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We all stare at Hank, waiting for him to agree. He pretends like he doesn't see us watching him and pushes himself up to standing then starts walking away.
“Invite her to dinner,” he calls out as he walks past the lifeless chainsaw toward the barn door. “I guess if we’re all in, might as well go all in.”
Chapter 12
Vanessa
My stomach is tight as I walk up the steps of the guys’ house. My footsteps are loud and boomy on the floorboards, and I try to step lightly to be more subtle.
Charlie must've heard me. He comes to the screen door and swings it open, grinning broadly.
“You look nice,” he smiles, dropping a kiss on to my cheek as I cross the threshold.
“Um, thanks,” I answer nervously, blushing all the way up to my eyes.
“Yeah, gorgeous,” Tom — no, that's Tim with the eyebrow — agrees, stepping into the front hallway. Right behind him come Tom, Hank, and Stan. All five of them line up shoulder to shoulder, nodding and smiling as they look me over from top to bottom. I just stand there, bouncing lightly on my toes, letting them inspect me. Having all their eyes on me at once thrills me completely, gets me more hot and bothered every second.
“I hope you're hungry,” Tom says in a low, dangerous murmur.
“Starved,” I answer pointedly, not breaking his gaze.
If they think they're going to embarrass me by flirting, I'll show them. I'm not backing down.
“Ha! She's got your number,” Stan jokes, pushing the back of Tom's head. “Want to offer the lady a drink?”
“Definitely!”
Tom rushes off and the rest of us shuffle into the dining room. Charlie pulls out a chair for me and I sit down primly, inhaling the savory aromas of the bowls in front of me.
“This looks like Thanksgiving,” I sigh happily. “What did you guys make?”
“Oh, the usual… a couple of chickens, stuffing, mashed potatoes… roasted carrots, green beans, cornbread…”
“The usual?” I marvel. The sight of it is making my mouth water. And the sight of Tim carving a brown skinned slice of chicken and laying it on my plate makes my mouth water even more.
“Gosh, thank you,” I gush. “You don't have to serve me —”
“— let him,” Stan insists, covering my hand with his again. I shiver automatically at his touch. His eyes are intense, boring into mine. I feel like there's more to the phrase let him than just getting a plateful of dinner.
“Let's have a toast,” Charlie announces, sliding a tray of glasses onto the table. The drinks are passed around and I lift one up, noting that it's the same apple wine that meant so much trouble on the first day.
“What should we toast to?” I ask.
Stan raises his glass high. “To our fairytale princess,” he announces. “May all her dreams come true.”
“Hear hear!” the guys shout, swigging their wine.
I take a healthy gulp, noting how the warmth instantly explodes inside my chest. It's like magic, settling my nerves and loosening me up automatically.
“It really does feel like a fairytale,” I marvel, looking around at everybody's smiling, chewing faces.
They gobble down their food, little dribbles of gravy and butter on their chins, licking their fingers with delight. Every few seconds, I catch someone eyeing me hungrily, staring at the shadow triangle between my breasts, trying to see where my thighs meet as I cross my legs under the table.
It's like they never leave me alone. Someone's always looking. Someone's always checking me out or sizing me up. Someone's always sighing or grunting in my direction. I have never had this much attention, nor sustained it for so long. I feel like a movie star.
They talk among themselves about the farm and about the harvest that's coming up. Charlie rattles off some numbers and statistics, and everybody nods as though they know what it means. I sort of understand that he's estimating sales figures and they sound impressive, but I have nothing to compare it to.
Still, I feel like they're really letting me in on their family secrets, assuming that I'm comfortable with the inner workings of their
