Page 15 of Hensley Manor
“Being here makes you remember what really matters.” Ken placed a hand on the back of Hannah’s chair, his fingers lightly grazing her shoulder blade. “Life can make you forget those things sometimes. Holidays here are always special, but Christmas is really magical. The town holds celebrations leading up to Christmas Day and maybe it’s the small town feel or maybe it’s something else entirely, but it really brings people together.”
“Ah.” I nodded and took a drink of my water.
“What brings you here?” Hannah asked.
“Um. I was just passing through and thought I’d stop to check it out.”
More people filed into the dining room and took their seats around the table. The older couple I had met that morning smiled at me, and I copied the action. Two women entered the room together, talking amongst themselves, and sat directly in front of me. The brunette said her name was Jolie, and the redheaded woman was Tracy. I returned their greeting and introduced myself, as well.
It felt odd. Not in a bad way. Just different.
I normally avoided people, especially around the holiday season. These were the smiling, happy families that reminded me of what I didn’t have anymore. However, instead of making me dwell on those negative feelings, I found myself sort of enjoying the company.
A waiter came to fill everyone’s drinks and topped off my water. “The food will be out shortly.” He placed baskets of warm bread on the table to hold us over until then.
My heart picked up pace when Ian entered the room. His long sleeve shirt was pushed to his elbows and he wore a gray vest over it, paired with dark slacks. His hair was styled to perfection, and I caught myself staring at his chiseled features much longer than was appropriate.
“Good evening,” he greeted, sitting at the head of the table—which was right beside me.
“Hi again,” I said, feeling my cheeks grow warm. “I didn’t know you’d be joining us for dinner.”
“Of course.” He ran a finger around the rim of his empty wine glass. “Still dreaming, I take it?”
Yep, my face became even hotter, both from embarrassment and lust. I licked my lips before answering; a movement he seemed to catch by the way his gaze flickered to my mouth. My pants fit tighter, and I shifted in my chair.
“It’s still debatable,” I said. “The real test will be whether I wake up here in the morning or not. A dream can’t last forever, can it?”
“It can if you’re in a coma, I suppose.”
I snorted, not having expected him to say that. “Yeah, true.”
The waiter came back into the room, carrying a bottle of wine. He filled Ian’s glass before motioning to mine. “Wine, sir?”
“Sure.” I very rarely drank wine, as I preferred the heavier stuff, but I enjoyed it when I did. “Thank you.”
My body stilled when I took a drink. The taste was familiar, as if I’d had the wine recently, but I didn’t recall doing so. That’s when a memory flashed; me holding the snow globe in the antique store and feeling warmth on my skin, tasting wine on my lips. Hearing a man whisper as his lips ghosted along my neck.
The man.
My eyes flashed to Ian, who sipped his wine and watched me over the top of the glass. He averted his gaze when he caught me looking.
Was he the man I’d heard in the odd daydream?
Dinner was then served. Pot roast that melted in my mouth, baby carrots, red potatoes, and unlimited warm rolls to soak up all the juice. We talked as we ate, and I was glad the awkwardness faded as we did. Food just had that effect on people.
Ian talked about the upcoming celebrations in town, which included a parade and a winter festival. On Christmas Eve, there would be a party at the manor, the tradition started by his great grandfather.
“Thank you again for squeezing us into a reservation last minute,” Jolie said, placing her hand over Tracy’s. “We thought we weren’t going to make it.”
“There’s room for everyone at Hensley Manor,” Ian responded with a sincere smile.
The real treat came at the end, though. Ian wiped his mouth with the cloth napkin before standing and going into the kitchen. He returned moments later with a platter of cheesecake and went down the table, serving the guests a slice. When he approached me, his brow arched.
“I suppose this is the moment of truth,” he said.
“Yep.” I grinned and pointed to my plate.
Ian cut into the cheesecake and placed a slice in front of me. “I hope you enjoy it.” His cheeks reddened slightly, and I realized he was actually nervous. Baking was something he loved, and he wanted to spread that love to others.
