Page 36 of My Favorite Holidate

As he heads to the field, I look at the team owner in a three-piece suit. No jacket though. He’s just wearing charcoal slacks, a butter yellow dress shirt, and—holy shit—a vest.

My chest heats up. Why are vests so hot? I don’t even know. It could be the way they hug a man’s waist. Or how they accentuate his pecs. Or maybe it’s just the promise of buttons.

Of undoing them, nice and slow.

“Is this for the shower this Sunday?” Wilder repeats.

Right. Yes. The shower. Not the great unbuttoning. “Yes.”

“Leo texted me,” Wilder explains. “He asked if I knew a place.”

“Wait. Let me guess. You own some brunch spots too,” I tease, adjusting the box under my arm. “On top of yourcabins,the golf course, your clean energy businesses, and all your Vegas hotels.”

He smirks. “You forgot I have a hotel here in San Francisco too.”

“I didn’t forget.” The Resort is where I ran into him that fateful night over a year ago with my friends. “I hear that place is supposed to be real swanky. Someone keeps telling me to stay there.”

He gives a hint of a smile. “You should try it for yourself sometime. See if you agree.”

“If you insist,” I say, then focus on practical matters. “So, is that where the shower would be?”

Wilder takes a beat, those green eyes glinting. “Actually, I thought…I could host it at my home.”

My breath catches. His home. “That’s so nice of you.” The words aren’t rote or empty. It is remarkably kind of him to offer his house, which must be amazing.

“Thank you.” He steps a little closer, his snow and forest scent tickling my nose. He lowers his voice like we’re keeping a secret, and I suppose we are. “But as the best man and maid of honor, wouldn’t it make the most sense ifwehost it together?”

I hadn’t even thought of that. But for appearances, that makes sense. “Sure. Yes. Of course.”

I’m gobsmacked already, and I haven’t even seen his house. Is pre-gobsmacked a thing? If so, I’m feeling it.

“It’ll be like practice for the Christmas competition,and why not give ourselves the home-field advantage?” Damn, his strategic mind is hot.

“Yes. That’s so wonderful of you.”

“Ofus, Fable,” he corrects. His warmth makes it clear that this offer should seem like our idea as a couple. His gaze lingers on me, and I feel unmoored. “Would you like to let her know?”

My heart is beating faster than usual. “Yes. I will.”

“And maybe you could come over in advance?”

“To help you get ready?”

He laughs, but not at me. Morewith meas he shakes his head. “No. Because it wouldn’t make sense if you’re seeing my home for the first time when everyone else is. You should know where things are, like the library. The movie room. The bathroom…”

“The bedroom,” I say on a breath, and the word seems to linger between us. What is Wilder’s bedroom like? I picture a huge bed, soft covers, elegance, and masculinity. And I’m desperate to see it.

“Right. Exactly. All the rooms.” Wilder nods, businesslike—just like I should be. “I’ll text you, and we’ll find a time before the party that works for both of us.”

There’s silence for a few seconds. It’s clear this conversation is over, but he doesn’t make a move to go. I don’t want to end the interlude, either, so I think of something to say. “Also, thank you again for the socks.”

I texted him my thanks yesterday, but it’s worth saying them again in person.

“Are you enjoying them?”

“I slept in them last night,” I say.

He blinks, then he reaches for the box in my arms. “I’ll carry that for you.” He takes the carton of shirts, glancing inside, and his brows climb skyward. He peers at thestuffed rear end of jolly old St. Nick in confusion then turns to me. “Are we selling Santa’s ass at the team store?”

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