Page 23 of Grump Hard
“More important than many shirts.”
He lifts his gaze from my hand to my face, his eyes filled with something that looks a lot like longing.
God, I hope it’s longing.
I’m certainly feeling the longing.
The air is positively crackling with it…
And then, he leans closer, and I tilt my chin up.
Suddenly, I realize, this is it! This is the moment! He’s going to kiss me. The certainty thrums through every nerve in my body, making my thighs start to tingle all over again as?—
“Holly Jo!” A voice shouts from the road, making Luke and me startle apart. “You ready to go, honey? I gotta get these deliveries over the mountain.”
I turn to see my father waving cheerfully from his truck window, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he just kiss-blocked his daughter.
But then, Dad always has been a tad bit oblivious, the kind of guy who’s more at home in the lab with his cheese than the social events my mother loves.
“Yeah, Dad, just a second!” I call, before turning back to Luke. “Sorry, I um… I have to go.”
He nods, but he’s still looking at me like he wants me to stay. “Of course.”
“I um… Yeah. So…” I back away, willing my stupid lips to ask him to the pub. “So, I was thinking?—”
“Who’s that, Holly Jo?” my dad cuts in. “Aren’t you going to introduce us? You know I love to meet your friends.”
Fighting a teenage-angst-level eye roll with everything in me, I turn back to my father. “Of course! Dad, this is Luke Ratcliffe, a savvy businessman from New York. Luke, this is my Dad, George, a hardworking farmer who needs to deliver the cheese.”
Luke waves at my father, a smile curving his lips as he murmurs for my ears only, “Deliver the cheese. That sounds dirty, too. But not as dirty as handling the wood.”
Cheeks hot again, I drawl, “Yeah, well, what can I say, I?—”
“Holly Jo, please,” Dad calls again, a pleading note in his voice. “If I don’t get this rosemary and thyme to the chef before three o’clock, the people at the French restaurant are going to have my?—”
“I’m coming, Dad. I’m coming!” I shout, starting toward the truck. “Sorry,” I call back to Luke, hating to leave him while he’s in a flirty mood more than I can express. “Talk to you later?”
He nods. “See you Friday.”
Friday. Argh!
I would have preferred to see him sooner, but…Friday it is.
And he’d better be ready to pick up where we left off.
I know I will…
Seven
Luke
The moment I push through the heavy oak doors, I regret agreeing to meet my brothers for an après-ski beer at The Powder Keg lodge, their favorite place to “slum it” when they’re in Vermont.
The ancient lobby reeks of wet wool, spilled beer, and the tangy sweat of lunatics who’ve spent an entire day hurling themselves down mountains for fun. Every surface is covered in either antlers or reclaimed wood, and there’s a fireplace large enough to roast an entire reindeer crackling away in the corner.
After my encounter with Willow’s woodpile, I’ve had my fill of all things rustic. I would have preferred to meet Bran and Elliot at the wine shop one town over.
Or, even better, in our own living room.
