by Dana Volney
“We better get started then.” Lorelei set her red bag on the island, opened it, and swiftly pulled out a card, which she handed to his mom. “My mother’s recipe for the best sugar cookies you’ll ever taste.”
Viola held the card out and down to read it. “I think we have all of these things.” She glanced at Henry. “Did you get everything on the grocery list I gave you?”
“I never knew there were so many types of milk.” And his cupboards had never been so full of ingredients that couldn’t be made into dinner in three easy steps.
“We’ll make your sugar cookies,” his mother went on, “and then I have killer fudge and ginger snaps we’ll do.”
Lorelei started to roll up her sleeves. “You are speaking my language.”
He could’ve been wrong about her motives for coming today. She seemed genuinely into making cookies with his mother.
“I’m willing to taste test anything you need.” He started down the hallway toward his office. “Call me when the oven timer dings.” With his mom and Lorelei baking and Trent’s family out getting a tree with his father, Henry could finally get some peace and quiet in his office.
“Don’t you sneak off, young man,” his mother said in the stern tone that meant she was never going to budge. “You’re helping, too.” Being married to a lawyer and producing two herself, the woman could hold her own in an argument. He and his brother knew when there was room for negotiation and when the ruling had already been made.
He eyed her innocent smile as she laid the three recipe cards on the counter. Maybe it wasn’t so innocent after all. One would think Trent’s kids would be enough in the grandchild department. Apparently not.
“Henry, here’s the ingredients list. Put everything out on the counter so we have it. I’m going to go find my candy thermometer I brought especially for the fudge.” She disappeared down the hall to the left.
There was as a fifty-fifty chance the woman wasn’t coming back and all of this had been a ruse to set him up with his own employee. Terrific. Lorelei wasn’t a random person or an acquaintance of a friend that he could date. She was off-limits.
“Call them out to me, will you?” He handed Lorelei the recipe cards and went over to the cupboards to start pulling.
She named each item on the list and, as he returned with them, started rearranging them on the counter in groups of powders and liquids. “If I weren’t a lawyer, I’d open a bakery.”
“Feel free to bring your goods into the office anytime.”
A nervous sort of laugh left her lips as he felt his cheeks warm. What a great job he was doing of putting words together.
“Where’s your bathroom?” she asked.
He pointed to the left hallway. “Second door on your right.”
As she headed that way, he shook his head. She was here to bake desserts, nothing more.
Lorelei’s phone vibrated on the counter, face up by the recipe cards. The screen read “Always Answer.” He glanced down the hall, but she’d already disappeared into the bathroom.
He picked up the phone in its gold-flecked red case. This probably wasn’t a great idea, but he had to know. Was she dating someone? He hadn’t heard if she was. And what if she was an emergency contact and it meant life or death if he didn’t answer the call right now?
“Lorelei Sullivan’s phone,” he said, answering it.
“Who’s this?” an older woman’s voice demanded.
“Depends. Who’s this?”
“Lorelei’s mother, Francis. Now you talk.”
Whoops. Now he had to keep going so he didn’t look like a moron. “Henry Hale. I work with your daughter.”
“I’ve heard about you.”
“Oh, you can’t believe everything you hear.” He put his free hand low on his hip.
“That’s usually said by people trying to be falsely modest or cute. Which one is it, Mr. Henry Hale?”
“Is there a third option?” Crash and burn. He could see the flames now.
A musical laugh burst from the other side of the line. “I’m just messing with you. By the sound of your voice, I’d say you’re as handsome as my daughter described.”
Heat flushed his cheeks and radiated through his chest. He moved his hand to his pocket and rocked back on his heels, barely containing a grin. “Lorelei will be back shortly. My family is in town, and my mother talked Lorelei into coming over and helping her bake. We’re getting ready to start with your sugar cookie recipe, actually.” Who’d have thought he’d ever be casually chatting with Francis Bristow? She was someone he’d looked up to in college, especially after studying some of her cases for classes. And she was Lorelei’s mother, who he knew she held in high regard.
“My daughter is making sugar cookies for your family?”
When it was put like that, it did sound more intimate than it really was. “She’s quite the baker, I’m told.”
“She gets that from me. What are you two doing tonight?”
“I’m not sure.” He was living hour to hour at this point.
“You’re going to come over here and have dinner.” The statement didn’t leave any room for arguing.
“Oh, uh, I’m not sure that’s such a great idea.” It was an epic idea, and his pulse was starting to race at the possibility.
“So, you can spend time with your family but not hers? I don’t think so.”
“It’s not like that . . . ” The professional and personal lines between him and Lorelei were starting to blur.
“I should hope not. Six thirty. Bring your appetite.”
The line was dead.
Lorelei strode into the kitchen, giving him a smile when he caught her gaze. He started to smile back. It had been a long time since he’d wanted to spend time with a person he wasn’t billing. And even longer since he’d met the parents.
What was he thinking? They weren’t dating. They couldn’t. He was her boss, and that wasn’t changing any time soon.
He needed to get out of this dinner invitation. On the other hand, meeting Francis would be a boon . . . so would spending more time with Lorelei outside of work. That way, he could gain more knowledge of his employee and mutual friend. He took in a long breath. It was a classic win-win-lose situation.
