“Can you come in tonight?” Liam asked.
“Aside from the fact that today is one of my days off, I don’t work nights,” Macy reminded him.
“It’s not work, really,” he hedged. “More like a favor—with food.”
“The last time you offered to feed me, I got pizza.”
“Jo’s pizza,” he said, as if that somehow elevated the basic meal.
And, okay, Jo’s pizza was the best she’d ever had. Vegas might have a lot more dining options, but she’d never found a pizzeria in Sin City to rival the local favorite.
“And tonight it will be Jo’s son doing the cooking.”
“You hired Kyle?” she asked, surprised and pleased to hear of this apparent change of heart.
“Not yet,” he said. “I’m still not completely convinced that there’s a market for upscale dining in Haven. But as part of his interview, he’s preparing a tasting menu.”
“That sounds tempting, but—”
“Great. I’ll pick you up at six,” he interjected.
“I didn’t say—”
But he’d already disconnected.
She huffed out a breath and scowled at the now silent phone.
“Is something wrong?” her mom asked.
“Liam wants me to have dinner with him tonight.”
“A date?” Bev asked hopefully.
“No,” she responded immediately. Firmly. “A working dinner.”
“Regardless of what you call it, sharing a romantic meal with a handsome man sounds like a date to me,” her mother remarked.
“I didn’t say I’d go,” she pointed out.
“I didn’t hear you say no.”
“Because he hung up before I could get the words out. But I’m going to call him back now and say it,” she announced.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t like being manipulated. And because I want to have dinner with you and Dad, Ava, Max and Sam.”
“Honey, you have dinner with us every night.”
“And I rely on you to look after my babies too much.”
“Who says it’s too much?” her mother demanded.
“I do.”
“Well, I disagree.”
Macy sighed and tried again, “I know they’re a handful—”
“Actually, they’re three handfuls,” Bev interjected. “But between your dad and me, we’ve got four hands and we love spending time with our grandbabies.”
“Maybe you should check with Dad before you volunteer him for extra babysitting duties,” Macy suggested.
Her mother immediately waved that suggestion away. “Now forget about making excuses not to have dinner with Liam and go downstairs to find something to wear.”
“I really don’t think this is a good idea,” she hedged.
“Because you don’t like Liam? Or because you do?” Bev wondered aloud.
“It doesn’t matter whether I do or don’t—I’m a single mother with three babies.”
“But maybe you don’t have to be a single mother forever.”
She sighed. “Are we really back to this again?”
“I’m not telling you to marry the man,” her mother said. Then she winked. “At least, not before you’ve had dinner with him.”
It did take some time for Macy to figure out what she was going to wear. After a quick shower to ensure she didn’t smell like baby spit—or worse—she stood in her undergarments in front of her open closet, surveying the contents.
She had work clothes: skirts and pants with matching jackets and an assortment of coordinating tops, and she had mom clothes: yoga pants and stretch leggings with oversized shirts and hoodies. She also had two pairs of pre-pregnancy jeans that she was able to squeeze into again, but she wouldn’t count on the button holding through a meal. And tucked in the back of the closet were half a dozen dresses from her I’m-a-single-woman-in-Sin-City days, but as she rifled through them, she doubted there was even one that would accommodate the extra pounds she continued to carry, even eight and a half months after giving birth.
Although maybe...
She lifted the hanger holding a long-sleeved sheath-style dress off the rod. The fabric was a silky jersey knit in royal blue that had a fair amount of stretch and give and just might—if she crossed her fingers and held her breath—be suitable.
So she removed it from the hanger and wriggled into it. Smoothing down the skirt, she turned to check out her reflection in the mirror and decided that she didn’t hate it. And if she put on a pair of Spanx—
No. She wasn’t going to squeeze herself into Spanx for a dinner outing that wasn’t even a date.
Then why the lacy underwear?
She ignored the taunting question from her subconscious. She’d selected her bra and matching underwear because they were comfortable, not because anyone else was going to see them—especially not her boss.
Although there wasn’t a lot of snow on the ground, the frigid temperature had her opting for boots rather than shoes. Thankfully, she had a stylish knee-high pair with a chunky heel and silver buckles that worked with the short-skirted dress. She added silver earrings and a trio of bangle bracelets and decided she was good to go.
