Page 24

SEVENTEEN

MICKEY

Jesus, how long had it been since I’d dusted my baseboards? There had to be an inch of dust piled on the narrow edge. Okay, maybe not an inch, but enough to show I hadn’t paid attention to that particular part of the house.

I glanced at the time on the microwave. Amos was due in less than ten minutes. If I used the extension rod on my duster, I could jog a circuit around the downstairs rooms and show Amos that I was the kind of responsible adult who dusted his baseboards. In case he noticed.

Less than two minutes after I’d retrieved the rod and slid a disposable dusting head on one end, there was a knock at my door.

I couldn’t help but smile at his early arrival and hoped he was as eager to spend time together as I was.

Quality time when we weren’t asking people to cook food on Christmas Eve or hashing out budgets and grocery lists.

I tossed the duster into the laundry room and closed the door, then straightened the rolled sleeves on my flannel as I hurried to the front door.

Amos’s smile could’ve melted me into a puddle when I swung the door open.

“Hey. I’m glad you made it.”

“Treacherous drive across town. I nearly hit a rogue turkey running across the street.” He stepped forward and pulled me into a hug. “I really wanted to do that last night.”

I melted into his touch. “Me too.” As the hug lingered, I wondered if he felt the same chemistry as I did.

The woodsy-citrus scent I now associated with him was stronger, like he’d recently showered, and his curls appeared freshly styled.

When Amos stepped back, he gave me that intimate smile I craved.

He passed me the same bottle of wine he’d brought over before. “I didn’t want to mess up a good thing.”

“Thanks. I’ve got more cheese for you to try.”

His moan was damn near pornographic as he followed me into the kitchen after kicking off his shoes. “You keep feeding me cheese and I might never leave.”

If he only knew how much I liked that idea. I’d come to the conclusion that spending time together in my home was the only way I could pretend like Amos was just a guy I’d met on Halloween and hit it off with while ignoring the rest of the baggage.

“Any opinion on goat cheese?” I asked while retrieving the wine opener.

Amos went right for the appetizer platter on my kitchen island. “If you made it, I’ll love it.”

“Have you had much of it before? Some people have strong opinions against it, but I’ve always thought it was good. I get the milk from a friend who has some animals on his farm outside of town.”

“I haven’t, but I never turn my nose at a good cheese. What’s the best way for me to appreciate it?”

Sexier words had never been spoken. I wasn’t sure what it said about me that Amos’s appreciation of my cheese and genuine interest in it made my dick shift in my jeans.

“Spread some on a cracker with a dollop of the raspberry preserves on top.”

I opened the wine and pulled two glasses from the cupboard when I was startled by Amos slapping his open palm against the kitchen island surface.

“Shit. That’s good . Like really fucking good.

” He’d already begun prepping a second cracker.

“How have I not eaten more goat cheese before? How do you make this? Oh! You know what sounds amazing? Raspberry-goat cheese scones. Any berry. Maybe blueberry? I bet it would make them so moist. You should sell your cheese to Special Blend.” His words tumbled out of his mouth at a rapid speed.

Shaking my head with a fresh smile forming, I passed Amos a glass of wine. “You’re full of ideas.”

“It’s like a fountain with no off valve. They never stop. Unlucky for you, most of my recent ones have to do with your cheese.”

I leaned my hip against the island and faced him. “I don’t find that unlucky. It’s inspired me to put myself out there more.”

“Yeah? How so?” Amos fixed another cracker.

“I pitched my dad on using my cheese at Red’s.” My shoulders slumped. “He put me off until next year, which is basically turning me down without actually giving a hard no.”

Amos winced. “Ouch. That hurts.” He moved around the kitchen island and wrapped his arm around my waist. I leaned into his touch, soaking up every ounce of comfort he generously offered.

I hadn’t told my friends about it because I hadn’t wanted to talk about it.

They were true friends and always had my back, but I hadn’t confided in any of them about this.

