Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 96450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
“It sounds good because it is good. You make the exact same thing,” I reminded him.
He shook his head without looking up at me. “No. You’re thinking of the rosemary sweet potatoes I make with the bacon and onions. That’s a side dish at dinner.”
I took a sip of my doctored coffee and almost groaned in relief. We hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, and I had high hopes for this cup of caffeine. Mikey sipped his absently while he continued tapping notes into his phone. When he finally finished, he slipped it into his pocket and looked up at me sheepishly.
“Sorry. That was rude of me.”
I made a dismissive gesture with my hand. “It’s fine. I’m still waking up.”
I moved my foot across the space beneath the table to rest along the edge of his. His eyes widened a little in surprise, but he pressed his foot back against mine.
“So… that was nice,” I began. “The Civettis talking about turning the lodge into a B&B.”
Mikey’s eyes turned dreamy. “Wouldn’t that be perfect? I can totally picture it. It would make the perfect bed-and-breakfast. Well, I mean… if it were mine, I’d probably want it to be a lodge with a fine-dining restaurant attached. I could offer breakfast, no problem, but I think Aster Valley could use a nice dinner restaurant as well. Like a date place. Something fancier than the takeout places around here.”
“Mm.” I sipped my coffee as I thought about it. “Good point. There really isn’t a place like that here, is there? Do you think the town can support it? Maybe with Steamboat so close?”
He shrugged. “If a cozy dinner place gets enough of a good reputation, people will drive to it. Besides, if you market it as a weekend getaway package for anniversaries and other special occasions, you’ll get plenty of people coming out from Denver. There are probably tons of couples who don’t need skiing but still want a wintery weekend away with a long wine-filled dinner by a cozy fireplace.”
I pictured the great room in the lodge that we hadn’t used. It had a huge stone fireplace and rich, wide-planked wood flooring. The picture windows along the back wall looked out over the slopes and trees. “You’d make it perfect,” I admitted. “The way you describe it makes me think of those old historic homes that have been turned into restaurants in New England.”
He nodded. “Exactly. We went to that one place in Connecticut, remember? After the photo shoot thing for one of your sponsors.”
I remembered it. Mostly I remembered the golden glow of his skin in the candlelight and the rosy hue to his cheeks after his third glass of wine. The woman who’d hosted us for the visit had spent the entire time flirting with Markus, and it had given Mikey the giggles. I’d stared at him throughout the entire dinner.
“Do you think you’ll call them?” I asked, worried about his answer. “The Civettis. They seemed serious about wanting to discuss it with you.”
He hid behind another sip of coffee for a few beats. “I mean… it’s tempting. I’ve always wanted to run my own restaurant, and this would be a chance to do it without the financial risk of investing my own money. Honestly, I’ve been saving for a while, but I’ll never have enough to do it the way I really want to. This could be my chance. And I like Aster Valley. I was already daydreaming about turning the lodge into a bed-and-breakfast so… god. Can you imagine?”
“Yes,” I admitted. “You would be amazing at it.”
He made a shooing gesture with his hands. “Stop talking about it. It’s making me nervous. Let’s change the subject.”
Fine by me. I didn’t want to think about him leaving Houston—leaving me. Besides, I wanted to get to know him better now that some of our boundary walls seemed to be coming down.
“Tell me about your dad,” I said, taking another sip of coffee. “And growing up.”
His expression changed to one of confusion. We’d never talked much about our personal stories. “What do you mean?”
I leaned forward and cradled the warm mug in my good hand on the table. “I’ve met your brothers. Hell, I’ve played against Jake. They’re a bunch of corn-fed bruisers. Then there’s you.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know what happened. Ask my mom. A very quiet and tidy interior decorator named Branson lived next door when Mom got pregnant with me, so you can imagine the jokes my dad and brothers have come up with over the years. I actually even kinda look like the guy. Well, mostly because he wore the same kind of glasses I do. But honestly… it was just a fluke, I guess. One of us was bound to like dessert and dick more than pumping iron and…” He looked around. “Another p-word.”