Page 13 of My Handsome Holidate

Five minutes later I’m sitting crisscross applesauce on the floor of The Grand Ballroom at The Plaza Hotel, digging into a thick slice of garlic bread and a round metal takeout container of spaghetti with meatballs.

I brush a crumb from my lip with my thumb. “I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

Chris, who’s not tearing into his food quite as heartily as I am, meets my eyes. “Me too.”

My breath catches and I take a bite of meatball because I don’t have a comeback for that.

After a long minute, he glances around. “The flowers in here are beautiful. You have quite a gift.”

I look around, as if seeing the bouquets, cascades, and trellises for the first time. “It’s my job to make sure the floral decor is flawless. Every bride and groom deserve the best on their wedding day.”

“What about you? What do you deserve?” His voice is deep and sincere.

No one’s ever asked me that before. But, instead of answering, I watch him for a minute, this thoughtful, handsomeman who is sitting here, eating takeout on the floor with me only hours before Valentine’s Day.

“How did you track me down, Chris? No, wait— it doesn’t matter. The better question is why?”

He lifts a shoulder. “I needed to make sure your head injury wasn’t still giving you trouble.”

I hold his gaze, waiting for the real reason. It’s a stalemate until finally, he cracks a muscle in his jaw clenching.

“Two hours wasn’t long enough for our blind date.”

“No?”

“It was just enough to tease me, to give me a taste of who you are. Enough to whet my appetite and leave me hungry for more.”

“Are you a chef?”

He chuckles, and it’s a rumbly, masculine sound that sets his deep-set eyes dancing. “Did my cookie decorating skills give you that idea?”

A giggle erupts from my chest. “No, it’s the way you use food euphemisms, or at least you did just then.”

“I’m not a chef.”

“Darn, I was really hoping the answer to that was yes, because I could use a man who cooks.”

He chuckles. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“One question for now. There’ll be plenty of time for more later.”

Later. The word hangs in the air between us. Air that suddenly seems to crackle with electricity.

“All right then, tell me, why a profile onThe One?”

He sets his fork down and leans back on his hands, stretching his legs long out in front of him.

“The easy answer is I lost a bet to my brother.”

“And the hard answer?”

He runs a hand through his hair and takes a sip from his bottle of water.

“I’ve never prioritized a relationship before. I was always busy with… other things.”

“I know what you mean,” I say, my voice quiet. “Sometimes a relationship is the last thing you have time for.”

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