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’sgood. 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 evenexplicitly 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.
