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“Thanksgiving’s coming up,” he said, breaking the silence.
“Yes,” she said, hoping he wasn’t about to suggest they should see each other over the holiday weekend. Best to steer clear of that road. “What does a holiday with your family look like?” she asked. In other words, What does it look like, since I won’t be there to see it?
Grinning, he stole a chunk of her cake and popped it in his mouth. She was so used to him annoying her, she didn’t even bother protesting.
“I have a decently large extended family, but they live all over. Since we’re spread out, it’s usually just me, my dad, and sister. But it’s pretty fun. I cook and—”
“Hold up.” Marti gawked at him. “You cook?”
Logan shrugged. “My dad was left with a newborn and a nine-year-old boy at home. He kind of had to learn how to get around a kitchen, and I grew up watching him cook, so it was normal that I learned. I was the older one, and as my dad increased his work hours as my sister got older, I was in charge of dinner most days.”
“Makes sense.” Why was the image of a teenage Logan cooking his family dinner ridiculously appealing?
Logan wiggled his brows, and she wiped the image from her mind. “Does that turn you on? A guy that can cook?”
“It’s certainly a mark in your favor. Though you don’t have many, so . . .” She grinned and ate a chunk of cake.
“Liar.” Logan winked, causing the butterflies in her stomach to riot. “I knew my culinary skills would make you swoon.”
“Uh, don’t get too cocky over there, Bobby Flay.”
“You should see the things I can do with a grill,” he said with a sly smile, then slowly lifted his coffee cup to his lips, and Marti chided herself for staring.
What was with her today?
Clearing her throat, she willed herself to stop acting like an idiot and took a sip of her own drink, buying some time to scold her body back into an acceptable level of indifference. “So, you cook. What else?” she asked.
“It’s all pretty normal. I cook, and my sister helps but mostly gets in the way. We eat, have a few drinks, and watch football. Nothing too crazy. What about you?”
“Ah, a football family. We’re kind of the same. My mother cooks, while I assist. But instead of football, we watch cheesy Hallmark movies.” She placed a finger over his lips before he could say anything. “And before you laugh, I’ll have you know that my mother makes me watch those movies. I hate them with the passion of a thousand fiery suns.”
“Sure ya do,” he said, but the words came out garbled around her finger.
“I hate them.”
He nipped playfully at her finger, and she yanked it back, feeling the shock waves of it clear to her toes.
“Or, you’re a Hallmark-holiday-romance-movie-closet-watcher.”
Marti laughed. “I am not.”
“Whatever you say.” He raised his hands in surrender, then leaned against the table, causing his sweater to tighten around his biceps.
Annoyed, Marti glanced away from his arms and back to the safe confines of her coffee cake. Look at all this beautiful cinnamon crumble.
She picked at it and sighed, feeling restless. “You’re impossible.”
“It’s part of my charm.”
“If you say so.” She took a small bite of cake, more for something to do than out of hunger. With the way her stomach twisted in knots, she’d lost her appetite. “The worst part of Thanksgiving is Black Friday. My mother makes me go out with her every year.”
Logan winced.
“Exactly,” she said. “I’d rather walk over a bed of hot coals than go shopping in those crowds.”
“Then why go?”
Marti sighed. “I have trouble saying no to stuff like that with her. When my dad left, it was just us, and she was dealing with a lot. It always felt easier to d
