Sandro pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Look, if it happens, she’s not going to want anyone to know. If I won’t tell, and she won’t tell, what’s the harm?” There’s an unexpected prickle of unease. Something about Blake wanting to keep me a secret if anything does happen between us doesn’t sit all that well with me.
Hmm.
“Uh-huh. Theyalwaystell. You’re like a Pokémon every single woman in town wants to collect and brag about.”
We step outside. “I’m telling you, she’s different. It’s that waitress from Frostbite.”
“Which one?” His voice drops to a whisper as we cross my front lawn in the direction of Blake’s house. “Don’t tell me it’s that blond who’s never given you the time of day.”
“That’s her.”
Sandro’s jaw drops.
I grin and knock on her door. The lock turns, and Blake appears clad in a baby-blue off-the-shoulder dress that matches the color of her eyes.
I take in every detail. She has her hair curled into soft waves, a bit of makeup on her face, and a shiny gloss on her lips. There’s a light-brown freckle on her cheek in the shape of a heart that I didn’t notice before. Her blond hair, pure glistening silk, is pulled back into a high ponytail that would look great coiled around my fist.
When I drop my gaze to her bare legs, I have to bite back a groan. She looks good enough to eat.
Her smile is wide and unguarded. “Hi. Happy Thanksgiving.”
“Happy Thanksgiving. This is my business partner, Sam.”
She greets Sandro and takes a step backward. “Come in.”
We file into the narrow entryway. She takes Sandro’s coat before glancing over at me. I’m not wearing one since it’s only about twenty steps from my house to hers. Her gaze slides over the navy-blue flannel shirt I have on. Something in the way her eyes flare tells me she likes what she sees.
She smooths her hands over her dress. “Thanks for coming.”
“You look great.” She’ll look even better with nothing on. Hopefully, I’ll get to tell her that tonight.
She tucks a strand behind her ear. “Thank you.”
“You’ve got a great place,” Sandro calls out from somewhere inside. “I love your record player.”
She walks in the direction of his voice. I’m right behind her, close enough to take in her scent.
That damn vanilla makes my cock twitch.
The living room is small but cheery, with vintage furniture, lots of plants, and a brick fireplace. To the right of the fireplace is a huge built-in bookshelf—the books meticulously sorted by color.
“You read a lot?”
She seems a bit shy as she shoots me a look. “Yeah. Tons.”
The image of her curled up in the small window nook makes something warm spark inside my chest. She’s fucking adorable.
Blake leads us into the adjacent dining room. There are appetizers already on the table—olives, cheese and crackers, and some cold cuts. Sandro zeroes in on them immediately. The kid eats like a horse.
“I brought some wine.” I hand Blake the bottle.
She turns it in her hand and reads the label. “Chianti, 1995. Produced in Tuscany, Italy.” She glances at me. “This is fancy.”
“Nothing but the best for you.”
She gives me a funny look. “Thanks. If you want to crack that open while I finish up in the kitchen, that would be great. The bottle opener is right here. You two must be hungry.”
