I was starving. “I’m okay. We can wait if you want.” My stomach growled in disapproval as it called me out on my lie.
“Your stomach doesn’t agree.”
I laughed and nodded as he led me back into the kitchen. Following, I looked at his ass the whole way.
I watched, eyes pulled to him like a magnet, as he strode over to a shelf and took down a new apron. Tossing it onto the stainless steel counter, he unbuttoned his sleeves and folded them up to mid forearm. The dark hair on his arms turned me on, and his muscled upper body tested the stitching of his shirt.
My gaze traveled up his body to his collar, where the first three buttons were undone, giving me a hint of what his chest must look like.
I’d never had time to fully take in how gorgeous Preston was, and I was taking advantage of it now.
I took another sip of wine as he picked up the apron, unfolded it, and snapped it to straighten it before tying it around his slim hips. How the fuck did he manage to make tying an apron into an erotic thing?
He caught me staring again and smirked. “Like what you see?”
I cleared my throat and looked down at my disappearing wine. “Yes. Too much, I’m afraid.” I didn’t usually drink wine, but it seemed like it might function as truth serum on me.
When his apron was tied low on his hips, Preston pulled out a stool from under the counter. He was close enough for me to smell his cologne. My eyes closed, and I groaned as he put his hand on my hip.
“Sit,” he chuckled.
I whimpered as thoughts of sitting on his cock filled my brain. Opening my eyes, I found him still in my personal space.
Reaching across me for the wine bottle, the tip of my nose skimmed along his exposed skin. It was all I could do not to lick him, but I would restrain myself.
Maybe.
Preston chuckled as he poured me more wine. “Do you like grilled cheese?”
I nodded, the wine beginning to go to my head. “Yeah, love it actually.”
“Good. I’m going to make my favorite sandwich for you.”
Preston leaned down and kissed the edge of my mouth before moving away. The asshole knew what he was doing to me—again.
He went to the refrigerator and pulled out a plate. “Snack on this,” he said, pushing a plate of cheese, apple slices, and crackers toward me.
I took a cracker and a piece of cheese, then followed it with a bite of apple. It was a delicious combination. “Tell me about your vision for the new place.”
He shrugged. “I know what I like, and what I want it to be, but no idea how to get there. And there’s no way to renovate this place.”
“Okay. What do you want it to be?”
Preston looked up at me from spreading butter on the bread. “More than just another restaurant. I have a lot of ideas coursing through my head, and I need help putting it all together in a workable space. I want a fresh design, and I think I can get that with you.”
I nodded. “All right. Let’s start from the beginning. New construction or renovate?”
“Renovate. I want to take an existing building downtown and repurpose it into what I need,” he said as he put our food together.
“Single story? Multiple floors? Outdoor dining?”
Preston appeared to consider my question as he placed our sandwiches in a cast iron pan on the stove.
“Yes, to all of them. I want it to be something no one has ever seen before. It’s probably a crazy idea, but I want it anyway. It’s your job to put it together.” He flipped the bread in the pan, and the smell of browned butter was incredible.
“I love renovation. Whatever you want, l can design it. That’s the best part of architecture.”
I took another sip of wine as I watched the muscles in his back flex and contract under his shirt. He was a beautiful man, with wide shoulders and a narrow waist.
