Page 83 of Banter & Blushes #1

The aroma of Caroline’s cooking was enough to make his mouth water. It had been years since he’d enjoyed a home-cooked meal, aside from the casseroles Gigi or Mabel occasionally brought over. The dinner Caroline was preparing smelled more delicious than any takeout from a restaurant.

As he headed back to the kitchen, his gaze fell upon the dining table, elegantly set with oversized linen napkins, and an array of forks outnumbering his knowledge of their specific uses.

Even during his time mingling among the elite in D.C.

, Beck had skillfully avoided the dinner party scene at all costs.

He could handle a quick drink and an appetizer with ease, and he was perfectly at home at a casual barbecue where egos might be inflated, but ties were loosened.

However, the prospect of wearing a penguin suit and navigating a place setting with over two forks was enough for Beck to find a discreet exit strategy.

A timer dinged in the kitchen, and he made his way back. He couldn’t see anything needing to be attended to on the stove, so he checked the oven to find garlic bread warming on the top rack.

Just as he placed the baking sheet on the stove and turned off the oven, he heard Caroline’s soft footsteps approach. She entered the kitchen, her hair tied back in a loose ponytail. “Is he okay out there?”

“First thing he wanted to do was jump in the pool.”

Her melodious laughter rang out, hitting him in the heart. He longed to make her laugh so he could hear it again. “Gate closed?” Beck nodded. “There’s plenty of room out there and nothing he can get into.”

“He’ll probably find something.” His arms reached out and met her halfway, wrapping around her in an embrace both spontaneous and natural. Just as Beck was about to pull away, he felt her pressing closer, so he tightened his grip, holding her a second longer than he planned.

“Careful,” she said, her voice a breathy mix of warning and good humor.

She pulled back and looked at him with eyes the same color as the bluebells growing along the highways leading towards the beach.

“I might start thinking you missed being with me, especially is you imagine what I’m wearing after hours. ”

“That’s how rumors get started, Mayor Hollis.” Her hands rested on his shoulders.

“Are we just a rumor?”

He lifted a hand and brushed her hair away from her face. “I don’t care if we are. However, if I’m going to be a rumor on a bingo card, I want to make it something worth talking about.”

Her eyes widened just as he leaned in. His lips brushed against hers with a featherlight touch, each movement tender, stirring more than he cared to admit. When she sighed against his mouth, it felt like a thread pulled somewhere in his heart.

One arm slid around her waist, the other curved, cradling the back of her neck. She melted into him with a yielding softness he’d been determined to resist. Now, the notion seemed ridiculous.

Slowly, he pulled away, his voice a little wavering but sincere. “Hi,” he said again, much softer this time. His lips grazing against her forehead.

“Hi.” She stood on her toes and pressed against his lips for a moment before leaning her head against his shoulder. The closeness startled him, the smell of fresh basil and the nearness catching him off guard.

He only hesitated a moment before raising his arms and enveloping her in an embrace. “You know, Hollis.”

“Hmmm?”

“I think you look beautiful tonight.”

“Thank you. I don’t have many casual clothes.”

Beck pulled her tighter into his embrace. “Let me guess. Your lounge wear really is a suit and heels.”

“Pretty much.”

Beck laughed. “We’ll need to rectify your clothing situation. You can’t be hosting a gala wearing a suit to kick off summer.”

“Watch me.”

She snuggled in close, and Beck was suddenly aware of how far he was in over his head.

“Come on,” she said, pulling away. “We should eat.” Her feet padded softly against the polished floor as she grabbed a basket for the garlic bread. “Can you carry the bread to the table? And get yourself a drink. I hope you like Italian.”

He should tell her how he felt.

He should tell her now.

As he followed her into the dining room, he knew it wasn’t the moment. He couldn’t find the words.

“I like Italian,” he finally managed.

It wasn’t enough.

Not even close.

He watched her light the candles and arrange the table, deciding to let the moment lead him. The edges were too fragile. It was all new, open, and for the first time in forever, it terrified him.

Everything he’d been trying to avoid.

Teasing her came naturally to him, a playful way to maintain a safe distance.

The project was a convenient barrier, a means to avoid taking anything too seriously.

Yet, the notion they’d part ways once it was over tugged at his heart, leaving him torn.

The idea of not seeing her every day was painful, but the fear of getting too close was equally unsettling.

Caroline placed a big bowl of pasta, tomatoes, and fresh herbs on the table and set down a wineglass.

“I hope you like pesto.”

“It looks amazing,” he assured her, shaking off the momentary fear. “Everything does.”

She caught the hesitation in his voice and tilted her head like she was ready to ask if he was okay. Instead, she gave him a sweet smile as she slid into the chair across from him. He lifted a fork and hoped it was the correct one. “I didn’t realize you knew your way around a kitchen. ”

“Wasn’t always the case. I learned to cook last year.”

“Last year?”

“My New Year’s resolution was to try one new thing every month.” Her voice grew tentative, as if confessing something she hadn’t intended to share. “I lasted until February.”

“Resolutions are overrated.” He toyed with a piece of bread and looked at her across the table. The candlelight softened the lines of her face, made her seem warmer and more open, the way he wanted to feel about everything. “Trying new things, though…”

“Yeah.” She giggled and frowned all at once. “Not quite my forte.”

He nodded, and something fragile hung between them. It was an unspoken, tentative understanding everything could change in a heartbeat. Neither moved to break it.

“I can see you with a cookbook,” he said, finally. “A binder full of culinary plans.”

“It’s not as bad as you make it seem,” she laughed. “Not quite.” Then she paused, her eyes full of a question she didn’t ask. “What about you?”

“My resolution? Quit the world and stick to it.”

“Yet, here you are. I think I’ve made you break that promise to yourself.”

“You make it sound like I’m disappointed.”

Caroline took a bite of pasta, hiding the flicker of surprise and pleasure. Beck couldn’t tell if it was the food or her triumph at another well-placed jab. “Busted,” she said lightly.

“Do you always have to win, Hollis?”

“Clearly not. I have the mother of all power outages parked in the driveway.”

Beck let out a low, genuine laugh as he reached for a bottle. He busied himself with a drink, then took a swig before Caroline could read the doubt he couldn’t quite hide.

“What about us?” he asked lightly, trying to shake the weight off as he searched past the question in his heart and let himself into the moment. “You think we can survive each other through the summer?”

“I think we’ll pull it off with bonuses and early retirement packages,” she said, taking a sip from her wineglass.

“Bad analogy.”

“You knew what you were getting into when you accepted this project.”

In the far corner, a timer went off. Caroline moved to the kitchen with a mild panic. “Dessert is ready!”

“More?”

“I need to cut the lemon bars while they are at the perfect temperature.”

“You can’t say ‘lemon bars’ and just leave me.”

“Says the man who had a picnic on paper plates,” she said, her voice trailing with amusement .

“Hey, I lit a candle.”

“It was citronella.”

“You liked it.”

“Maybe.” She took out a knife and started cutting the contents in a square baking pan which had been cooling on the counter.

“Careful, Hollis,” he mocked. “I might think you’re falling for me.”