Page 29 of A Prague Noel

"Well, that's one way to end the evening," Ondrej said through a nervous chuckle.

"Definitely memorable," I agreed through nervous laughter.

“Does the hotel have any more of that hot wine?”

Ondrej grinned wickedly and unexpectedly took my hand.

ChapterThirteen

The hotel was quiet when we finally got back from the market. My cheeks felt frozen and pink, but a good shot of Christmas spirit was coursing through me, warming my core. We stepped into the lobby and instantly felt my body defrost.

I started to remove my glove and realized Ondrej was still holding my hand. He noticed, too, and quickly dropped it.

“Sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what—”

“It’s ok,” I said, shaking off my nerves. “Kept me warmer. That was fun,” I said, catching my breath in the newfound warmth.

“It really was. Ok, about that wine. Let’s head into the bar. I’m sure there is a bottle we can heat. We go through it like crazy on the busy nights.”

He reached and almost took my hand again before reconsidering. We both laughed nervously.

“Come on,” he said. I followed him through the lobby to the bar, which was sparsely dotted with patrons. The bartender was chatting with some guests at the opposite end, so Ondrej slipped behind the bar.

“Have a seat. Let me see what we have.”

I hopped onto a barstool, and he dug around the cupboards and shelves.

“Ah, perfect.” He pulled a bottle from a small fridge. “This is fresh. Give me a moment to put it into the warmer.”

He plucked the cork out and poured the spiced red wine into a bartop machine, then pressed a button., It almost immediately started to steam.

“That’s a nifty contraption,” I said.

“Like I said, we go through this stuff like crazy in the winter. It will heat Sake or brandy, too. Winter bartender’s best friend. Ok, done.”

“That was fast,” I said in awe as he pulled out a carafe and filled two ceramic mugs. He slid one to me, and instantly, I was enveloped in the scents of clove, cinnamon, and allspice.

He came around and took a seat beside me.

“Cheers,” he said, raising his mug to me.

“Cheers.” I took a sip and melted. “This is even better than the market.”

“Glad to hear. I’ll tell our mixologist.”

“Who is?”

“Well, that would be me.” He grinned and sipped his wine.

“A man of many talents. What else can you do?”

“I have a few skills hidden away. I’m excellent at changing light bulbs, too.”

“Mmm. Handy.”

“My hands are useful indeed.”

The flirtation in his tone stopped my following words from forming, and for a moment, we just stared at each other, eyes locked in a silent question.

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