“How long have you guys run this place?” Libby asked.
“Less than six months,” Beckett said. He frowned when something hit his shin.
“Why are so many of the rooms closed?”
“None of the rooms are actually closed. We just don’t have all of them up and running. The cabins are being updated.” Beckett stabbed a baby potato with his fork. A foot. It was a foot on his shin. His knee. His lap. What the actual—he choked on his bite while Gabriella smiled sinfully across from him, raising her brows.
“Are you okay?” Presley looked at him with concern.
Shifting his chair back, he nodded, spoke around the coughing. “I’m good. Fine. Went down the wrong way.”
“Best to be careful,” Gabby said.
Beckett stood up. “I think I’ll get started on cleanup.”
Jill looked at him with a question in her gaze. What was he supposed to say?The woman next to you is using her foot to feel me up?Nope. He was done. Had it been Presley? Hell yeah. Which made him realize: he wasn’t a casual hookup guy. It wouldn’t have been just any good-looking guest who turned his head. Just Presley Ayers. Grabbing his plate and a few empty serving dishes, he headed for the kitchen.
Chef was wiping down the counters, and the dishwasher was open, waiting to be loaded.
“Finished already, Hot Mountain Man?”
Laughter seemed like all he could offer at the moment. “You, too?”
“You’re not my type, but I see the appeal,” he said with a grin.
Beckett shook his head, added the plates to the dishwasher. “Thanks. I think.” He leaned against the counter as Chef carried on. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so blatantly hit on.”
Chef chuckled. “Presley doesn’t seem all that forward. Friendly. Outgoing. Definitely part extrovert.”
Beckett shook his head. “No. The other women.”
Closing the dishwasher, Chef went to the fridge and grabbed two bottles of water, handing one to Beckett.
“You’re realizing something we all do at some point,” he said after opening his and taking a sip.
Beckett turned the top. “If I am, I’m doing it without knowing I’m realizing it.”
Chef chuckled. “At some point we realize we’re tired of the game. We don’t want a night here and there. I thought I’d want easy and casual for the rest of my life. Then I met Louis.”
Just the way he said the man’s name warmed something in Beckett’s chest and reminded him of how Presley said she liked the sound of her name on his lips. He likedherlips on his.
Taking a long swallow of water, he measured his words. “That’s just it. One night or forever. None of it has been on my radar.”
Chef smiled. “It never is until it is. Speaking of which, I’m going to finish cleaning and go meet my forever at the dock.”
“I can finish up if you want,” Beckett said.
Chef shooed him away. “Time goes too fast for you to waste it in here with me.”
Laughing, Beckett started for the door. “Oh, the others loved the idea of doing a reel of you and Presley making French toast sometime this week.”
“Excellent. I look forward to it,” Chef said, a sly look on his face.
“Everyone involved will be fully clothed. And I won’t be there,” Beckett said with a mock glare.
“Spoilsport.”
At least he was smiling and more relaxed when he joined the others again. The dining room conversation had turned lively between several of the guests. The Pink Floyd conversation had escalated, with Morgan pointing his fork at Libby and telling her the songs she had to listen to. Beckett’s heart gave a happy wobble, like it was dizzy, when he saw Presley chatting with Jill.Why? Doesn’t matter if your family likes her.She’s not staying.If they were doing this six-day thing, he needed to keep his heart firmly locked up. It was fun. Sexy. A fling. Something to look back on when he was Mr. Dayton or Chef’s age. He walked behind her chair, leaned over to speak to her, inhaling the subtle fragrance he knew he’d never forget.
