Page 15 of A Crane Family New Year

“I’m sure you’re right.” He tugged his sleeve down, and she noticed a diamond wink from a black onyx cufflink. There was something sure and strong about his presence. Safe too, though she’d only just met him. She turned away before he caught her staring at him.

Opposite the bar was a pool table. Beyond that, a TV room. A massive sectional sofa sat cozily in front of the screen, a chair, reading lamp, and bronzed globe statue in one corner.

She moved to a pair of double doors leading outside to a covered seating area with a built-in grill and a stone outdoor kitchen. “Wow. The parties they must have in the summer.”

The sky was dark and windy, snow blowing and swirling on the stamped concrete. In warmer weather Lake Michigan with its sparkling surface would be a sight.

A gust of wind howled, pressing against the glass. She folded her arms over her chest, snuggling deeper into Zander’s suit jacket. She inhaled sandalwood and another exotic scent she couldn’t name. The man not only looked incredible, but he also smelled like heaven.

“Jackpot,” she heard behind her.

Zander was standing inside a glass-walled wine cellar. The bottles were displayed on shelves stacked to the ceiling. A rolling ladder was hooked on the edge of one shelf, a thermostat mounted on the wall to ensure the perfect temperature.

“It’s like a library, but with wine.” Awed, she stared as she approached the sleek room filled with gleaming bottles.

“Let’s check it out.” He tipped his head, inviting her in with him.

She stepped inside the slightly cool room and then tenderly touched a foil-covered tip of one bottle. Zander was inspecting bottles, sliding them from their homes one by one.

“Ah. Here we are.” He slipped a bottle of white wine from its cradle.

“The Big O,” she read aloud from the label. “That name is setting high expectations.”

Zander’s grin wasn’t far behind hers. “O is my father’s nickname, short for Octavius.” He handed her the bottle.

“I would also shorten my name if it were Octavius.” She spun the bottle, admiring the golden color of the liquid inside. The label, with the embossed image of a big top tent and the circus-style font, was both classic and cheeky. “Does he also go by Big, or was that nickname solely reserved for your uncle Alex? Can’t there only be one Big Crane?”

“With a nickname like O, how does he not tack ‘Big’ onto the front of it?” Zander raised one eyebrow, which added a dash of playfulness to his regal expression.

Chloe wasn’t unaccustomed to flirting but rarely was the man she was flirting with this refined. She’d had plenty of interactions where men eagerly tried to get her to smile—sometimes they told her outright that she should smile, which she found incredibly irritating. But the smiles and banter she’d shared with Zander had come naturally.

She was growing more and more curious about him. A widower Crane from the UK who’d offered his jacket when he noticed she was cold, and who, like her, found Chicago beautiful.

What made him laugh, way down in his belly? What did he do when he was alone? What was his favorite kind of food? Did he like action movies or romantic comedies?

“So, your father’s a vintner?” she asked when those questions seemed too personal.

“My father’s a bit of everything.” He took the bottle from her. “He’s been practically everywhere and has found business opportunities wherever he’s gone.”

“And wives?” she joked. “Sorry. Rachel mentioned that your siblings each had different mothers. Anyway, I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“You promised not to apologize to me anymore, remember?” He leaned down to ask that, bringing his handsome face closer to hers. In the still air, she felt a tentative pull toward him. He straightened away from her, but that pull remained, bringing her to her toes for a moment. “And for the record, my father never married. Not even in his tender youth when my mother was pregnant.”

“Do your parents get along?”

“Better than you’d think. He marches to his own beat, but so does she. They’re still very close friends.”

She shrugged with her mouth. “Impressive.”

“To answer your question, no. Dad is not a vintner.” He tucked the bottle under one elbow, and they left the cellar. Once she was out, the door whispered shut behind them. “He knows who to partner with for a great bottle of wine. And for children too, for that matter.”

“Yes, I can see that.” Zander’s parents must be the equivalent of Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston.

“Ready to go back to the party? I can ask the bartender to pour us glasses of The Big O.”

She thought about mentioning that it was the only “Big O” she’d have tonight, but that was a touch too forward.

Instead, she looped her arm in his and said, “After you.”

---