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“Strawberries remind you of your trip to Chicago?”

His eyes popped open. “I didn’t tell you this part? So, I’m chilling on the bed, biding my time until Troy told me to meet him in the lobby. There’s a Bowl game on, so I’m watching that. Then there’s a knock on the door.”

“Troy?”

“No. Room service.”

Layla’s brow wrinkled. “You ordered food?”

“I didn’t. I open the door and this woman says she’s from the kitchen. She offers me a plate of four of the prettiest chocolate-covered strawberries I’ve ever seen.”

Layla giggled. “I bet you’ve seen a lot.”

“They were beautiful, the size of plums, with fresh mint leaves for garnish.”

“What did you do?”

“I ate them, of course. I remember thinking it was the nicest touch. A real welcoming treat.”

Layla covered her mouth with her hand. “That’s a fancy hotel for you.”

“I didn’t regret it either. Until I got the bill.”

“I was going to ask.”

“Forty-five dollars for four strawberries!”

Layla laughed harder. “I bet they were delicious. But who sent them?”

“They should have been for that price. And I have no idea. Maybe it was a joke. I did plead my case that I didn’t order them. It was a little embarrassing telling them I wasn’t paying the bill after I’d already eaten them.”

She shook her head at him, still smiling. She’d probably lose her nerve if she didn’t ask now. “Dance with me.” She tugged his arm again. “Before the song ends.”

He let her lead him to an open spot near the Christmas tree. There were only a handful of couples dancing.

“I’m not really a dancer,” he said.

She was acutely aware of his arm around her waist, of his shoulder beneath her hand. He held her other hand in his, the strong, warm sensation of his fingers intertwined with hers made her mouth go dry.

“This isn’t really dancing. It’s more like rhythmic swaying.” She tried to keep a straight face.

He smiled at that and her heart skipped a beat.

“I like that,” he said. "So if I ask you to rhythmic sway with me in the future, you won’t get the wrong idea?”

She felt her face flush even as she chuckled. “It will be our secret code phrase.”

Brant looked at her for a few seconds longer, his brow creasing even as he smiled. The melody slowed and faded. There was a short pause as the musicians paged through their song books then the notes of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” floated up from their instruments. If he didn’t stop looking at her with such intensity, she might be tempted to do something stupid. Like step on his toes by accident. Or kiss him.

Layla cleared her throat. “Besides the surprise strawberries, Chicago was…good?”

He blinked like he’d been lost in thought. “It was expensive. Claustrophobic. I missed the smell of the firs and the wide open sky.”

“I knew it. You’re a small-town guy after all.” She patted his shoulder. “Good for you.”

He gave her that same loaded look, like his wheels spun about things far removed from small towns and city life. She couldn’t return his gaze for too long. Those eyes were dangerous.

“So…you didn’t find what you were looking for there?”