I’d never even explicitly told them I didn’t want to take over the diner.

It felt traitorous to even utter the words aloud, but I suspected they had an inkling, given how much they encouraged me to pursue selling my cheese more widely.

“Yeah, it really does,” I said after letting out a deep sigh.

“Do you know what his hesitation is?”

“Change, I guess. He’s always had an issue with that, which you’d get if you’d ever been inside Red’s. It looks exactly the same as it did when Grandpa ran it and probably even Red himself. Dad prides himself on the relationships with suppliers that have been going for decades.”

“But what about his relationship with you?” Amos said the words gently while squeezing my waist.

My feelings for Amos gained more traction in that moment.

None of the guys I’d dated had talked so plainly with me.

If anything, whenever I’d shared frustrations about my situation with past boyfriends, they’d told me how lucky I was to get handed a business and that I should be grateful.

How could I argue with that? They were right.

Even though I never asked for it or was asked if I wanted it, I didn’t feel like I had the right to not want it.

I suspected Amos would understand though.

“Honestly? I don’t think he’s thought about it as an issue for our relationship.

My guess is that, to him, my cheese is a hobby.

He doesn’t view it as a business or hasn’t considered that putting it on his menu might help me because I haven’t told him that I want to sell my cheese more widely.

” Because that would lead to conversations about where I’d find the time to sustainably maintain providing cheese when I was supposed to be so busy with the diner.

“That’s a tough spot to be in. Family businesses are complicated.”

I let out a hollow laugh. “You’re telling me.” I turned to him. “It really helps to be able to talk to you about this. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He glanced at my lips.

I hadn’t invited him over for anything more than his company—at least not consciously. But as I licked my lips, I was glad I’d decided to brush my teeth before Amos arrived.

As I inched closer, the oven timer buzzed, startling us.

Amos’s attention traveled to the traitorous appliance. “What smells so good? I was so distracted by the cheese in front of me that I didn’t notice the sinful smells.” He moved toward the oven like it released a siren call.

“Mac and cheese.”

His head whipped toward me. “With your cheese?”

“Yup.”

“How’d I get so lucky?”

I laughed and moved to the oven. “Can you grab a fork for me from that drawer?” I pulled out the Pyrex loaded with dairy and carb goodness and set it on a trivet.

Instead of handing me the fork, Amos scooped from the middle of the mac and cheese. He blew on it, then looked at me.

“What? We’ve got to make sure the middle is heated through, right?” He wrapped his lips around the fork as his eyes fell closed. “Damn. This is delectable.”

Heat spread across the back of my neck. Making mac and cheese with my product was a definite splurge.

I didn’t make a huge volume of any type, so a dish like this ate up a fair amount of stock.

It might be silly, but I wanted to do something special for him, and okay, maybe I had a praise kink when it came to my cheese.

“You’ve gotta try it.” He scooped more and gently blew on it—his long eyelashes fanning over his cheeks as he did.

I let my mouth fall open, and he carefully pushed the fork inside. Holding our eye contact, I closed my lips around it and hummed. Electricity zipped between us. He stayed close as I chewed.

“I’m a pretty damn good cook. At one or two things, anyway.”

Amos huffed out a laugh. “You are a man of many talents.” Then he flashed a mischievous smile before going in for seconds.

“Couldn’t wait, huh?”

His curls bounced slightly as he shook his head. “It’s too good.”

I pulled bagged salad from the fridge and prepped it while the pasta cooled slightly.

After dishing up, we settled at the four-person dining table my grandparents had owned for as long as I could remember.

While we chatted and ate, I found it impossible to take my eyes off his lips.

The way he talked, his quick smiles, how his tongue darted out like he was trying to capture every morsel of flavor—it drove me wild.

Amos’s attention wandered to the display plates with illustrated roosters that lined the cabinet tops. “Have you lived here long?”

“A few years, but this is my grandparents’ house, so I’ve spent my life in and out of this place.

