Libby let out a shriek of laughter. “Liar! She was a bulldozer. That’s her only setting. I told her she should never have put you on the spot about Thanksgiving like that. It was very rude. You most certainly do not have to come. I told her you’re not going to speed through time with your family just because you’re too polite to decline her o er.”
As Libby worked herself up, Reagan couldn’t stop the warmth spreading through her chest. She wanted more than anything to lean in and kiss her.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Libby asked, her cheeks flushed with color.
“Sorry, I, um. . .” Reagan had no excuse, so she jumped back on track as she stood up straighter. “How will it look to the world if we don’t spend such a major holiday together?
More importantly, I don’t want to make a bad impression with the Cassanova Clan.”
Libby cocked her head to one side and wrestled a smile.
“You think we’re ready to take on the whole clan? My parents? Brother? Assorted relations?”
Trying to retain a serious expression, but only half-succeeding, Reagan was pulled toward the scent of warm skin, expensive perfume, and clean linen. “I mean, I’d believe that I’m romantically interested in you,” she admitted with a pounding heart. “Would you?”
Darting between her lips and her eyes, Libby’s eyes moved with defined purpose. All the things she’d almost said
in the past couple of months . . . Reagan was sure she knew then what they were.
“What about your family?” Libby croaked just above a whisper.
For a moment, Reagan had completely forgotten what they’d been discussing. “I think they’ll definitely believe we’re dating.”
Libby’s throat danced as she laughed, sending Reagan’s pulse into a frenzy. If she just dipped down she’d taste her. It was the only objective she could focus on.
“Okay,” Libby replied, making clear that wasn’t really the question. “How do you plan to attend two dinners at once?”
Accepting her fate that a kiss wouldn’t happen, Reagan stepped out of her brain fog and paid attention. “They eat lunch. My grandma is convinced that if she eats meat after dark she’ll get lethal indigestion and die.” Reagan rolled her eyes playfully. “We’ve told her it doesn’t work that way, but she will not be moved. So we moved it to lunch a few years ago. Turns out everyone prefers eating at two in the afternoon rather than midnight. The change has also brought down the number of drunk uncles to zero.”
“How very American of you,” Libby joked. “If our lechón is finished roasting any time before nine at night it’s a win.
By that time, almost everybody is drunk right alongside the uncles. But don’t worry, it’s all very orderly.” Libby paused as she stared at her quizzically. “What? Why are you smiling?”
“Oh nothing. . . other than it looks like we have a Thanksgiving match made in Heaven. Lunch with my fam and a late dinner with yours,” she explained. “We have what? Like forty-five days to get better at this? I can’t even imagine a world where we don’t succeed.”
When Libby didn’t o er any further protestations, Reagan considered the matter settled. She wasn’t exactly sure she
was ready to meet Libby’s entire family, but she wasn’t scared either.
“Okay, then. I guess we’re doing Thanksgiving.” Libby’s declaration vibrated with a mix of trepidation and delirious hope. “I better go and leave you to your. . .” She gestured at the bucket full of smashed clay lanterns. “Whatever this is.”
“Or,” Reagan held her in her gaze, “I can collect on my winnings.”
Libby furrowed her brow until understanding softened the creases in her face. “How could I forget? What have you waited this long to claim?” she asked, her dark green eyes silently beseeching her.
A thousand thoughts raced through her mind. Tempted as she was, she couldn’t bring herself to use the silly bourbon wager to get what she really wanted. “A lesson on the pottery wheel,” she blurted.
“Seriously?” Libby laughed, surprised. “Wasn’t that what I was supposed to win?”
Reagan grinned. “What can I say? I’m very generous.”
Looking down at herself, Libby put her hands on her hips.
“Do you have something I can borrow?”
“I’ve got an apron. Pull o the jacket and you should be alright.”
A few minutes later, Libby traded her suit jacket for a heavy split-leg apron. “This is very flattering,” she said sarcastically, looking down at the denim material.