With her mother’s earlier remarks still fresh in her mind, she almost ignored the makeup bag on the counter, but her vanity was apparently stronger than her obstinacy. And okay, even at her best she didn’t look anything like a twenty-year-old Swedish model, but dinner with Liam wasn’t anything like a real date, either.
“You look lovely,” Bev said, when she came downstairs to check on her daughter’s progress.
Macy glanced down. “I don’t think my stomach is ever going to be flat again.”
“You used to be too skinny—now you’ve got some curves.”
“What I’ve got is ten pounds of baby fat.”
“And it looks good on you,” Bev insisted.
“Thanks, Mom. But it doesn’t really matter how I look, because this isn’t a date,” she reminded her mother—and herself.
“I don’t care what you call it—I just want you to relax and have a good time.”
“I’ve got my phone,” she said, tucking it into the outside pocket of her handbag. “Call me if you have any problems with the kids.”
“You seem to forget that I raised three children of my own.”
“I know you’re more than capable of taking care of Ava, Max and Sam, but—”
“But you’re looking for an excuse to weasel out of this da—dinner,” Bev quickly amended.
The upstairs doorbell rang, and Macy sighed.
“And now it’s too late,” her mother pointed out unnecessarily.
Macy didn’t stall any longer, because she knew that if she did, her father would answer the door, and she didn’t want him to give Liam the same third-degree interrogation he’d given her boyfriends in high school.
But she was too late.
She reached the top of the stairs leading to the main foyer just as her father’s fingers closed around the handle of the door.
“It’s okay, Dad, I’ll get...”
She was too late again. Her words trailed off as Norm opened the door—and were completely forgotten when she caught a glimpse of her boss. He was wearing his usual jeans and cowboy boots, but with a dress shirt, tie and jacket. He hadn’t bothered to shave, and she itched to reach up and stroke the stubble that darkened his jaw. Looking at him, she knew why sexy cowboys remained a popular fantasy for many of her friends, and when his eyes locked on hers and his lips curved, her blood heated in her veins and pooled low in her belly.
Obviously this was a bad idea.
A very bad idea. Because her hormones were clamoring for her to forget about dinner and feast on him.
And the blatant appreciation in his gaze as it boldly skimmed over her made her suspect that he wouldn’t object if she proposed such a change of plans. Or maybe that was just her own hormonally charged imagination running away with her.
“Good evening, Mr. Clayton.” Liam offered his hand.
Norm shook it firmly. “You take care of my girl tonight,” he instructed the younger man.
“I will, sir.”
Macy could tell that the “sir” scored points with both of her parents, compelling her to interject.
“Your girl is thirty-three years old,” she reminded her father. “And this dinner is for business, not pleasure.”
“Why can’t it be both?” Liam wondered aloud.
“Now that’s a good question,” Bev said, her remark earning a conspiratorial grin from her daughter’s boss.
“Because it’s not,” Macy said firmly, before she brushed her lips against her mother’s cheek. “Good night, Mom.” Then she stopped by the playpen and bent down to drop kisses on top of each of the babies’ heads and instruct them to be good for Gramma and Grampa.
“They’re in good hands,” Norm promised.
“I know they are,” she said, and bussed his cheek, too.
Liam turned his head, a silent invitation for her to touch her lips to his cheek.
Macy rolled her eyes and shook her head.
He shrugged and helped her on with her coat. “I figured it was worth a try.”
“I won’t be late,” she told her parents, as she knotted the belt at her waist.
“It doesn’t matter if you are or aren’t,” Bev said. “We’re not waiting up.” Then, in case her point wasn’t clear enough, she winked at Liam.
“Good night,” Macy said firmly.
“Have a good time,” her mother said.
She shoved Liam ahead of her out the door and closed it firmly at her back.
“Can I say now what I didn’t dare say when your father was staring me down?” Liam asked, after Macy was buckled into the passenger seat of his truck and he’d taken his place behind the wheel.
“What’s that?”
He looked at her and, even in the dim light of his truck cab, she could see the heat in his gaze. “Wow. Just...wow.”
She felt her cheeks flush. She didn’t know how to respond. She’d told her parents—and herself—that this wasn’t a date, but the way Liam was looking at her, the way the butterflies were winging around in her stomach, she kind of wished that it was.
Or maybe she was just hungry.
“So what’s on the menu tonight?” she asked when he’d backed out of the driveway and turned toward the inn.
“I have no idea. I told Kyle to put together the menu...and I didn’t even think to ask if you had any food allergies.”
“No allergies,” she assured him.
