He winks. Oliver actually winks. And now he’s ten times more charming than before.
I’m toast.
“You’re very kind. And patient, and a charmer. I’ll get out of your way now.”
I head to the door, and as soon as my hand touches the brass handle, Oliver covers it with his.
Whoa.
“Wait. One more thing.”
“Yes?”
My lashes flutter like I’m daft.
“You said something about biscuits in the morning?”
I smile. “Yes.”
“I can’t wait to taste your biscuits again.”
My cheeks burn, and I self-consciously lick my lips.
Slowly, he lets go of my hand.
“You know what?” I say, summoning the confidence from somewhere. “Come on up to the house for breakfast tomorrow, again. I’d like the company.”
Oh no. Too far, Iris.
“I’d like that, too,” he says, all low and rumbly and too, too unsafe.
I shrug and try to look breezy. “I’d invite you over for dinner tonight too, but I’m going to be in my studio, working straight through until I pass out. I’ll probably shove a tofu dog in my face if I even remember to eat.”
“A tofu dog,” he repeats. “You’re a vegan?”
I shake my bead. “No, I just like fake meat sometimes.”
And now I’m thinking about dildos because I said fake meat, like the weirdo I am.
“Whatever you want to cook, I’ll eat. As long as it’s biscuits and real butter.”
I laugh unconvincingly. “I’m going to spoil you for fast-food biscuits forever. Two things I know how to do. Sew and make my MiMi’s biscuits.”
“I’ll just have to come back to Songbird Ridge every Saturday just for you,” Oliver says.
My conscience says, Be careful with this one. Guys who flirt this hard are always cheaters.
“I wouldn’t let you down,” I say with a flirtatious smile, because my ego is lapping up every morsel this man is dishing out.
“Have a good evening, Biscuit Lady.”
“You too, Oliver.”
Seven
Oliver
I can see her working away in her studio, but I can’t see what it is she’s sewing.
