She thought for a moment as she mixed up chipotle aioli for the chicken tenders. “Maybe not this many.”
The condo had a huge farmhouse-style table that I usually just used to spread out my work. Now it sat all twenty-five of us. Holly was laying everything out buffet style on the kitchen island when the front door beeped, alerting me that someone had punched in the key code.
“Hey, we got here just in time for dinner!” Walker said gleefully, trotting into the open living and kitchen area.
“Hell no,” I argued. “You can't just leave your little brothers then show up when it's time to eat.”
“We have enough food,” Holly said, touching my arm. Several more Svenssons piled into my condo. “I think we have enough?”
27
Holly
The Svenssons waved goodbye to me as they ate the last of the leftover cookies.
When the last one was out the door, I slumped on the couch. We had barely had enough food. I felt terrible. I prided myself on feeding people and throwing amazing parties. What else did I have going for me?
“I demand a redo!” I told Owen as he poured two glasses of amber whisky.
“For what?” he asked, handing me a glass.
“It wasn't my best work,” I railed. “I didn't have time to plan. I was working in less-than-ideal conditions.”
“They ate it, and they liked it,” Owen said with a shrug and took a sip of his drink. “We didn't even have leftovers.”
“Exactly!” I said, jumping up and pacing around his living room. “That's the problem. If you don't have leftovers, you didn't make enough food. I am shamed!”
He laughed and reached out to stop me, his hand resting lightly on my waist. “You were perfect. Thank you.”
I wrinkled my nose. “I'll do better next time. We'll bring the Svenssons back, and I'll cook an insane feast.”
“Please spare me,” he said with a slight smile around his mouth. His hand was still on my waist. I really felt like he wanted to kiss me, but then sometimes I had gut feelings that turned out to be indigestion.
I stepped away, breaking the contact, and took another sip of the whisky.
“I really appreciate you coming by,” Owen told me.
“Next time, I'm making you some Christmas cookies,” I said stubbornly. “I know there's a recipe you'll love. It is my lifelong dream to see your eyes roll back in your head when you eat my cookies.”
That sounded dirty, Holly. He's going to think you're just like Amber.
“Guess I better go before I say anything else inappropriate!” I said with a too-loud laugh, hightailing it to the front door.
Owen caught up to me as I was staring at the door, trying to figure out how to open it. It had a fancy high-tech lock. He spun me around, large hands resting on my hips.
“Maybe I just need another taste of your cookies. I'll take it a little slower, really savor the flavors,” he murmured.
I looked up at his blue eyes. He was ridiculously tall. If this had been happening to anyone other than me, I would have said this was the start of a Christmas romance story for the ages.
Ha! Who was I kidding? The most I could hope for was a tumble under the Tannenbaum, then we'd go our separate ways. Like I said, modest dreamer—food, sex, a place to stash my baking gear, and Holly was good.
I stared up at him, willing him to kiss me.
But he stepped back instead. “Goodnight, Holly.”
*
“Did he frost your Christmas cookies?”Morticia asked when she saw me. She was sketching designs for the penthouse Christmas decorations in the living room.
