“At least it’s the jellied type,” he said, smiling as he picked up the can opener. “That whole berry stuff just isn’t the same.”
“Good man,” Granddad said as he hefted the platter of carved turkey and carried it to the table.
There was a lot of good-natured chatter and laughter as they passed dishes around the table and filled their plates. It didn’t take long for Zoe to relax as Preston made easy conversation with her family, and she noticed he took more of the macaroni and cheese than he did the mashed potatoes. Clearly the man’s culinary priorities were in order.
But as the meal went on, Zoe quickly realized her grandfather’s motives in inviting Preston Wheeler to Thanksgiving dinner extended well beyond being neighborly as he asked a lot of pointed questions about his relationship status and sang Zoe’s praises to a ridiculous extent. Granddad not only appeared to be in the market for a new grandson-in-law, but he had his sights set on Preston.
Unless he had a secret granddaughter somewhere that nobody knew about, her grandfather was probably going to be disappointed.
Sure, she was attracted to Preston. And he was attracted to her. Only an idiot would deny there was a lot of zing between them and she wouldn’t mind exploring that a little more, but the last thing Zoe wanted was another husband.
She wasn’t anti-marriage, by any means. She’d come through her divorce very anti-Ben, but she’d seen too many happy marriages in her life not to know it was the man, not the institution. But she’d worked too hard building this new life and finding her own happiness to risk having her heart and sense of self broken down by another man right now.
As if she could feel the weight of his gaze, Zoe looked up to find her grandfather staring at her with an expectant expression. And when he arched an eyebrow and tipped his head slightly in Preston’s direction, she knew what he wanted.
Time to make small talk with their guest. Just because she wasn’t going to marry the man didn’t mean she could be rude at her grandfather’s table.
“So, Preston...” She mentally flailed for a safe topic of conversation. “Where are you from?”
“I was born in Virginia, but we were Air Force and left there before I could walk. We lived a lot of places, but when my dad retired from the military, he took a job in Boston and we stayed there. He decided to take an early retirement, since my mom’s a freelance travel writer, and now he travels with her.”
“That sounds fascinating,” Zoe said. “Do they go really exciting places?”
“Not really,” he said, and they all chuckled. “She tends to write articles that are more about traveling in the US with a family on a budget, but she finds fun and quirky things that aren’t in the states’ tourism brochures.”
“Sounds exciting enough to me,” Granddad said, and then he launched into a story about an accidental road trip he and Grandma had taken back in the seventies, before everybody had a computer to navigate for them.
Zoe had heard the story a time or twelve, so she only half listened and instead pondered the fact Preston seemed to fit in so well with her family. She wouldn’t have expected it, based on their early interactions, but it was just one more way the man surprised her.
She wondered what else he was hiding behind those buttoned-up shirts and perfectly knotted ties.
Don’t be disgusting, Zoe.
Preston still couldn’t get those words out of his head. And the reason for that varied depending on the time of day it was.
During daylight hours—even when he’d been handling meetings and finalizing some real estate things in Boston—he’d mull over the statement because it might help explain why Zoe had been so prickly when he reacted badly to the sexy window display. His disapproval had been strictly for the actual display, but she’d obviously been deeply hurt by a man who’d been judgmental about her sexuality.
At night, when he should be sleeping, he couldn’t stop himself from wondering what exactly Zoe Randall wanted to do that could be classified as disgusting.
If anybody ever asked him, he would say he’d never had an overly active imagination. But when it came to Zoe and sex and picturing doing all manner of things with her, he’d found out his imagination was capable of being not only overly active, but extremely creative.
It made sitting around the small living room with her family on Thanksgiving Day pretty awkward for him, and the discomfort wasn’t just from the third helping of macaroni and cheese and sampling four different pies, or not having an idea what was happening in the football game on TV. He tried to focus on the sports, to get his mind off her, but he was so lost he couldn’t invest in either team.
During a break in the play, everybody got up to refill their drinks and pick at the desserts, and Preston used the guest bathroom off the back hall. When he came back to the kitchen, Zoe was alone, covering the desserts with plastic wrap.
“Need some help?” he asked, walking over to the table to stand next to her.
“I’m about done.” She licked apple filling off her finger, which made every muscle in his body tense in response, and then turned to face him. They were so close, she had to tip her head up to look up at him and everything but the urge to kiss her faded away.
She reached up and tucked her finger into the opening at his shirt collar, so her fingertip touched his throat, making him swallow hard. “No tie. Top button unbuttoned. Is this your casual look?”
He nodded, not sure he could actually speak until he cleared this throat. “I figured the suit was a bit much for Thanksgiving.”
When she tugged a little at the button her finger was hooked over, he closed the gap between them, putting his hands on her hips. His brain was short-circuiting and he wanted to make sure they were on the same page. “What are we doing right now?”
“Surrendering to the inevitable?”
“Yes.” He barely had time to whisper the word before their lips met and the world shifted under his feet.
