Page 5 of A Gingerbread Romance

He’d been enjoying their small talk. He loosened his tie a little more and pondered, once more, the idea of asking her out for a second date. Because all he could think about, his chin resting in his hand, elbow on the table, was how Greta was so much more than just a pretty face. It was already obvious, even though they’d just met.

He took a long sip of his beer, a craft brew that hit the spot. Either way, he’d have to tread carefully with this woman. The last thing he’d want to do was hurt her.

Greta smiled sweetly, finishing another story. She wasn’t wearing much makeup, yet her skin glowed with health. He felt an urge to reach out and touch her cheek, feel for himself just how soft it was. He forced his glance away.

Luke and Wade had often ruminated about how much damage the hurricane known as Carla had done to him, but what they’d forgotten, so deeply engrossed in their own happiness, was that there was more to life than companionship. Jonathan had his job, a few hobbies, and his travel.

“So, what do you do for a living?” Greta asked, popping a French fry into her mouth. The pub food they’d ordered had arrived.

He took one for himself and dipped it in ranch dressing, then let the salty flavors mingle on his tongue.

“Since we’re sharing,” she added.

He grinned. “Commercial real estate. I’m in town for a, uh…kind of a big project. A deal I’m working.”

“Oh, that’s right. You said you were in town for work.” He’d skimmed her profile, but he wouldn’t be surprised if she hadn’t read his. “So, how long will you be staying?”

“For the next month.” He’d recently moved into a short-term apartment on the edge of town, which Tim, who was a local residential real estate agent, had found for him.

“How nice.” Her tone was polite but inviting. “You’ll be here for Christmas, then?” He was impressed by how well she’d kept the conversation moving, considering she’d resembled a deer in the headlights when he’d first arrived.

He grinned inwardly, remembering the comments he’d overheard when he’d walked in.She didn’t need a love life.She had too much going on for a love life.He wasn’t sure he believed her, watching her now, but it sure made things, well—convenient, if she’d meant it. Easier, at least, if he decided against asking her out again.

“I’ll be here for the holidays, yes.” He nodded agreeably, skimming past the thoughts and focusing on the topic she’d brought up. It would be nice to be close to his brothers and their families for the entire holiday season, not just for Christmas Day itself, which was all he usually stayed for.

“And you?”

She nodded, but he noticed a shadow fall across her face, and he wondered why.

“It’s our busiest time of year at work, so I’ll always be here for Christmas,” she added with a tired, almost worried expression.

“I can imagine. It sounds like that stresses you out?”

She nodded to agree. “So, I recently took over the bakery, and I’ve got a lot on my plate. Costs have risen dramatically, and customers are harder to come by than they used to be. To be honest, it’s been difficult.”

“Ouch,” he said, “I’m sorry to hear that.” He meant it. Still, he was impressed she was running a business, as he would be with anyone he met in a leadership position.

Greta blushed and lowered her chin, gazing back at him. She sighed wearily. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m telling a perfect stranger about my work problems. I’m sure you don’t want to hear about it.”

“No, that’s not it at all. I’m happy to listen if you need to vent.” He felt an urge to put an assuring hand over hers, but he stopped himself. “And I hope I’m more than aperfectstranger by now?” Maybe lightening the mood was a better route to take.

Greta laughed, relieved. “Yeah. Much more imperfect now.” She shot him a grin.

Jonathan smiled. “Tell me something else about you,” he said, changing the subject. He didn’t want her to reciprocate the questions about work. He’d been at it all day with his clients and the higher-ups at his brokerage back in Baltimore, and, quite frankly, he needed a break. Happy Hour and first dates were not for discussing the workday, if he could help it.

“Sure. What do you want to know?” she said.

He sipped his beer. “Okay, so, for instance, what’s your favorite kind of music? And what kinds of movies do you like?” These were some of his usual questions on a blind date. And when the chemistry wasn’t right, the questions helped to pass the time until it was appropriately—but not rudely—time to call it a night.

When the chemistry was right, they helped him form a better picture of the person sitting across from him.

And, in the case of Greta, they made for a comfortable curtain behind which he could hide while he fought the urge to imagine a second or third date with her.

“Hmm,” she said, thinking, then counted off on her fingers. “Comedy, romance, thrillers, mysteries.”

Jonathan grinned at her enthusiasm, glad she seemed to have forgotten about the stress at work for the moment. “In that order?”

“Yep.” Greta crossed her arms. “And as far as music, I like all the popular stuff, but I like the throwbacks, too—eighties, nineties. And because I was raised by my grandmother, I’m a fan of sixties and seventies music, from Paul Simon to Disco.”

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