“That’s a relief,” he said. “And while the chef didn’t tell me what he was cooking, he did suggest that I could feature Circle G beef on the menu and highlight the connection between the ranch and the inn.”
“What a great idea,” Macy said.
“I thought so,” he agreed. “Of course, I might need my manager to negotiate the terms of any supply agreement with the ranch’s owner.”
“Your father’s still not happy about your career change?”
He shrugged. “I shouldn’t have expected anything different. After all, Gilmores are ranchers.”
Macy had heard the same refrain spoken by various people countless times, and she could only imagine how difficult it had been for Liam to buck that trend—and how much more difficult his father continued to make it by refusing to respect his son’s choices.
The subject was abandoned when they arrived at the inn.
“Do you have a timeline for opening the restaurant?” Macy asked.
“If I open the restaurant,” he clarified. “And no.”
“I don’t think you would have let Kyle prepare this tasting menu tonight if you weren’t leaning in that direction.”
“Leaning isn’t the same as committed. And it usually takes more than a single meal to get me to make a commitment.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said. “But right now, I’m hungry, so lead the way to dinner, cowboy.”
Kyle had enlisted help with the setting up and serving. He introduced Erin as a friend of his sister’s—and also a part-time waitress at Jo’s. The chef then proceeded to give them a preview of the menu.
White wines would be sampled with the starters—sweet potato soup garnished with Greek yogurt and toasted pumpkin seeds, arugula and pear salad with Gorgonzola dressing, goat cheese crostini with fig and olive tapenade, bacon-wrapped dates stuffed with blue cheese, and caramelized onion tart with a balsamic reduction; and red wines would be served with the mains—prime rib au jus accompanied by roasted fingerling potatoes and glazed baby carrots, chicken breast stuffed with spinach and mushrooms served on a bed of creamy risotto, and grilled salmon with couscous and a steamed vegetable medley.
Every detail of the meal was perfect. The presentation of each plate was as exquisite as its flavor. And sitting at a candlelit table across from a man whose smile was enough to make her blood hum in her veins was dangerously intoxicating.
“I’m trying to pace myself,” Macy said, as she nibbled on a bite of salmon. “But it’s not easy. Everything tastes so good.”
“And nothing like what you’d find on the menu at Diggers’,” Liam remarked.
“I didn’t realize your reluctance to venture into the restaurant business was based, at least in part, on an unwillingness to step on the toes of the other dining establishments in town.”
“Haven’s a small town, and it’s important that we support local businesses if we want them to stay here.”
“And that’s exactly why you need to offer fine dining,” she told him. “To give people a reason to stay in Haven rather than trekking to Elko or Battle Mountain.”
“With every bite, I’m growing more convinced,” he admitted, reaching across the table to scoop up a forkful of the risotto on the plate in front of her.
“And when word gets out that there’s a fancy new restaurant in Haven, you’ll start to get people from Elko and Battle Mountain coming here for a meal.”
“You think so?” he asked, still sounding dubious.
She tapped her fork on the edge of the plate with the prime rib. “I’d travel more than fifty miles for a bite of that flavorful, melt-in-your-mouth beef. Pair it with a glass—or a bottle—of that California cabernet sauvignon, and suddenly your diners are not only happy they made the trip but realizing that they can linger over dessert and another glass of wine and then check into one of the luxurious suites upstairs.
“And, of course, you could put together special dinner and room packages as part of your usual offerings or a special-occasion thing.”
“Or you could,” he suggested.
She smiled. “I’d be happy to.”
“Did you have any questions, comments or concerns about anything on the menu?” Kyle asked, coming out of the kitchen after they’d had a chance to sample each of his offerings.
“I have one,” Macy said, glancing at Liam across the table. “Who gets the doggy bag?”
The young chef smiled. “I’ll let the two of you figure that out.”
“Arm wrestle for it?” Liam suggested.
“Yeah, that would be fair,” Macy noted dryly.
Liam grinned. “Why don’t we put the leftovers in the fridge here? Then we can both enjoy them again for lunch tomorrow.”
“I guess that would work,” she agreed. And then, to Kyle, she said, “You must have been cooking all day.”
“It’s what I love to do,” he told her.
“And your passion for food is evident in every bite,” she assured him.
“It’s only long-ingrained table manners that held me back from licking my plate,” Liam said.
Kyle’s smile grew. “Should I send out dessert now, then?”
