looked all kinds of disheveled and rumpled, and while he kind of liked her tousled, there was nothing to enjoy about her being miserable.
As much as he doubted there was a way to salvage the evening, he wasn’t quite ready to call it quits. “As I see it, we have two options here.”
“Death by pollen or death by humiliation?” Her gaze dropped and she plucked at the hem of her shirt.
He winced. “I really am sorry, sugar.”
She waved that away. “The wind is hardly your fault. This just seems to be my trip for unhappy accidents.”
He just hoped meeting him didn’t qualify for that category. There was no way he was going to ask. Some questions were best left unanswered. “Option one: I take you back to the hotel and we pretend this evening never happened.” He ticked the selections off on his fingers. “Option two: I break open a very nice bottle of red wine and we pretend the whole pollen issue never happened.”
Tilting her head to the side, she glanced at him. “Merlot?”
“Syrah.” Though if she really wanted a merlot, he’d make a run to the store.
“Sounds tasty.”
His eyebrows arched, and he couldn’t keep the shock from coloring his tone. “Seriously?”
“Oh. You were hoping for option one.” She sat up, a flush racing up her cheeks. “That’s awkward. I’m so sorry. I—”
“No, no.” He held up his hands, stopping her flood of stilted words. “I was hoping for option two. I expected option one.”
“Really?” Voice dubious, she gestured to her face. “I wouldn’t blame you if—”
Time to cut off any line of thought where he’d have to take her back now. He ducked forward and brushed his lips over hers. “I wouldn’t blame you if you left, but I want you to stay.”
Her smile was crooked and she looked impossibly vulnerable. “Okay.”
“I’ll get the wine.” He stroked a thumb along her jaw, feeling like he’d been given a reprieve from the gallows. It was a rather intense reaction, but so was every reaction he’d had to her so far. He liked her, wanted her, wanted to be near her on a deep instinctive level that he didn’t question. Maybe he should question it, but…not tonight.
He went to the kitchen and opened the cupboard above the stove where he kept all the wine and liquor. After taking down the bottle he wanted, he fetched a corkscrew out of a drawer and pulled the cork. The smell was rich and fruity, which was just as it should be.
“You have a lovely house. What I can see of it, anyway. It has a nice feel to it.”
He jolted, surprised she’d followed him. “Thanks. I like it. Craftsman style has always been one of my favorite eras of architecture, followed by mid-century modern.”
“Ha. My house is mid-century modern. Though there are also a bunch of Craftsmans in Half Moon Bay.” She watched from the doorway as he pulled out two glasses and poured the wine.
“Half Moon Bay. That’s where you’re from.” He remembered her home address on the form she’d filled out. He handed her the bottle, waved her back into the living room, and picked up both glasses to follow her.
“Yeah, I grew up there.” She moved gingerly, as if afraid to run into anything. Considering she barely missed whacking her shin on the corner of the coffee table, that was probably for the best. “I spent a few years in the Silicon Valley rat race. Not my speed, so I talked a couple of my college friends into throwing in with me on a new venture in HMB.”
“I’ve never cared for big cities, personally.” He settled onto the sofa and she set the bottle on the table and curled up beside him. He handed her one of the glasses. “Nice to visit, not so fun to live there. They have lots of everything you could want, and more of everything you don’t.”
“Exactly. Tons of museums and restaurants and shopping. Too many people, too much traffic, not enough down time to enjoy the stuff you like anyway.” She took a sip of the Syrah and heaved a blissful sigh.
As much as he doubted there was a way to salvage the evening, he wasn’t quite ready to call it quits. “As I see it, we have two options here.”
“Death by pollen or death by humiliation?” Her gaze dropped and she plucked at the hem of her shirt.
He winced. “I really am sorry, sugar.”
She waved that away. “The wind is hardly your fault. This just seems to be my trip for unhappy accidents.”
He just hoped meeting him didn’t qualify for that category. There was no way he was going to ask. Some questions were best left unanswered. “Option one: I take you back to the hotel and we pretend this evening never happened.” He ticked the selections off on his fingers. “Option two: I break open a very nice bottle of red wine and we pretend the whole pollen issue never happened.”
Tilting her head to the side, she glanced at him. “Merlot?”
“Syrah.” Though if she really wanted a merlot, he’d make a run to the store.
“Sounds tasty.”
His eyebrows arched, and he couldn’t keep the shock from coloring his tone. “Seriously?”
“Oh. You were hoping for option one.” She sat up, a flush racing up her cheeks. “That’s awkward. I’m so sorry. I—”
“No, no.” He held up his hands, stopping her flood of stilted words. “I was hoping for option two. I expected option one.”
“Really?” Voice dubious, she gestured to her face. “I wouldn’t blame you if—”
Time to cut off any line of thought where he’d have to take her back now. He ducked forward and brushed his lips over hers. “I wouldn’t blame you if you left, but I want you to stay.”
Her smile was crooked and she looked impossibly vulnerable. “Okay.”
“I’ll get the wine.” He stroked a thumb along her jaw, feeling like he’d been given a reprieve from the gallows. It was a rather intense reaction, but so was every reaction he’d had to her so far. He liked her, wanted her, wanted to be near her on a deep instinctive level that he didn’t question. Maybe he should question it, but…not tonight.
He went to the kitchen and opened the cupboard above the stove where he kept all the wine and liquor. After taking down the bottle he wanted, he fetched a corkscrew out of a drawer and pulled the cork. The smell was rich and fruity, which was just as it should be.
“You have a lovely house. What I can see of it, anyway. It has a nice feel to it.”
He jolted, surprised she’d followed him. “Thanks. I like it. Craftsman style has always been one of my favorite eras of architecture, followed by mid-century modern.”
“Ha. My house is mid-century modern. Though there are also a bunch of Craftsmans in Half Moon Bay.” She watched from the doorway as he pulled out two glasses and poured the wine.
“Half Moon Bay. That’s where you’re from.” He remembered her home address on the form she’d filled out. He handed her the bottle, waved her back into the living room, and picked up both glasses to follow her.
“Yeah, I grew up there.” She moved gingerly, as if afraid to run into anything. Considering she barely missed whacking her shin on the corner of the coffee table, that was probably for the best. “I spent a few years in the Silicon Valley rat race. Not my speed, so I talked a couple of my college friends into throwing in with me on a new venture in HMB.”
“I’ve never cared for big cities, personally.” He settled onto the sofa and she set the bottle on the table and curled up beside him. He handed her one of the glasses. “Nice to visit, not so fun to live there. They have lots of everything you could want, and more of everything you don’t.”
“Exactly. Tons of museums and restaurants and shopping. Too many people, too much traffic, not enough down time to enjoy the stuff you like anyway.” She took a sip of the Syrah and heaved a blissful sigh.
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