Dancing in Lake Mistletoe (Lake Mistletoe #4)

Chapter Twelve

Dutch

I should have kissed her.

We talked into the wee hours, only realizing the time when the server came to the table with our bill and to let us know the wine bar would be closing in ten minutes.

After paying for the wine, I drove her back to the inn. She lingered in the warmth of the truck, giving me ample opportunity to pull her in close—but I didn’t. Instead, I hurried out to open her door and awkwardly bid her good night. Then, I spent the fifteen-minute ride home berating myself for being such a chickenshit.

It’s been a while since a woman has so thoroughly piqued my interest. It’s like I forgot what the hell to do. Which pisses me off.

I should have kissed her. But I didn’t. And now, the chance has passed, and it might not come back around.

I pull up to my parents’ house and press my horn to let Dad know I’ve arrived. Mom took the girls to church this morning, and he stayed behind to wait for me.

“Morning, son,” he greets as he climbs inside. Handing me a thermos of coffee and a brown paper sack. “Your mom left us coffee and sandwiches.”

I open the bag to find sausage, egg, and cheese on toast, and my stomach growls in response.

Bless her.

Once he’s buckled in, I drive us around the lake toward town hall.

“How was your night?” he asks as he opens his thermos and takes a swig.

“It was fine.”

He cuts his eyes to me. “Just fine?”

“What were you expecting, old man?” I ask.

He shrugs. “You left with a pretty lady. Seems to me that alone deserves more than a fine.”

I nod. “We had a nice dinner and then shared a bottle of wine. It was nice.”

“Nice. Well, I guess that’s better than fine,” he mumbles.

I sigh. “I like her. But she’s only here for a couple of months. A man with a crazy schedule and a seven-year-old probably doesn’t sound like a lot of fun to her.”

His brows furrow. “Did she say that?”

“No.”

“Then, how do you know?”

“I just assume.”

He laughs. “Boy, if there’s one piece of advice your old man can offer, it’s never to assume you know what a woman is thinking.”

We pull up to town hall, and Keller and Bob have already begun to pull supplies out of storage and load them onto the back of Bob’s truck. We scarf down our sandwiches before hopping out to help them. I’ve already inspected all the lights and have them categorized and sorted into labeled crates. Those go onto the back of my truck. Once the garlands, bows, wreathes, and mistletoe are loaded up, we wait for Hoyt to arrive. He has the ladder and power tools already on his truck, so we set out in a caravan to Christmasfy Lake Mistletoe.

“So, I heard Mindi and Willa talking over breakfast,” Keller says.

He’s holding the ladder I’m currently climbing to attach a string of lights to the top of the gazebo. Bran, who met us on the square, is already atop a ladder to my right, installing hooks.

“Yay, and?” I grunt as I make it to the top and heave the heavy strand from where it’s wrapped around my shoulder.

“And Mindi had fun last night. I think she’s into you,” he says.

“Okay,” I say as I settle the thick cord into the first hook and use the staple gun in my tool belt to secure it.

“Okay?” Bran yells from his perch. “You’d better lock it down. Those dimples aren’t gonna pull you through much longer. You’re, like, two, three years tops from gray whiskers and a beer gut.”

“Yeah, you’re not going to be able to turn the heads of hot dancers much longer, dude,” Keller bellows.

“I’m still trying to figure out how he got this one’s attention,” Bran agrees.

“You guys are hysterical,” I mutter as I move on to the next hook.

“When’s the last time you took a girl out?” Bran asks.

“Bethany Cooke. He brought her to Willa’s birthday party, remember?” Keller replies.

“Right. That was, what, six months ago?”

Bethany was a girl I met when I was doing some work on her grandparents’ Airbnb. She came to stay for a few weeks while she was between jobs. We had a fun but brief fling before she left for Indianapolis.

“Six months. Damn. That’s a dry spell,” Bran notes.

“No. Two years is a dry spell. Six months is nothing,” I say, recalling the time after Lexi’s death when I had no interest in other women.

He looks at me and grins. “It doesn’t have to be seven.”

“Yeah. Are you going to ask her out again or not?” Keller asks. “I know Willa is going to quiz me the minute I get home, and I’d like to have my answers straight beforehand.”

I glance down at him. “Seriously?”

He smirks. “I think you’ve forgotten what it’s like to be married.”

“Tell Willa to mind her own business.”

He laughs. “Now, I know you’ve forgotten what it’s like to be married.”

“Come on. Give us something,” Bran says, and I look over at him.

“You two are worse than Mom and Farah,” I snap before relenting. “Yes, I like her. And, no, I haven’t decided if I’m going to ask her out or not. She has rehearsals. I have a lot on my plate.”

“Ugh,” Bran groans. “You’re not using the busy schedule excuse. That’s lame as hell. If you like her, you can make time.”

“It’s not an excuse. I have a seven-year-old, remember? She’s a twenty-four/seven job on top of my other jobs,” I remind him.

“And you have two built-in babysitters right here. Not to mention Lydia and Sela. Who, by the way, came straight in last night and called Hannah to tell her she saw you two head into the wine place after she and Isaac left for her apartment.”

Geezus. These women.

“All right. I don’t want to hear any backtracking when I call you guys up to watch Josie.”