw. His head lowers, and my heart skips, begging for him to kiss me.
“Kiss her!” Theo’s baritone voice booms from inside the house, and we break apart. I turn my head just in time to see Theo scamper away from the open window, giggling to himself.
Grayson chuckles, and his hand falls from my face. With the moment clearly shattered, I reach behind me to grip the door handle. “Well, maybe next time, then.”
His cheeks turn rosy, and he nods, reaching for the edge of the door. Once I’m safely in, he shuts it, and I roll the window down. “Thank you again.”
He nods, waving once as I back out of the drive. “Drive safe,friend.”
Chapter Nine
Holly
I miss the farm already…
Grayson: Careful baby, you have no idea what it does to me to hear you say that.
Big talk coming from someone who has yet to invite me back…
Grayson: What are you doing right now?
Working at the clinic in Elk Junction.
Grayson: Perfect. You’re only 20 minutes away from me. Come over for dinner? I’ll cook.
He’s hot AND he can cook?
Grayson: I wouldn’t go that far…
Grayson: Tonight is also Banana Tuesday.
Banana Tuesday? What’s that?
Grayson: Guess you’ll have to come over and see.
Be there at 5.
Chapter Ten
Holly
“You weren’t kidding when you said you could cook.”
Grayson pulls out one of the chairs at his two-seater table, waiting until I sit down before helping me scooch back in.
“My mom has always said there's no reason a man shouldn't have at least basic idea of how to cook,” he says, grabbing the dish of macaroni and cheese. “We aren’t as good as her or my grandma, but I can grill and use the smoker.”
He scoops a giant portion of macaroni and cheese on my plate, and I practically moan at all the gooey cheese. I help myself to a pulled pork sandwich as Grayson takes a seat across from me. “You should be impressed with yourself. I don’t really know how to cook, well, not something from scratch like this.”
There’s a small bundle of flowers in a mason jar in the center of the table. Three white petals fan out at thetop, and a lower petal that’s shaped almost like a pouch hangs below. The lower part is a vibrant pink, and I smile as I bring the bouquet to my nose to inhale, admiring the extra step Grayson took to make this dinner special. “These are beautiful, what are they?”
“Those are lady’s slippers.” His eyes flick from the flowers in my hand before he sets the macaroni dish to the side and sits down across from me. “They’re for you.”
My mouth must pop open in surprise, because he smiles as he reaches to take two sandwiches from the platter that sits on the table between us. “For me?”
“For you. I was driving home after you texted me today. Spotted them on the side of the road. The pink reminds me of that pretty top you had on at the clinic. And the white is like your hair.”
“And you stopped just to pick them?” I’m unable to hide the shock in my voice. I’ve received flowers many times in the past. My parents would always hand me an oversized bouquet after my piano recitals. Geoff would get me a dozen classic red roses for our anniversary and on Valentine’s Day. They’re always gorgeous, appreciated, but knowing that Grayson saw these, thought of me, and thought to pick them without a special occasion in mind suddenly makes swallowing that much harder.
