Hotshot and Hospitality by Nora Everly

Chapter 15

Molly

Despite what I’d told Garrett the other day at the treehouse, I was wearing my best dress. It was one of the few normal ones I owned. Nary a kitty cat or other cute critter was printed upon it. It was a silky black wrap dress that tied at the waist and ended above the knee with a slit up the side. Cut in a low V-neck with spaghetti straps, this was the kind of dress that skimmed over your bad parts and made the good ones look better. I paired it with my highest black pumps— four-inch, pointy-toed, sharp stiletto heel, and sexy as hell. This outfit was magic. It made me look like a long-legged hourglass, when in reality, I was an ample-racked shorty who happened to be packing a fair amount of jiggle in her wiggle.

With a sideways turn, I examined myself in the mirror. I’d gone with full makeup and minimal thinking about why I was making these choices in attire. Berry-stained lips to match my freshly painted nails, black eyeliner with the cat-eyed swoosh at the corner, and pink rosy cheeks. I left my hair down, allowing it to flow in soft waves over my shoulder; the memory of him running his fingers through it at the treehouse had dictated that choice. The way I had dressed and my insistence that this was not a date were in direct conflict with one another. Clearly, I was in the mood to tempt fate—or at least Garrett—tonight. Or maybe I was tempting myself into taking what I wanted by forcing my own hand. I stuffed my pink leather clutch with my going-out necessities and grabbed my pink pashmina in case it got cold. My stomach flipped with nervous anticipation at the thought of seeing him tonight, and I couldn’t fight my grin when I imagined his reaction.

I didn’t have to imagine it for long, because when I opened the door to leave, he was standing on my porch with a bouquet of pink peonies in his hand. My favorite. How sweet! But also, excuse me, and what the fudge? We were supposed to meet at the restaurant.

“Ahhh! Flowers aren’t allowed! Especially my favorites. You, sir, are nothing but trouble,” I declared. Shocked at the flowers, shocked that he was here to pick me up, and most of all, shocked at him standing there looking suit-and-tie-sexy and all dressed up just like he wasn’t supposed to be. Only one of us was allowed to break the rules and that was meant to be me. My eyes were on a nonstop trip up and down his tall, fine form in his black suit, crisp white shirt and black tie. His gorgeous, dark hair was swept back off his face and his eyes were smiling at me—lazy with heated perusal. He knew he would get me all worked up and he had meant to do it, the turd.

“You look stunning,” he said as he took my hand and kissed the back of it.

“Thank you,” I huffed. “And you look devastatingly sexy in that stupid suit, dammit. Let me go put these in a vase before we go. Peonies are my favorite and I love them. Why are you so sweet?” I left him chuckling in my doorway while I tossed my bag and wrap to the couch to stomp to the kitchen. I yanked my step ladder out of the pantry with a glare aimed his way—my vases were in the cupboard above my stove and it wouldn’t be dignified to just climb onto the counter like I usually did. This dress was too short and my panties were too sexy. All the while, he just followed behind me with an amused expression on his face, like he thought I was cute or something. Pfft. I’d show him cute.

“Need a little help?” he asked, stepping behind me and putting a hand at my waist as I climbed up the ladder.

“I got it, thanks. I’ve had a lifetime of being short. I’m used to it.” I snagged the vase and stepped down; my booty slid against his hard chest and down his abs until I was on the floor. He tugged me against him to kiss the top of my head.

Holy, holy, holy, crap, crap, crap.

This felt way too good already.

We needed to get out of my house. There were way too many comfy horizontal surfaces to get into trouble on in here and he was wearing Mollynip, a.k.a. a sexy James Bond suit. He had me shaken and stirred, thank you very much. My favorite thing about going out with a handsome man in a suit was taking it off his hot bod later, and Garrett was the hottest man I’d ever seen. Not to mention, the sweetest and nicest.

He took the vase out of my hand with a smile and turned to the faucet to fill it. Silently, I placed the peonies in the water. “Ready to go?” he asked.

Hell yes.

All I could do was nod up at him. Even though I had been the one to win this bet, I had the feeling that he didn’t consider it a loss. I ducked my head and grinned as he found my pashmina and held it out for me to slip over my shoulders and I thanked him when he handed me my clutch. He held my hand the whole way out to the Bronco and helped me up into the seat, the freaking gentleman.

We drove through Green Valley, chatting about the inn, our work, Stan and other small-talk stuff that I would absolutely not remember a word of later. Being with him was easy, talking to him was fun, and looking at him as he drove was doing things to my insides that were dangerous to the walls I had built around my heart. Plus, I had to be a total weirdo because watching him drive was making me hot. Was it his large hands holding the wheel? Or maybe the eyeful I was getting of his muscular thighs, or how beautiful his flawless profile looked in the golden early evening light? Or maybe it was just everything about him.

I fidgeted in my seat, becoming acutely aware that I had dressed to tempt. I knew it had worked when he ran a hand down my thigh at a stop sign and said, “You in that dress . . . fucking gorgeous.” The grin he shot in my direction held promise. Loads of it.