“I don’t know that I could eat another bite, but if your desserts are even half as good as everything else, I have to try,” Macy said.
“Desserts aren’t my specialty,” the chef confessed. “But I have mango sorbet with fresh raspberries, a pecan tart with caramel sauce, and white chocolate mousse dusted with cocoa powder and garnished with sprigs of mint.”
As he spoke, Erin set each of the referenced desserts on the table.
“If you wanted fancier options on the menu, you could consider partnering with Sweet Caroline’s Sweets,” he suggested.
“Another great idea,” Macy agreed. “It would expand the options for your diners and support another local business.”
“Did anyone want coffee? Tea?” Erin asked.
“Not for me, thanks,” Liam said.
Macy shook her head. “I’m going to finish my wine,” she decided.
“Then we’ll leave you to enjoy your dessert while we clean up the kitchen,” Kyle said.
Macy lifted a spoon and waved it over the three dishes, as if she didn’t know where to begin. She decided on the tart, breaking off a piece with the side of her spoon, then sliding it between her lips.
“Oh. My. God.” Her eyes closed in blissful pleasure. “Oh, yes.”
The unintentionally provocative words combined with the expression of pure bliss on her face made Liam wonder if Macy would respond with the same passionate enthusiasm to the experience of other pleasures. No, not just wonder. Made him want to know.
Made him want.
He shifted in his chair as his body immediately began to respond to the contemplation of that possibility. He shoved a spoonful of sorbet into his mouth, as if the flavored ice might cool the heat rushing through his veins.
He cleared his throat. “It’s good?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Good doesn’t begin to describe it. It’s—” she took another bite of the tart, sighed “—better than sex.”
“Now I have to try it,” Liam said, reaching across the table with his spoon.
She curled her hand protectively around the plate. “I don’t want to share.”
He chuckled. “Well, if you won’t let me try the tart, then I’m not going to share the mango sorbet with fresh raspberries.”
“Fresh raspberries in March?” Her tone was dubious, but her expression was interested.
“They might not be local produce, but they’re delicious,” he said, and nudged the glass dish toward the center of the table.
She spooned up another bite of the tart before reluctantly sliding the plate closer to his.
“Mmm...that’s good, too,” she said, after she’d sampled the frozen treat. “Really good.”
“But is it better than sex?” he wanted to know.
“It might be,” she decided. “The truth is, my memories of the event are a little foggy while this sweet taste of heaven is right here, right now.”
“Dessert definitely satisfies a sweet tooth, but sex—” Now he sighed. “Sex done right satisfies the body and the soul.”
She snorted at that.
His brows lifted. “You don’t agree?”
“I probably shouldn’t even express an opinion,” she admitted. “Because I haven’t had sex in...well, let’s just say it’s been a long time.”
“How long?” he wondered.
She waved her spoon at him. “That’s an inappropriate question to ask an employee.”
“You’re the one who brought up the subject of sex,” he pointed out.
“You’re right.” She nodded. “But it’s your fault.”
“How is it my fault?”
“Because before you kissed me, I never thought about how much I missed sex.”
“You kissed me,” he reminded her.
“The first time,” she acknowledged.
“You kissed me back the second time.”
“Has any woman ever not kissed you back?” she wondered.
“I’m not interested in any other woman right now,” he said. “I’m only interested in you.”
The intensity of his gaze made her belly flutter. “I’ve got three kids,” she reminded him.
“That’s not what’s been holding me back.”
“What’s holding you back?”
“I’m trying to respect our working relationship.”
“Yeah, that complicates things,” she agreed. Then she finished the wine in her glass and pushed away from the table. “Will you excuse me for a minute? I want to give my mom a call to check on Ava, Max and Sam.”
“Of course,” he agreed. “But I can’t promise the rest of that tart will be there when you get back.”
She gave one last, lingering glance at the pastry before she said, “You can finish the tart.”
He was tempted by the dessert, but he managed to resist. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold out against his attraction to Macy—or if she wanted him to.
Had he crossed a line by flirting with her? She hadn’t reacted in a way that suggested she was upset or offended, but she hadn’t exactly flirted back, either.
“Is everything okay?” he asked, when she returned to the table several minutes later.
She nodded. “I got caught in the middle of an argument.”
“With your mom?”
“With myself.”
His brows lifted. “Did you win?”
“I hope so,” she said.
Then she set an antique key on the table and slid it toward him.