Page 19 of Daddy Christmas

Mr. Abrams took me to a restaurant owned by a friend of his, a man who just happened to be a celebrity chef, and I was immediately excited when I saw the interior and got a sense of what kind of place it was. It was called MAT, and it was all Southern cookin’ in a cozy yet exclusive setting. Okay, I didn’t care about the exclusive part, but the hot chicken and mac and cheese, on the other hand!

We were seated in an intimate, circular booth, and it didn’t escape my notice that he chose to sit beside me rather than across from me. Our knees nearly touched, and I paid attention to such things. I mean, I couldn’t not. I was running on a crush here.

I didn’t open my menu until he opened his, and even then, I couldn’t help but glance over to see what he was doing. More than ever, I needed to read him, to understand his reactions, to anticipate his needs and next move.

“There he is.” Mr. Abrams’s eyes sparked with friendly recognition as a handsome gentleman walked over, and he didn’t need a chef’s outfit to let anyone know it was his restaurant. Holy crap, August King was famous. Cam must’ve sent me dozens of his recipes. “It must be my lucky day to catch you on an LA trip. It’s been too long, my friend.” He rose to greet Mr. King, and the two hugged.

“You know you’re always welcome to visit us in Nashville,” Mr. King replied. “It’s mighty good to see you, Wyatt.”

Would ya look at that, Mr. Abrams actually had friends. Funnily enough, they reminded me of each other. Kind grins—now that I knew Mr. Abrams was capable of smiling—plenty of silver in their hair, similar builds. They looked to be similar in age too.

“I want you to meet my date,” Mr. Abrams said and sat down again.

I perked up and felt a smile tug at my mouth. He wanted his friend to meet his date. That was me!

“How I’ve waited to hear you say those words,” Mr. King commented with a wry smirk.

Mr. Abrams chuckled and rested his arm behind me along the back of the booth. “August is a dear friend of mine, though we don’t see each other often anymore. Parker works for the company and spent last week turning my world upside down.”

“Only from Wednesday,” I felt the need to clarify. My stomach did a little flip at his openness too. “Nice to meet you, Mr. King.”

“Likewise, Parker. Likewise.” Mr. King sat down next to Mr. Abrams.

I felt Mr. Abrams’s hand along my neck, his fingers rubbing my skin slowly, and it drew a shiver from me. It also had the weirdest calming effect, and I sent him a sideways smile and scooted a few inches closer.

“I actually spoke to August yesterday,” he admitted to me. “I asked when he would be in town next time, and he said he was already here to create the spring menu with his chef.”

Okay…?

Why did I feel like I was missing something?

“I didn’t know you needed a chaperone, sir,” I joked.

Mr. King found that funny.

“I told you he was a brat.” Mr. Abrams slid his buddy a smirk.

We were interrupted—or saved, maybe—by a server who asked about our orders. Mr. King let her take our drink order, but he wanted to handle our lunch himself. It wasn’t every day that happened, so I wasn’t going to complain!

While he stood up and spoke quietly to the server, I leaned closer to Mr. Abrams.

“If this is a date, can I start using your first name in my head now?” I asked.

His forehead wrinkled with a bit of confusion, but his expression held amusement too. “What have you been using so far?”

“Mr. Abrams, of course.” Duh. Then because I was me, I had to ramble about it. “It happens naturally when I’m around men who give off that sexy, dominant vibe. Aside from work-stuff, obviously. Every Abrams in the company is Mr. and Ms. Abrams to me, but to tell them apart, we have to use your first names too. I just wouldn’t address you by your first name to your face.” It was one of those few things that would’ve embarrassed me.

Maybe it was how I’d been raised, I didn’t know. My mom’s side of the family was strict on labels and formal stuff. I’d called my great-grandfather the Major until he’d died when I was ten.

“Sexy, dominant vibe,” Mr. Abrams echoed. With a slight grin tugging at his lips, he closed the distance between us and kissed the corner of my mouth.

I wasn’t prepared for that! I was a little unsettled, to be honest. I needed to know protocol.

“I’m only Mr. Abrams at work,” he murmured in my ear.

I shuddered and swallowed dryly. Could I kiss him? I wanted to kiss him. “Okay.” I tilted my face toward his an inch or two and tested a smile.

He did the same right before he pressed a kiss to my mouth—and that right there, that was the stuff.

---