Rom-Com Collection

“Would you like to stay?” he asked, running his thumb over my lower lip.

I swallowed. Then I nodded. “Should we clean up first?” I whispered, glancing at the devastation the turkey had wrought.

“No,” he said, then he took my hand and led me upstairs.

CHAPTER TWENTY

I WOKE UP ROUGHLY twelve hours later, completely and delightfully unrested. Oh, no. Not a lot of sleeping going on last night, no sir.

I was smiling before I even opened my eyes. Purring, too, a bit. Felt like maybe I should be given a medal. And Ian … he definitely deserved one, too.

I rolled over and opened my eyes. Ian’s side of the bed was empty, and the clock said 7:32 a.m. New day, new boyfriend, new world. Sigh! Ian McFarland was a thorough man, let me tell you. Made sure I was a very happy woman, know what I’m saying? Made sure a couple times.

And I made him smile, and just the memory of that had my girl parts tightening. A smile from Ian really meant something. It was worth waiting for, that wonderfully goofy, melting smile.

Somewhere around ten last night, we remembered that our dogs were outside and a turkey had made a huge mess. It was oddly cozy, cleaning up together, laughing, me figuring out where things went. Then Ian made peanut butter and banana sandwiches on whole wheat bread, poured us some milk, put everything on a tray and we had a little midnight snack in bed, the dogs sitting quietly in attendance, waiting for a crust or two to be tossed their way. And then Ian and I made each other very happy once more.

So … what now? I wondered, climbing out of Ian’s big bed and looking around. Ah. A bathrobe, a rather old flannel robe I thought I’d look quite cute in, as it was Ian’s and Ian was now my honey. I pulled it on and breathed deeply. It smelled like him, giving my knees a pleasant wobble.

Checking my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I tousled my hair a bit and grinned. There. Sex kitten. Meow! I fairly skipped downstairs, the smell of coffee rich and dark in the air. I couldn’t wait to see him smile again, because those smiles were gifts, they were sunshine after the storm, they were flowers bursting into bloom, they were Betty Crocker Supermoist Triple Chocolate Fudge. A giddy ribbon of happiness danced through my stomach. Ian McFarland liked me. Possibly more.

At the bottom of the stairs, I sneaked a peek at my lover. What a delicious word! He stood in the kitchen, already dressed in a suit, complete with jacket. He looked … um … well, a little tense. His arms were folded, and he stared out the kitchen window at our two dogs, who were frisking and frolicking. Aw! Maybe they were in love, too. But Ian … Ruh-roh. His face was kind of … grim. Well. Maybe he was just tired. He’d brighten at the sight me, Callie Grey, wanton woman.

“Good morning,” I said, leaning against the wall and smiling.

His head jerked around. “Oh. You’re awake. I didn’t hear you.” He shoved his fists into his pockets. He didn’t smile. He looked, in fact … scowly.

“Hi,” I said again, pushing my hair back. Sort of a reminder … I’m all tousled and unkempt because we did it three times last night. It seemed to miss its mark.

His jaw was knotty. Probably not a positive sign. My smile felt a little less confident.

“You probably need to get going, right?” he asked, swallowing.

I sucked in a breath, my excellent mood falling to the ground, shot dead. “Wow. That is not what I expected.”

He withdrew a hand from his pocket and scrubbed it over his jaw. “Well,” he said to the floor, “what … what exactly do you expect?”

There was the smallest note of uncertainty somewhere in that question. Or I thought so, anyway. “Oh, gosh, Ian,” I said slowly. “How about ‘Good morning’ or ‘Last night was incredible’ or ‘Would you like some coffee?’”

Ian didn’t answer. Just stared at the floor, as if … well, as if last night had been a huge mistake and he was trying to figure a way out of whatever expectations I might (and kind of did) have. Certainly I had time to wonder about what he was thinking, because he didn’t say a damn word.

Crap. A lump wedged itself in my throat. Emotional diarrhea could not be far off.

“There is coffee. If you want some,” Ian said carefully. And that was it. Jeez Louise. He looked at his watch.

“You know what?” I said tightly. “I don’t want coffee. I’ll just get dressed and leave you alone, since that’s clearly what you’re after.”

I turned to go back upstairs.

Before I made it to the first step, he grabbed me by the waist. I squeaked in surprise, held there against his chest. “Wait,” he said in a low voice.

I waited. Swallowed. Waited a few seconds more.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“You should be,” I said, my voice a little breathy.

“Are you crying?” he asked.

“I’m very close.” Still, I couldn’t help feeling a bit turned on, hurt feelings or not.

His hands slid up to my shoulders, turning me around to face him. “Maybe I should start over,” he said, completely serious.

“You think?” I asked.

“Yes. I didn’t … I should’ve thought of something to say. Something different.” He frowned, but his eyes were steady on mine.

“Well, okay, then,” I said. “Start over.”

He gave a little nod. “Good morning.”

I nodded back. “Good morning.”

“Would you like some coffee?”

“Not right now, thanks,” I said.

“Last night was incredible.” He swallowed. Didn’t smile.

Well, he’d have to do more than echo me to gain back some ground, after all. Just because he had beautiful eyes and a rumbly voice didn’t mean I should just … melt. Though it was getting a little … melt-ish in here.

“Callie,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I just don’t know … I’m not sure … I don’t know what … last night … meant to you, and I don’t—” His voice broke off in frustration, and he ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not usually an impulsive person.”

“You’re kidding,” I muttered.

He didn’t smile, just looked at me. “I don’t believe in flings,” he said, his expression bordering on somber. “I don’t want just a fling.”

My knees softened. My heart did, too. “Me, neither,” I whispered.

He gave a half nod and squeezed my shoulders just a little. “Callie,” he said, looking down. He hesitated, then went on. “I know you were in love with your boss. At the hotel that night, it seemed … Well, if you still, uh … have feelings for him, I need you to tell me.” He raised his eyes back to mine, and it was like a shock, those eyes and what was in them.

“I’m not,” I said in a half whisper. “That’s … that’s done.” And it was true. I wasn’t sure when it became finalized, but it was true nonetheless.

“Are you sure?”

I nodded. “It’s done.”

He let out a breath. “Good.” His gaze dropped to my mouth.