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“You’re really important to the town, huh?” I ask.
“Not really. Just know a lot of people and participate in a lot of stuff to help out. I’ve been doing it since I was a kid.”
“Yeah, but that makes you important.”
He bobbles his head from side to side. “Maybe. My parents used to volunteer for a lot of the town events. I got roped into volunteering with them. So people know me. It kinda comes from growing up here.”
He has so many ties to the town, and I only recently moved here.
“So how’s it going on figuring out my name?” I ask to change the subject.
He slides a glance my way. “You tell me, Callie.”
My breath backs up in my lungs, and I stare at him for a second.
His eyes widen, and he practically yells, “That’s your name.”
I shake my head. “No. That’s not my name.” Irritated that I almost gave it away, I take a deep drink of my cooling cocoa.
“But it’s gotta be close based on the look on your face.”
“I will neither deny nor confirm on the closeness.”
“You better get your dancing shoes ready. I’m getting me those two extra dates, Imp.” He playfully bumps his shoulder to mine.
We walk a little more, and I can’t shake the feeling that he’s going to get my name. Hell, a basic public record search will show him if he looks up the title to my house. But I won’t tell him that. The guessing game is kinda fun, to be honest.
“How did they even get that one here?” I ask in astonishment at the depiction of Mistletoe Creek in cookie form.
Warrick shakes his head. “I have no idea.”
“Are we staying for the results?” I ask.
“Nah. We’re just here to look. We have other plans.”
I cock an eyebrow. “Oh, do we?”
He nods. “We’re going to The Woodsman for dinner.”
Dating Warrick is easier than I thought it would be. After the desk orgasm—which I totally didn’t expect—I’m not going to lie, I thought that he’d make the move to get me into bed. But he surprised me by holding me, and then working with me without being insufferably cocky with how fast he got me off.
Instead of just trying to lure me into the sack, we’ve been exchanging flirty text messages and working side by side to clear out three decades of clutter at the nursery.
It’s been nice. In a sexy, slow, smoldery way.
I’m about to eat my words and jump his bones because this level of slow? It’s torture.
Torture in the sweetest way.
* * *
“Here, try a bite.” Warrick waves his fork in front of my face.
I lean forward and take the bite of steak from the utensil before chewing.
I ordered chicken, and he got steak. We’ve been stealing bites off each other’s plates while talking for the last hour. Neither of us are in a hurry to end the date, even though it’s the adult version of a school night with both of us having to work in the morning.
“So,” I say, getting the gumption together for my next question.
