A Cowboy Under The Mistletoe. Vicki Lewis ThompsonЧитать онлайн книгу.
the time to think about that. She opened a cupboard, pulled out two of the pricey goblets from her mom and set them on the table.
“I took a chance on the wine. I didn’t know if you were into it, and if so, what you liked.” He held up the bottle. “This is a Sauvignon Blanc. Is that okay?”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Well, taste it and make sure you like it.” He poured some in a glass and held it out to her.
“Is this the part where I’m supposed to swirl it around and stick my nose in the glass?”
He grinned. “Whitney, I do believe we’re going to get along.”
She met his gaze. “So do I.” She drained the glass and returned it to him. “Fill ’er up while I get us plates, napkins and silverware.” She turned back to the cupboard.
“Yes, ma’am. I asked them to include chopsticks, though, if you want to skip the silverware.”
“I’ve never learned to eat with those, so I’ll require a fork.” She put cloth napkins, one of her few touches of elegance, on the plates. Then she opened another drawer and added utensils, including serving spoons for each carton.
“Want to learn how?”
She considered the prospect as she walked back to the table with the plates. Might be fun, considering who’d be teaching her. “Okay, why not?”
He’d unpacked the cartons and set them in the middle of the table. “See, I knew you were a woman with adventure in her soul.”
“You did? Why?”
Opening each carton, he shoved a serving spoon in. “We could be meeting for a drink tonight, which would be the typical first step since we’ve never gone out. But you discarded that conservative move in favor of inviting me over to help with your tree.”
A shiver of anticipation ran down her spine. “Too bold?”
“Nope. I loved it.” He picked up both goblets and handed one to her before touching the rim of his glass to hers. “Thanks for asking me.”
As she looked into his gray eyes and saw heat simmering there, her breath caught. Only minutes into this date she was already imagining what it would be like to kiss him. If the warmth in his gaze was any indication, he had kissing on his mind, too.
Instead he took a sip of his wine, and she followed his lead. The Sauvignon Blanc had a velvety taste that she liked very much. If she kissed Ty now, his lips would be flavored with wine. When he set his glass on the table, she wondered if she was about to have that experience.
Instead, he pulled out the chair across from him, the one that wasn’t holding his coat. “Have a seat and I’ll show you how to use chopsticks.”
Good call. One kiss would likely turn into two, or ten. In the privacy of her apartment they had nothing and no one to interrupt them. She actually was hungry and she really did want to decorate her tree tonight.
Yet as he tore the wrapping from his chopsticks with his blunt-tipped fingers, excitement curled in her belly. Until now she hadn’t realized how much she’d fantasized about this man. Having him all to herself for several hours didn’t seem quite real. Maybe she could postpone the tree project.
He glanced up. “Ready?”
Now there was a loaded question. “You bet.” Grabbing the wrapped chopsticks, she ripped off the paper and clutched one in each fist on purpose to make him laugh.
He did, which drew her attention to his mouth. He’d been blessed with lips that should be lovely to kiss, although shape meant nothing if he had no technique. That would be a crying shame. Until he proved her wrong, she’d assume he had excellent technique.
“Let’s start with a piece of broccoli.”
Oh, yeah. The chopstick lesson. “Broccoli’s a good place to start.” Using the chopsticks like pincers, she snatched a dark green clump from one of the cartons and deposited it on her plate.
His smile widened. “I thought you didn’t know how to do this?”
“I don’t, but obviously it’s easier to grab ahold of something firm than something limp.” In the dead silence that followed her cheeks grew warm. “I mean...when you’re talking about...chopsticks.” But there was no fixing this.
Lips pressed together, he glanced up at the ceiling. Then he dropped his head to his chest and a small snort escaped. His shoulders shook. Finally he gave up the fight and laughed until the tears came.
She couldn’t blame him. Besides, his laughter was catching. Once she started in, it was hard to stop, especially whenever they looked at each other.
At last he wiped his eyes and drew a ragged breath. “I’ll never look at broccoli and chopsticks the same way again.”
“Me, either.” She stifled a giggle. “Talk about an icebreaker.”
“Yeah.” He chuckled. “I’d say the ice is permanently smashed, and there wasn’t much there to begin with. So.” He smiled at her. “Still want to learn to use chopsticks?”
“If you don’t teach me now, I’ll never learn. If anybody else tried, they wouldn’t understand why I keep cracking up.”
“All righty. Let me take a restorative sip of wine and we’ll begin again.”
“I like your selections, by the way. I’m a fan of beef and broccoli and orange chicken.”
“Somehow I’m not surprised.” He gazed at her for a long moment.
Another few seconds of that intensity and she was liable to abandon dinner and suggest dessert, the most delicious kind she could imagine. Still, she thought they should hold off. This getting acquainted time was sweet and she didn’t want a physical relationship to overpower it. “But if I’m going to eat anything besides broccoli, I need more instruction.”
“Right.” He balanced his set of chopsticks between his fingers. “Hold them like this. Use your thumb and forefinger to control the action.” He plucked a piece of chicken out of the carton.
She was reasonably well coordinated, so after a few practice tries, she was able to pick up both the beef and the chicken and put them on her plate.
“Excellent.”
“Yes, I did it, but at this rate I’ll starve to death. I think I’ll use a fork for the meal and practice later. I have the general idea.” She peered at him. “Unless you’re some kind of stickler who’ll be offended.”
“I’m a stickler when it comes to contract law and not much else. By all means, use a fork.”
“But you won’t, will you?”
He shrugged. “I’m used to eating with chopsticks. It’s fun for me.”
“Then by all means, go for it.” She served herself a generous portion of each dish, plus a spoonful of brown rice. “Who taught you how to use them?”
“My mom.”
The abbreviated response told her not to ask any more questions. The short bio on the calendar had mentioned that he’d lost both parents at fourteen, so it had likely been an accident of some kind. She understood how one tragic moment could change someone’s life.
She and Ty didn’t know each other well enough to delve into those dark recesses. But his mother had taught him well. He could manipulate those chopsticks as if he’d been born with them in his hand.
He picked up a clump of rice and held it effortlessly in midair. “The new location seems to be doing great.”
Change of topic. That was fine with her. She nodded as she finished a bite of the excellent orange chicken. “It is. Ginny had high hopes that the town would be a good market, and it’s turned out that way.”