Page 3 of Babies for the Christmas Grump
I need to move. I don’t know why, but I do. I have to get to the nearest table while I catch my damn breath.
I donothave time for further complications.
I slip off the barstool before I can even think about it, my legs suddenly full of nervous energy.
I take a few awkward steps toward a table in the corner, hoping to disappear into the shadows. But of course, the universe has other plans.
The sound of boots clicking on the polished floor sends a shiver down my spine, and I don’t even have to look back to know he’s following. It’s like the guy knows.
Like he has radar for clueless, flustered women trying to avoid eye contact.
I pull out the chair with too much enthusiasm, almost knocking over a glass of water in the process, and drop into it. My fingers, twitching for anything to hold onto, find the edge of the table and grip it like it’s the only thing keeping me from floating away.
And then there he is, towering over the table with the kind of presence that says, “I own the room.”
“Mind if I join?” His voice is dark chocolate and velvet, low and smooth but just sharp enough to make my knees weak.
I blink up at him, then blink again, hoping that if I do it enough times, I’ll stop seeing this handsome man whose face belongs on a movie screen and not in my little corner of a hotel bar.
“Uh… yes. I mean… uh, no, go ahead.”
I’m already regretting it.
He sits with a casual confidence, and I feel my stomach do some strange, slow-motion flip. My lips are suddenly parched, my nerves tingling with electricity.
It’s just a guy. A handsome guy.
Not a big deal.
“So, what brings you to The Garland Rose tonight?”
I blink slowly and start talking without even really thinking about what I’m saying. “The drinks brought me in. The food, too.”
He cocks his head to one side, studying me as if he’s figuring out a puzzle. His eyes are a piercing shade of blue, too intense for casual conversation.
They don’t wander; they stay locked on me—a hawk zeroing in on its prey.
I tug nervously at the hem of my dress, trying to calm my nerves, but there’s something about the way his gaze doesn’t waver that has my insides doing some strange, synchronized dance.
His eyes lock onto mine, like he’s trying to read me, or maybe figure out how much I’m hiding behind my sarcasm and flippant remarks.
“Well, the drinks and the food are solid reasons to stop by.” He leans in slightly, his smile curling the corners of his mouth, a slight edge to it. “But I suspect there’s something more going on. Something that brought you into this hotel bar tonight.”
I almost choke on my wine, but I recover with an awkward cough.
“I’m a sucker for cozy places. Who isn’t, right? Especially in this charming neighborhood.”
He smirks. “Ah, and here I was thinking you were here for me.”
Uh-oh.
My stomach does a flip.
I’m in trouble.
I’m tipsy.
That’s the only explanation for why I’m standing here, at the door to the elevator, feeling my insides become one big mess of nerves and too much wine. The kind of wine that makes everything a little too bright, a little too intense.
