He came to stand at the other side of the bar counter. “Sure. What’ve you got?”
She opened the fridge. “Um … white wine, vodka, Diet Coke, water. Oh, and a couple Stellas.”
“I’ll take a Stella, thanks.”
Kelsey pulled the last two Stellas from the six-pack her father had brought when she’d invited her parents over to dinner a few weeks ago and twisted off their tops. “Would you like a glass?”
He smiled. Her belly fluttered at the sight, especially the warmth of his wonderful eyes. “Bottle’s fine.”
She handed him a bottle across the bar. His hand covered hers as he took it, and he held for just long enough for a crackle of chemistry to pass between them. His fingers were coarse and strong.
Then he took the bottle, and the moment was over. Kelsey took a sip of beer and told herself to calm down.
What was she expecting of this night?
She didn’t know. Dex was too unpredictable toexpectanything from him.
What did she want?
She wanted him to stay the night.
Was that crazy? After more than a year of celibacy, of not trusting her judgment in men, of—let’s face it—recovery from the trauma of Greg, now she wanted to go to bed with a guy she hadn’t even started a relationship with? She’d never done that before. Always, she’d waited until something felt real with a guy before she did more than make out a little.
Which was why she’d slept with only three men.
And none of those relationships had lasted. She’d been dumped by the two guys she’d dated in college, the first after more than a year—that had been a real love, and a real heartbreak—and the second after about six months. She’d also been ghosted after several first dates in which she’d said goodbye at the door.
And then there was Greg.
But she didn’t want to think about that jerk ever, especially not now.
Dex was different, though. Yeah, they hadn’t started anything yet—or they were just now starting something—and yeah, she didn’t know him all that well, at least as compared to most of the Bulls. But she knew the Bulls. She trusted them all.
So she trusted Dex. No, it wasn’t crazy to want him to stay tonight.
But he’d wandered off, so she ducked out of her postage-stamp kitchen and found him in the living room, where he stood before the fireplace, examining the big macramé hanging above it.
“This is cool.”
“Thanks. I made it.”
“Yeah? Really? I thought you said you weren’t good at crafts.”
“No, I said I wasn’t good enough at crafts to make that wreath. Maisie and I took a macramé class together the summer before last. It was fun. She’s way better than I am. She’s doing, like, legit art pieces now, and even selling them. I just do it for fun.” With the hand that held her beer, she gestured toward the patio door. “I made those plant hangers, too.”
He walked over and studied those as well. “The plants look happy, too. You’re good with all living things.”
“Maybe. My mom’s a big gardener and has tons of houseplants. Most of those were started from cuttings from her plants.”
He turned and stood before the slider. Kelsey went over there and flipped the switch on the patio lights. Beyond the door, about a thousand white Christmas lights came on, as well as the fixture in the patio ceiling. She left those lights up year-round.
“Wow. Pretty,” he said quietly.
The snow was probably about two inches deep now, and continued to fall in soft, steady flakes. It made a sugar coating on her little table and chairs set, and her potting bench, and the stoneware pots she planted annual flowers in.
“Yeah. That’s why I rented here. Mr. Darcy loves it, and so do I.”
“Where is Mr. Darcy?”