Page 30 of The Mistletoe Mix-up

“What? You don’t think so?”

“Oh, no. You’re definitely pretty, but I don’t know how you walk around upright with that big head of yours.”

“It’s called confidence.” Sam pouted as he took a seat across from her at the square kitchen table. He reached across for her plate. “Here.”

“I can serve myself,” she murmured, but at his insistent hand motion, she passed him her plate, watching him take a bit of everything and fill it up with way more food than she could possibly eat.

Her stomach growled, as if to argue, Are you kidding me? Bring it on!

“Thank you,” she said, taking it from him and setting it down in front of her, admiring the little details like the dollop of butter on the steak. “It smells amazing.”

“I’ll be expecting that apology once you’ve had a taste.”

“Hmm, I would take a bite, but we seem to be missing something important from the table,” Wren said, glancing down and back up again with a sly grin.

Sam realized he’d forgotten the silverware in his rush to make everything else perfect. “Whoops! I’ll be right back.”

As he got up from the table, Sam shook out his hand and took a deep breath. Man, he was nervous around her, which was ridiculous. He wasn’t nervous around women, especially women he’d had previous relations with, but there was something about being in the same room with Wren, alone and aware of her subtle perfume, the way her makeup made her doe eyes wider. Her glossy red lips were lush and tempting him to kiss her, to find out if it was still as electrifying between them as when they were kids.

Sam laughed, dancing back into the dining room. “You’re telling me you didn’t want to eat with your hands?”

“Not particularly!”

“Alright, I got you covered.” Sam set down the two forks and two steak knives he’d grabbed from the kitchen. He danced his way over to her, holding out her utensils with a flourish. “At your service.”

“Thank you.”

Sam watched Wren delicately cut her steak into small pieces, keeping it separated from the sides on her plate. When she slipped it between her lip and let out a little moan, Sam’s cock twitched below the surface of his jeans.

She swallowed, opening her eyes and shooting him a blissful smile. “I apologize. You are quite the chef.”

“Thank you. I used one of those food services that sends all the ingredients, and then I just have to prepare it.”

Wren’s eyes narrowed. “I feel like that’s cheating.”

Sam laughed. “How? It’s just following a recipe.”

“I don’t know, but part of cooking is actually going to the store and selecting the ingredients, picking out the menu, not being spoon-fed everything by an online program.”

“Tomato, tomahto,” he said, pointing to his chest with his fork. “I cooked it.” He pointed at her with his knife. “You liked it.” Finally, he grinned at her, ignoring her sardonic expression. “Apology accepted.”

“Mmm,” she said, taking another bite of her steak, “you’re lucky this is really good, or I’d throw some potatoes at you.”

“Thanks for the restraint,” he said, digging into his meal.

They sat in silence for a few beats, the sound of utensils and chewing the only noise, and finally, Sam asked, “You mentioned that you’d gained new experiences since you left home?”

Wren paused with her fork poised a few inches from her mouth and arched one of her dark brows. “Is this your version of polite dinner conversation? Asking how many men I’ve slept with?”

“Not what I asked,” he said dryly. “I wanted to know about your new experiences. They don’t have to be sexual.”

“But you’re not going to be upset if they are?” she teased.

“Well, you did insinuate.”

Wren’s eyes sparkled, and he almost cursed himself. She probably thought he was jealous or something.

“And you’ve been dwelling on it, huh?”