Slowing my pace, I observe him unloading the dishwasher. Who knew a man doing chores would be sexy as hell. I like that not many people have seen that, under his well-taken-care-of appearance and strong presence when he enters the room, he has a domesticated side. It makes me feel sort of special that I’ve had a front-row seat. Is that odd?
His eyes bolt open when he notices me. I stride to the island counter with a sly look on my face. My nails begin to tap the marble as we greet one another.
“So, this is the weekend it seems,” I begin, maybe even challenging Holden.
“The clock does say that.” He wants to laugh, I can see it.
My gaze swirls around the kitchen, wondering what our plan of action is. But then I know I’m being ridiculous. “Did Lori and Harry get to your parents’ okay?”
He nods as he closes the dishwasher. “Yeah, they live up near Madison, so we meet halfway to make it easy. They normally see one another every six weeks or so.”
“That’s great. I assume you grew up there?”
Holden shakes his head before he takes a few steps to open the cupboard and grabs two wine glasses by the stems. “Not exactly. Actually, I grew up near St. Paul in Minnesota but by chance my parents wanted to move to Wisconsin to be closer to an aunt who lives there. They then formed a social circle and realized they would be close to their grandkids, and they set down roots.”
I accept the wine goblet that he hands me. It’s the size of a bowl, but I know we will have white wine which I don’t mind at all. “We can start on wine, but probably by eight, I’ll have you on shots.”
He chuckles. “That’s quite a party.”
I shrug as I hold out my glass while he pops the cork. “Why not? You can let loose; the kids are away, and you can even be a devil by sleeping in for once.”
“Why not.” He grins.
My glass becomes full, and we clink our glasses before taking a sip. “Ooh, crisp and not sweet. Smooth,” I note.
“It’s the Blisswood brand. Midwest’s finest.”
“I’ve noticed their wine is on every menu in this town, not to mention the giant display in the supermarket. Right next to the Grizzly Dash maple syrup collection.”
He tips his glass at me. “Lexi, you know they are all connected to Lake Spark, and a riot will start if any other brand attempts to take over.” I giggle at his answer. “Besides, the Grizzly Dash syrup made special-label mini bottles for our hotel guests.”
My hands come together. “I love that touch. Stuart also informed me that the Dizzy Duck has special ticketed seats for Spinners games, only for VIP guests. See? These things set the inn apart. Not only for people who want to leave Chicago for the weekend but also anyone who is looking for a getaway near or far.”
Holden appears proud. “You can stop with the flattery and maybe park business to the side.”
I nod a few times. “You’re totally right.” My lips tuck into my mouth, feeling the next part of our night is about to hit us.
Especially when he leans over the counter, not having a care that he must use his arms to slightly lift himself over to reach me. I do the same, and we meet halfway where our mouths gravitate, until our lips press together with a quick swipe of our tongues tracing one another’s lips. It’s a quick kiss, but it still scares me slightly. Fast kisses are the kind reserved for couples, or at least they are in my mind.
“I believe you promised me something else. Such as food, no hiking, maybe more food,” I list.
“Thanks for the reminder, and I’m happy to report that I picked up some Italian dishes from the deli at the general store. We can just throw it into the oven.”
“Solid choice for my calorie intake. Bonus points if dessert is included.”
He throws me an enticing look. “Depends if having you on your knees with my dick down your throat counts?” His brow arches because he’s playing with me, or not, but it’s in jest. “Unlucky for me, you can have leftover peanut butter and jelly cheesecake that I hid in the freezer and am defrosting now so it will be ready.”
I point my finger at him. “Perfect plan.”
We take the next half-hour to prepare dinner and set some plates out on the dining table. Not taking any notice that we’re speeding through our bottle of wine, and not because we need to for courage, it’s more due to the fact that we seem to unwind with good wine and conversation.
Sitting down, we both take a few bites. I’m in love with the eggplant parmesan. “I wish I was a better cook. I’m just thankful takeout exists.”
Holden looks at me peculiarly. “That’s all you really eat?”
“Of course,” I sputter, only to hold up one finger. “Wait, not entirely true. My mother is a great cook. She makes a mean brisket, which sounds like the last thing in the world that would be someone’s favorite food, and it’s not my number one on my dishes list, but when she makes it then I’m there.”
His eyes flash. “Ah yes, your parents. I keep forgetting about your dad.”