My nerves started to get the best of me the closer we got to The Front Porch, and by the time he’d pulled into the parking lot, I was kind of a wreck. It was too late to go home and change into something else, and like an idiot, I didn’t pack an alternate wardrobe choice in my bag in case I lost my bravado. No matter. I could do this because I was great at denying my feelings—or so I’ve heard. And in that spirit, I inhaled a huge breath and raised my hot-guy shield.

After one last stalling makeup check in the visor mirror, I got out. I loved this place; it was a grand old Victorian house with a huge wraparound porch for outdoor dining. My dad used to take me here for dinner the day after Valentine’s Day every year. He took my mother here on Valentine’s Day itself, of course. He wanted me to know how a gentleman was supposed to treat a lady. He’d always said I shouldn’t settle for anything less. Gosh, how I missed him. I couldn’t help but smile as Garrett offered me his arm just like a gentleman would.

“I can’t believe you can walk in those shoes. Careful, cutie.” He chuckled as he helped me keep my balance as we made our way to the entrance.

“Well, I can’t go very far in them. They were really only made for one thing, you know.” Oh crap. I blinked, frustrated with myself. Again, with the not thinking before I said stuff! Ugh!

He stopped right before we reached the porch. “Oh, yeah, and what’s that?” His sly smirk was knowing as he bent his head down to look at me standing in front of him like a dummy, mouth agape, in my best dress and stupid fuck-me shoes.

I poked him in the stomach. “Your expression says you already know what I’m talking about and you just want to hear me say it out loud,” I said as I rolled my eyes and flopped my clutch against his arm.

He dropped a kiss on my forehead with a chuckle. “You don’t have to say it. Knowing you’re thinking about it is enough.” He had to quit kissing me like that—top of the head, forehead, all of it. Every time his lips touched me, I lost more of my will to fight the attraction between us. And probably some IQ points along with it.

He held the door for me, then took my elbow as we followed the hostess to our table. She escorted us to a dark wooden booth in the corner—the most cozy and intimate spot in the entire restaurant, because, obviously, this was so not a date. We weren’t each dressed to the nines in our sexiest attire and giving all the hot looks to each other—insert eye roll here.

Why do I do these things to myself? What had possessed me? God, that had to be the eternal question of my whole entire dang life.

Of course he helped me out of my pashmina and made sure I was comfy on my side of the booth before he scooted into his side—just like my dad had taught me to expect and just like Becky Lee and Bill had probably taught him to do. “Thank you,” I whispered, then immediately scooched all the way over to the wall and slunk down in the booth, trying to blend into the wood as he ordered a bottle of wine for us to share.

“What is it?” he asked after the hostess left, scanning the restaurant before shaking his head with a laugh. “One of your Chrises is with Jackie, the poor guy.”

I shook my head. “Yeah, number two is with Jackie, over by the window. But that’s only kind of the problem—look at us!” I hissed. “We’re both dressed up and you’re acting like the most gentlemanly man in the history of the world. No one will ever believe we aren’t on a date. What were we thinking coming here? We should have gone to Knoxville or literally anywhere else.”

“Who cares?” he hissed back at me. “I’m about to buy you steak, lobster, and your choice of whatever dessert you want on that cart.” He pointed at the cart that had just rolled out to the dining room and, oh my gosh, it looked like they had a few new selections . . . “Relax,” he advised.

“Look! They have new stuff, Garrett. Is that a tiny cupcake tower?” It was sad how easy it was to distract me.

His lips twitched before a huge smile split his face. “Yeah, it sure is.”

“We’ll each need our own. I don’t share dessert, Garrett. I don’t know if you remember that about me but it’s pretty important.” I was talking to him, but my eyes were still on the cart.

“How could I forget? I once took an elbow to the ribs when I tried to take a Ding Dong from you back in second grade, even though there were two left.”

I turned back to him. “Well, stealing is wrong. You should know better.”

“Sharing is caring,” he shot back, eyebrows raised in amusement as he grinned at me.

I held up a hand. “Dude, not when it comes to chocolate.”

“Point taken. I don’t particularly enjoy sharing desserts either, come to think of it.”

“Right? Someone always tries to get their spoon into the best part. Eff that,” I grumbled.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Sabrina is always taking the cherries off whatever Wyatt orders. And I’m sorry, I need my cherry.”

“I would never take your cherry, Garrett.” And because I was totally ridiculous, my words came out sounding like a vow.

His smile shifted to the side as his eyes warmed on me. “I respect that about you. You’re a good woman, Molly.”

“Heck yeah, and you might be the best date I’ve ever had.” Did I just say that out loud? He grinned at me so big that I could see his dimples through his beard. “Uh, I mean . . .”

He grabbed my hand across the table, lacing our fingers together. “Shh, don’t wreck this moment for me.”

“’Kay,” I murmured. We both looked up as our waiter arrived to take our order. I dropped his hand like a hot potato and let my eyes drift across the restaurant, grimacing when Jackie waved her phone at me. I was trying so hard not to care what she or anyone else in this town or anywhere else thought about me. Trying to impress people was a waste of time. I didn’t want to change myself anyway—what you saw is what you got, and I was okay with that. What I cared about was this getting back to Becky Lee. If she found out how close to a date this evening had been, she would never stop matchmaking. And I would end up letting her down because the more I found myself wanting this match to happen for real, the more I also knew that it never could. The risk was too high, and I had too much to lose.