“A little funny,” I told her.
It was going to be okay. Yes, I’d had a scary revelation, but I was in control of my emotions. Pretty sure I was in control of them.
“So why did you stop by?” she asked. “Is something up? Something I need to know?”
I shook my head. I certainly wasn’t going to tell her I’d stopped by because I’d wanted to see her. That would definitely not be cool.
“I was thinking you haven’t had a break, not a real one, since you got here. We should go grab some dinner and relax for a bit. Unwind.”
“You mean a date?”
“No, not a date. That implies a little too much. This would just be friends having dinner.”
“We’re friends?”
“We’re friends with benefit. One benefit. Singular. We don’t have to let what happened last night happen again.”
She nodded. “We really shouldn’t. I mean, it would only complicate things further. You want to move on with your life. Meet my future friend, Mrs. McCleer, and all that, and I want to go back to New York.”
“You do?”
“Yes. Eventually. I mean, if the right offer comes along.” She was wrenching her hands together. “Of course it can’t be right now. There are too many things to do here. Too many things to fix. All of Jasmine’s plans. Not to mention the family drama. Did you see who was working the front desk?”
I would have to be dead and buried for over a hundred years to miss who was working at the front desk.
“I think she said her name was Lexie?” I said.
It had been hard to hear her speak over the gahoogah noises happening behind my eyeballs.
“She’s a showgirl from Vegas and somehow she’s married to Ethan. I called him, but he’s not picking up. I can’t wait to hear the explanation for this.”
“Well, she seemed nice.” For a freaking smoking-hot Vegas showgirl. I did not add this. “So about dinner?”
“Paul, we shouldn’t. We’re trying to make things less complicated.”
“I was thinking steak.”
I watched an emotion cross over her face. Need. Want. It stirred my dick.
“I gave up red meat for the planet,” she said.
“That’s nice. But I’m pretty sure these cows are already dead. The least we can do is eat them.”
“And you promise me it’s not a date? That we’re not going to let ourselves get emotional, right?”
“Absolutely,” I lied. “Some good steaks. A nice bottle of wine. We can talk about the opportunities you might have in New York, and maybe some more options for the inn and the farm after you’re gone.”
“After I’m gone,” she said, only she didn’t say it to me. She’d already gone off somewhere in her head.
Then she turned and looked at me. Like she’d come to some big decision.
“I want rare steak.”
Fuck, I loved this woman.
FIFTEEN
Kristen
