Holiday Hideout: The Thanksgiving Fix / The Christmas Set-Up / The New Year's Deal

“In that case, would you like a refill?”

“Sounds good.”

“All right, then.” She stood. “Be right back.”

“Do you mind if I stoke up the fire while you do that?”

She paused for a moment to absorb the fact that he’d asked instead of assuming that, as the guy, he had dominion over the fire. Interesting. “That would be very nice. Thank you.”

As she walked back into the living room with the wine bottle, she admired how good he looked tending the fire. She’d never dated a handyman before, and the idea of being with someone who was good with tools had an erotic component that she liked. Still, she couldn’t lose sight of the fact this was a fix-up, and this weekend was supposed to be about putting an end to those.

It helped that he was tired of being fixed up, too, and after all, he’d been inconvenienced by Jillian’s meddling. She glanced at the nearly empty cheese-and-crackers plate, and her natural tendency to be hospitable kicked in. He was a big guy, and big guys usually had appetites to match.

She refilled his wineglass. “I have a large frozen pizza I was going to cook for dinner. Want to share it with me?”

He looked up, fire tongs in one hand. “I hate to eat your stash of food.”

“Don’t worry. I brought plenty. I’m planning a single girl’s version of Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow— Cornish game hen, sweet potatoes and some other veggies. I’ll have leftovers to take me through the rest of the weekend.”

After positioning another log on the fire, he replaced the screen and stood. “Pizza sounds great.”

She set the wine bottle on the end table next to his glass. “Then I’ll go pop it in the oven.”

Mac followed her into the small kitchen area. “Matter of fact, your whole plan sounds great. I envy you having the guts to tell your family you weren’t going to play their silly game.”

“If I can’t do it now that I’m thirty, when can I?” She opened the freezer, took out the boxed pizza and opened it.

“You’re a very young-looking thirty, Beth.”

“You didn’t have to say that, but thanks.” She appreciated a man who knew how to give a well-placed compliment. She’d decided not to be paranoid about being thirty, but it didn’t hurt to have someone claim she didn’t look it.

“I’m thirty-one, and I haven’t been that bold. Then again, my mom keeps reminding me I’m the ‘hope of the McFarlands.’”

She turned to him. “You’re what?”

He leaned against the counter—six feet and a couple of inches of heart-stopping masculinity. He stuck his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, which stretched the material over his package. “If my father’s line is to be continued, I’m the only one to do it.”

A sudden image of how he would do it crossed her mind, and she resisted the urge to fan herself. “You’re an only child?”

“I have a younger sister, but in my father’s world-view, the son is the only one who can carry on the family name. According to my mother, my dad lives for the thought of me fathering a son.”

“I see.” She wondered if he had any idea how sexy he looked standing there talking about doing his familial duty. “Sounds sort of medieval.”

“I absolutely agree. And I’ve said that, but it doesn’t seem to make any impression.”

“At least I don’t have that kind of pressure. My two brothers and my sister are providing the next generation of Tierneys.” She ripped the plastic off the pizza. “Do you happen to know if there’s a pizza pan anywhere?”

“There should be.” He started opening doors. “I seem to remember seeing one when Jillian unloaded cabinets so I could refinish them. Yeah, here it is.” He pulled a large flat pan from a bottom cupboard.

She took the pan from him and deposited the frozen pizza on it. “You refinished the cabinets?”

“Last year. They needed it.”

Gazing around, she had new appreciation for the honey glow of the oak. “Nice job.”

“That’s the kind of work I like the most, the kind where you can see a difference after you’re finished. Wiring and plumbing are sort of fun, but they’re not as creative.”

In her preoccupation with Mac, she’d forgotten to turn on the oven, so she did that. The pizza had to thaw a little bit, anyway. “So you enjoy your work.”

“I love it. Maintaining vacation homes around the lake is my idea of paradise. I set my own schedule and the views are amazing. Sometimes I’m crazy busy, but when there’s a lull, I go camping and chill out.”

“And you’re happy.”

“Hell, yeah, I’m happy.”

“You don’t feel that you need a woman to complete the picture?”

He scrutinized her. “Is that a trick question?”

“No, it’s a serious question.”

“You mean, do I think I have to get married to be happy?”

“Right.”

“The answer is no, I don’t.”

“Hallelujah!” She punched her fist in the air. “I knew I wasn’t the only oddball out there!”

“I take it you don’t have the need to rush to the altar, either?”

“Definitely not. Hotel management is demanding, which is fine, because as a single person I can devote myself to it. But if I had to work around a husband’s expectations, I’d feel torn.”

“Depends upon the expectations.”

She gazed at him and realized she’d never felt free to discuss this with a man before. “I work very weird hours sometimes, and I couldn’t be counted on to cook and clean, let alone take care of a baby.”

“I hate to think that’s the current definition of what a wife does. I’d like to believe we’ve made some progress.”

“There are guys who would do those jobs, or would be happy to hire a cleaning lady and a nanny, and eat out a lot. But they’d still expect my attention some of the time.”

He smiled. “Yeah, that’s fair to say.”

“I just don’t know if I have that time—not to mention the energy—to give the proper amount of attention to a partner.”

He studied her. “You would if it mattered enough.”

“Then maybe it doesn’t.”