“Why’s my phone in your hand?” Lorelei’s brows rose, and she crossed her arms.
“Funny story.” He set the phone down. “Your phone rang while you were in the bathroom, and it said ‘Always Answer.’”
“You didn’t.” She reached for it, pulling up the recent calls. Her eyes were wide when she finally looked up.
“I did.” He shrugged in an attempt to show the little bit of remorse he did have for his actions. He also made a mental note not to leave his phone alone.
Lorelei sighed. “My mom thought it was hilarious to save that as her name, and I just never changed it.”
“It worked.”
“Apparently.” She grabbed a metal mixing bowl and started adding shortening from little wrapped packages.
“There’s more.”
She stopped reaching for the vanilla and faced him, a line forming between her brows. “What did you agree to?”
“Dinner tonight at her house.” He watched Lorelei closely for any sign she was okay with this news. “And that we’d bring our appetites.”
“You didn’t.” This time, the phrase was a lot more exaggerated.
There was his answer—she was not a willing participant. He wasn’t going to get to meet Francis Bristow after all.
“In my defense, I don’t actually think it was ever put up for debate in the two minutes we spoke.”
“Yeah, well, welcome to my world.” She started measuring vanilla in a teaspoon.
“I totally get it.” He had his own set of nosy parents in an involved family.
She shook her head, focusing on adding eggs to the mixing bowl. “You’re not obligated, don’t worry.”
His chest deflated. It was more than missing an opportunity to meet Franci
s Bristow that caused his shoulders to slump momentarily. This new side of Lorelei was nice. At dinner last night, in a very vague sense, it almost seemed as if they were a couple.
The holidays were becoming a lot more complicated this year than even he could’ve predicted. And that was saying something, because he’d loosely calculated the chances of his nephews burning down the house at 100 percent.
“I would hate for your mother to think I’m not a man of my word.” Was he really doing this? Was he really trying to keep the invitation?
He freaking knew better. This was the moment. When things were falling apart around him, this was the point in time that he was going to analyze his compulsions until it drove him crazy.
She stopped adding flour to the bowl and faced him, a smudge of powder on her chin, next to her reddish lips. He’d always thought Lorelei was beautiful and smart, but she had so many more layers he’d never even once considered.
She was studying him, trying to figure out the angles. See the forest from the trees. Good luck to her, because, honestly, he wasn’t concrete on his own motivations right now.
“You have flour . . . ” He reached over and wiped the smudge on her chin with his thumb.
Their physical distance hadn’t actually changed, but he felt closer. Like it was just the two of them in the world. He started to sway toward her, let that pull between them win. Her gaze dropped to his lips, and that’s when he knew she wanted to kiss him, too. One kiss couldn’t hurt. It might be what he needed. What they both needed. Maybe it would be the worst kiss, and he wouldn’t have to think about her anymore because he’d know they didn’t have chemistry—that he was just getting caught up in nonsense again.
Or it would possibly be the best kiss of his life and confirm all the feelings he was too scared to admit were swirling in the depths of his mind. He had to find out.
His head dropped farther, and he was just closing his eyes for the view of the fireworks . . .
“Smells great in here.” Trent came stomping in from the mudroom covered in remnants of the tree they’d undoubtedly chopped down.
Henry pulled back and cleared his throat. Lorelei turned back to the counter and continued adding cups of flour to her mix.
“Did I interrupt something?” Trent glanced between the two of them as his boys came running past, still covered in dirt and snow from the mountain, and headed straight for their video game in the downstairs living room.
“Nope.” Henry shook his head, trying to keep his voice light and not show the agitation he felt. “Get a good tree?” It had better be the best tree they’d ever had and ever would have.
“Sure did.” Trent had probably picked out the tallest he could carry. “Are we decorating tonight?”
“No. Tomorrow night. Lorelei and I have plans tonight.”
She glanced at him quickly, and the ends of her lips turned up as she continued her work on the dough.
“Let it sit out in the garage overnight, and then we’ll bring it inside after dinner tomorrow and decorate.”
He was going to meet her parents tonight. There was a ball of nerves in his gut that both couldn’t wait for dinner and was shouting that he was making a huge mistake. Nothing like the holidays to make a person anxious.
Chapter Four
Lorelei opened the door to her parents’ home without knocking. Henry had picked her up. She’d tried to just give him the address, but he’d insisted. She didn’t know what to make of that—and she was trying not to read too much into it. She didn’t want to make an assumption that would lead her imagination down the wrong path. This was already odd on a lot of different levels.
She knew Henry respected her mother; Francis Bristow was a star to him. So maybe he’d wrangled this invitation on his own. Lorelei, however, was wise to her mother’s ways. There was no doubt she’d bulldozed the conversation where she’d wanted it to go. And as much as Lorelei wanted to accuse him of using her to meet Francis, when she’d turned in his kitchen to let him have it, he’d looked so, so not conniving. Instead, he was seeing her, as if she were the only one that could touch his heart. A raw connection had sparked, and she’d nearly let him kiss her.
Her goals and motivations had started to blur when she’d looked into his light-blue eyes.
