“Why do we need all this cheese?” Matt asked when we stepped off the elevator at his condo and started unloading the cart.
“We have to have snacks at the town meeting. And alcohol.”
“I can hire a caterer.”
“You need the homemade touch,” I replied. “Plus, no one in town makes cheese straws like these. Secret family recipe. And no caterer in town is going to make homemade eggnog for hundreds of people. They’re just going to doctor store-bought eggnog. Speaking of, I hope you have lots of bourbon because we’re going to need it.”
I rubbed my hands together. Ever since seeing Matt’s kitchen, all I wanted to do was cook a huge feast in it.
When I was younger, I had made it through life with the belief that all the suffering and hard work would be worth it because I had absolutely believed that as soon as I graduated college, I was going to be bestowed with a high-paying job and a swanky condo with a huge kitchen. Instead, all I had to show for myself was a failing business and a portable oven.
Younger me would be so disappointed.
“Here’s your apron.” I handed Matt the Frosty the Snowman apron while I tied on the Rudolf apron.
“You’re acting like I just handed you a dead animal,” I said. “Put it on so you don’t mess up your nice suit. Or I guess you could go shirtless, your choice.”
“Do you want me to?” he asked in that deliciously deep voice.
Matt shirtless in this kitchen? Yes, please. 10/10. Would totally hit that.
“I mean, I’m not going to say no,” I told him, “but if you burn something sensitive, I’m also not taking you to the emergency room, so you’ll have to phone a friend.”
He tied on the apron while I bent over to search his cupboards for the large stockpots and the stand mixer. Why did a person who never cooked have thousands of dollars’ worth of cooking equipment? Who knew?
“I might need to steal this stand mixer.”
Matt took it from me, setting it on the counter.
I attached the cheese grater attachment and told him to grab the cheddar cheese from the shopping cart.
“Since there’s nothing sexier than a man working a stand mixer, you’re in charge of the cheese straws. I’m starting on the eggnog.”
As I stood next to Matt at the long kitchen island cracking five dozen eggs, I snuck glances at him. With his sleeves rolled up with the red apron and his hair swept back off his forehead, he was giving me everything I wanted under my tree this Christmas.
You can’t think about sex with him. You haven’t even showered in days.
Sex? What? Who said anything about S-E-X? I was just admiring a good-looking man. Heh. Heh.
I chewed on my lip.
The stand mixer whirred as Matt grated the cheese.
Did he even like me like that? Shoot, did he even like me at all? Maybe he was just being nice because he wanted his farm development approved.
But he had let me crash at his place.
Maybe he was just being polite.
I glanced over at him again and caught his gaze and felt my face flush.
“I’ve never seen anyone crack eggs one-handed,” he remarked as I picked up four more eggs, two in each hand, and cracked them in quick succession, deftly letting the white drain into one bowl then plopping the yolks in another.
“You should see me give a hand job,” I joked before I could stop myself.
That was inappropriate.
His mouth parted softly. But instead of being angry, he seemed intrigued.