They retired to Florida, and I rent it from them.

” I dropped my gaze to my nearly empty plate.

“It’s a pretty sweet deal. I pay the property taxes, utilities, and maintenance.

” There was no way I could afford a home like this off my diner salary.

Amos had spent his adult life at some hot-shot corporate job in one of the biggest and liveliest cities in the country.

Meanwhile, I’d never left the tiny town of about five-thousand residents and was only getting by because I was privileged enough to rent a house from my grandparents who’d made a couple of good investments that had paid off later in life—allowing them to retire in the sunshine without having to sell their Maplewood house.

His eyes widened. “Seriously? Mickey, that’s amazing . I was plunking down over half my salary for some overpriced condo with a view of more overpriced condos. You have, what, two, three bedrooms and an actual yard?”

My concern melted away at the sincerity in his eyes. “Not to brag, but two, actually. Front and back.”

“That’s literally what bragging is, but I’ll allow it.” He grinned. “Honestly? I’m jealous. I used to think living in some overdecorated loft in the urban jungle was peak living, but it turns out I missed all the trees. The air is different here.”

“Funny enough, the trees have a purpose.”

“Smart-ass. My grandparents are in Florida too. I’ve been meaning to visit them.”

“Me too.” Except it was hard to get time away from the diner and afford the tickets. I needed to go eventually because my grandparents were in their eighties and not getting any younger. Though Grandpa joked that spending decades at the grill and inhaling all that grease had preserved his organs.

Amos’s expression turned serious. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry into your finances or anything. It’s just that I noticed there are two competing decor styles. And it’s not easy living on a diner salary. My parents always struggled.”

My eyebrows shot up. I wouldn’t have guessed that, given that they lived in a nicer part of town, but I supposed you never really knew what was going on in someone’s life.

“I always thought it would be cool to live in the city.”

“It had its appeal for a while.” His normally upbeat demeanor dulled.

“But not anymore?”

He shook his head. “The living room at my place was barely big enough to do yoga.”

We finished the last bites of dinner in a comfortable, contemplative silence. There weren’t many people I felt comfortable being quiet around. I was glad to count Amos among them.

Amos stood and collected our plates. “You cooked an incredible dinner, so I’ll clean. By the way, thanks for ruining mac and cheese for me.” Sarcasm dripped from his words.

“You’re more than welcome,” I said cheerily.

I followed him over to the kitchen and found Amos far too handsome with the sleeves of his sage-green sweater pushed up to his elbows while he hand-washed the glass bowl I’d put the salad in.

We chatted about our favorite mac and cheese variations while he loaded my dishwasher and I packed up the leftovers.

“Oh! I should’ve mentioned this earlier while we were talking about all my amazing ideas.” He dried his hands on the towel I kept slung over the oven door handle. “Now hear me out.”

His tone put me on guard. “Okay…”

“I want to approach my mom about adding your cheese to a special as a trial run.”

My heart thudded against my ribcage. “Have Mystic Rind at Sparky’s?”

He took a step closer. “Yes.”

“There’s no way. How would that even work?”

“I only need to give the name of your cheese brand. She doesn’t need to know who makes it. I’ll tell her it’s locally made by someone I went to high school with and is properly licensed. I assume you are, since you pitched your dad.”

“Of course.” My mind raced as I thought through the possibility. A part of me screamed that the idea was absurd, but another voice quietly wondered if it could work. I couldn’t believe Amos would put himself out there like that for me.

“She always likes to highlight local vendors on the menu, so does Dad— Mmph.”

Within seconds, I had Amos backed against the counter, caged between my arms, as I pressed my lips to his.

God, how I’d missed the feel of him against me.

It had been barely over a month, but I’d thought about Halloween every night since.

I’d touched myself at least a dozen times while fantasizing about what it would’ve been like if we hadn’t stopped.

If he hadn’t removed the silly wig and glasses, or I hadn’t blurted out his name.

Now seems like a pretty good time to find out.