This was all a little too weird. Even going over to his house earlier to help his mother with cookies had felt like an overstep. Henry had stuck around the entire time, perched at the island and happy to taste when they’d needed it. He hadn’t rolled up his sleeves and baked, but he’d stayed. That counted for something.
Lorelei led Henry to the right, where the wide expanse of kitchen took up half the room. Next to the kitchen, where her mother was using a blender, was a living room area centered on a giant entertainment wall that held a seventy-inch television. Off to the left was the dining area.
“Hey, Mom,” she said when the whirring stopped. “Where’s Dad?” Pentatonix’s “Little Drummer Boy” played in the background.
“He had to go out of town. He’ll be back before Christmas.” Her mother, dressed in black slacks and a deep emerald turtleneck, didn’t bat an eye at the news. As a well-respected business strategist for Fortune 500 companies, Phil Sullivan had been traveling for as long as Lorelei could remember. She had to give her dad credit, though: not one time had he ever not been home when he said he’d be.
“Francis Bristow-Sullivan, meet Henry Hale of Hale Law.” Her formal introduction was on purpose. “My boss” wasn’t a title that would apply for much longer.
Francis finished scraping mashed potatoes into an ornate red ceramic bowl then stuck her hand out. “Pleased to meet you.”
“You as well.” Henry didn’t smile, but the apples of his cheeks was a little fuller and his eyes lit up. He was loving this but maintaining the control Lorelei was used to witnessing.
She held in a laugh. It was always amusing when people met her mother. To Lorelei, she was just Mom—a mom she’d rarely seen in the courtroom doing her thing but who had always been at the dinner table and at her school debate tournaments and track events. And here Lorelei was barely keeping clean clothes on the hangers while she launched her career. Thank goodness she didn’t have so much as a fish, because that thing would be belly up.
“As we all know, your father is the cook in this house”—Francis hugged Lorelei and kissed the top of her head—“so I made my favorite dish.”
“You didn’t.” Lorelei beamed. “I have been dreaming about your meatloaf lately.” The way her mother made meatloaf, something that should be easy to replicate but wasn’t—Lorelei had tried and given up after attempt number four literally oozed out of the pan—was everything good about her childhood.
“Sounds delicious,” Henry chimed in.
Geez. For a minute, Lorelei had forgotten he was standing there. “You’re in for a treat.”
Francis sat at the head of the table, Lorelei to her left and Henry to her right. The table was already decked out in the festive holiday set her mother had used ever since Lorelei could remember.
“Have you seen any good movies lately?” Her mom looked between the two of them.
“I don’t know the last time I went to a movie.” Henry placed a red napkin in his lap.
“She means scary or horror flicks specifically. It’s all she likes.” Lorelei scooped up mashed potatoes on her fork. “I’ve just been watching the old steadfast ones on Netflix these days.” In between reading briefings and prepping for trials.
“I would not have pegged you for a scary movie fan.” Henry’s gaze roamed over Lorelei’s face, and her body started to warm.
“It’s a tradition we started when I was a little too young to be watching those types of shows.”
“What?” Francis shrugged. “She needed to be aware of the world. Do you watch them?”
“No.” Henry laughed. “That’s the one genre I don’t see much of. No interest in horror especially.”
Francis started laughing and caught Lore
lei’s gaze. “Do you remember when you got kicked out of school for scaring your classmates?”
“What?” Henry chuckled. “I have to hear this story.”
“Nah. That’s the whole of it.” They’d gotten so close to getting through this dinner without anything embarrassing from her childhood coming out.
“My little girl, you were in what, seventh grade?” Francis’s brows pulled together as she studied Lorelei’s face. “Yeah, seventh, and she wanted to be scary.”
“Scary? I’m sure the boys were already terrified of you.” Henry’s eyes danced as he grinned at her.
“I believe the words the principal used were terrifying and disturbed.”
“It wasn’t that bad.” Lorelei shook her head and took a drink of her wine. “Wusses.”
“You had blood dripping off of your sweet little cheeks.”
“I liked realism in my murderous makeup.” It wasn’t much of an excuse; looking back on the pictures, she wasn’t sure how she’d made it all the way to school in the first place—someone really should’ve called the cops on her during her ten-block trek.
Henry was staring at her now, shaking his head slowly, as an emotion flitted across his eyes—admiration, perhaps?
“What? I am who I am.” She sipped her wine.
“I’m seeing that more and more.” He stabbed at a chunk of meatloaf on his plate as his head gently bobbed up and down.
“I got really good at costume makeup. I only use my powers for good now.”
“Have you seen her collection?” her mother asked.
“Mom.” The makeup story was one thing. That was her past.
“She has scary masks,” Francis did not heed the warning in Lorelei’s tone. “She collects them to this day.”
“How does one collect scary masks?” Henry’s courtroom voice was in full swing, only, this time, there was a playfulness behind it. He was certainly more laid-back tonight than he’d been at his own family dinner. Tingles flipped in Lorelei’s belly. She shouldn’t have noticed that fact, or liked it. She couldn’t start to think of Henry in any way other than as her boss and the man who could give her a promotion.
