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My face heated at the thought of Damon’s attention lingering on my mouth, even though I knew he’d probably just been looking at the burger. “I love it. I think this might be the best homemade burger I’ve ever had in my life.”
“Good.” Damon beamed as he reached for a burger himself. “Always happy to have another satisfied customer.”
Another?
Suddenly, a thought rattled around in my brain, eventually making its way out of my mouth.
“Your girlfriend must be super pumped about having a guy who can cook,” I started, with a smile. “I remember back in college it was like finding buried treasure, whenever a guy could handle himself in the kitchen. Like he was instantly God’s gift to women.”
“It’s been something partners have appreciated in the past, sure,” he replied, with a smile of his own. “But not in a long time.”
“Because you stopped cooking?”
“Because I’ve never been serious enough with someone to end up cooking for them,” he clarified. “Not in years. There’s been close calls, maybe, but nothing ever stuck.”
Partners?
I inwardly groaned, both appreciating and hating his use of inclusive language.
Partners was bringing up a million more questions in my head. Partners was making me wonder if I’d been wrong about my initial assessment of Damon, if I’d been too quick to assume he was straight, that there couldn’t be anything brewing between us—
No.
What is wrong with me?
Even if there was something brewing between us, Damon had made it very clear that he cared about following the rules, that he wasn’t interested in hooking up with one of the guests. It was something respectable about him, that he wasn’t the kind of sleazeball who’d make a pass at a guest given the opportunity.
And here I was, trying to figure out if I could ever have a shot with him.
I judged myself, hard, as the rest of dinner passed us by. It was mostly filled with small talk, about the weather, about the roads, about the cabin. It was pleasant, just like the meal itself, uncomplicated and simple. When we were finished, Damon began putting away the plates, steadily setting them in the sink.
“How about a drink?” he asked, turning his attention back toward me. “I figured we might as well get all the dishes dirty that we’d like to for the night before cleaning everything up.”
“Smart thinking.” I smiled as I reached for the Moscato. I then frowned, my fingers tapping along its cork. “You wouldn’t happen to have a bottle opener, would you?”
Damon motioned for me to hand him the bottle, and I handed it right over. He then pulled a small knife out of his jacket pocket, quickly driving it into the cork, soon removing it from the bottle. Afterward, he casually handed the Moscato right back to me, like what he’d just done was the most normal thing in the world.
“Did you just—” I pointed toward the knife. “How did you—”
“Practice.” He smirked wide. “Another benefit of getting in touch with nature on a regular basis. You’d be surprised how often people forget to pack a corkscrew.”
I stared at him, stunned into silence, as he pulled two glasses out of a nearby cabinet. Instead of offering one to me, he gently pulled the Moscato out of my hands, pouring me a glass. He then poured one for himself before he set the bottle back down on the kitchen table.
“Here’s to my first glass of Moscato,” he joked, as he clinked his glass against mine.
I shamelessly watched him drink, my eyes raking over his face, his neck, his chest—
I hastily started to drink from my own glass, hoping against hope that he hadn’t noticed my impolite stares. It was getting harder and harder to force down my attraction to him, especially after his knife-as-a-corkscrew stunt. He was just so… practical. It was like he always had an answer for everything.
And then there was me, the kind of person who never quite felt like they had it all together.
Why would a guy like Damon ever be interested in a guy like me?
“You’ve got a little something,” Damon murmured, his hand gently moving toward my face. I barely had time to react, as he gingerly wiped a drop or two of Moscato away from my chin.
“Thanks.” I felt my cheeks get hot at his touch, trying my best to cover for it by taking another sip of wine.
“Sorry.” Damon’s apology sounded sincere. “That was a complete invasion of privacy. I should’ve asked before I—”
