Page 62 of Tinsel & Tools

I twirled a forkful and took a bite. “Damn.”

“Good?”

“Really good.”

He laughed. “It’s just sauce from a jar, but I doctored it up a little.”

“Don’t ruin the magic. I’m eating.”

We worked through a few bites in silence. He sliced a piece of garlic bread from the loaf and put it onto my plate. I tore it in half and wiped up sauce, trying not to think about how natural he looked sitting across from me.

“You get much done at the inn?” he asked, then stuck a fork full of pasta into his mouth.

I swallowed my bite. “Started the wiring upstairs by running lines through the two rooms at the far end of the hall, and I’ll keep moving through the others tomorrow. Dale’s crew worked on the plumbing, so we’re moving on both ends. I’m planning to talk to my dad tomorrow about bringing in more help because if we get another storm, I can’t afford to lose days.”

“More help?”

I twirled another forkful of pasta. “I’ve been thinking about it, and I need to bring in a crew. If I can get two steady guys for a month, we’ll keep moving even if the storm slows us down.”

Gavin looked up. “Why now?”

“Because if I don’t, we’ll fall behind. Every day we lose to the weather makes it harder to stay on track. You want to open in the spring, and I’m not going to miss that deadline for you.”

“That makes sense. You think you’ll be able to get someone?”

“I’ll make the calls tomorrow and see if my dad knows anyone.”

“Then do it. If it keeps us on track, I’m all for it.”

After I wiped my mouth with the napkin, he reached across and brushed his thumb near my chin.

“You missed a spot.”

I stilled. He pulled back like the touch was nothing, and maybe it was for him. It didn’t feel like nothing to me. I cleared my throat and took a drink.

“You’ve got that look,” he observed.

“What look?”

“The one where you’re thinking about something you won’t say out loud.”

I tore off another piece of bread to buy myself a second. “You must’ve been looking real close to catch that.”

“Hard not to,” he replied.

We went back to eating, and then I asked, “So, how was your day?”

He set his fork down. “Good. I wrote a lot.”

“How much is a lot?”

“About three thousand words. Cut some too.”

“Nice. What’s the scene?”

“The two guys finally stop pretending they don’t want each other and give in to their desires.”

I twirled more pasta, forced myself to keep my eyes on the plate, and tried not to think about how close that sounded to what we were doing right here. I cleared my throat. “Sounds bold.”