“You should take it then.” Now, I’m hoping I don’t find out she was just being polite.

That thought is quickly dismissed when she practically snatches it out of my hands.

“Really? I can have it? To take home with me?”

I cover up how much her excitement means to me by making a joke. “Well, since you like, like it. I wouldn’t want to break up the happy couple.”

Holly does a little hop dance, like an energetic puppy, while she holds my painting to her chest, as if I’ve given her some precious gift. In reality, it’s me who’s just been given something wonderful. Then, shocking the hell out of me, she reaches her hand up to grab the back of my neck and pulls me down to her tiptoe level before planting a kiss on my cheek.

“Thank you, Ben.” She releases me and slips out of my bedroom, eyes focused on her new artwork.

I, on the other hand, am still bent forward, dealing with the shock of having Holly’s lips on me for even the briefest moment.

HOLLY

Dijon mustard drips onto my chin, and I quickly swipe it off with my finger but not before Ben sees.

He smirks and hands me a napkin. “I told you that was too much.”

“You can never have too much mustard.” I take another generous bite of the turkey, cheddar, lettuce, and tomato sandwich I assembled for myself from the different fixings Ben stocked the cooler with. “When I was a kid, I used to have mustard sandwiches.”

“You don’t mean …” The horrified look on his face cracks me up as I nod.

“Yep! Bread and mustard. That’s all I needed.”

He mimes gagging, and I decide I’d better not mention how I resorted to that simple meal a few times this past year when money was tight.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never eaten anything weird before.”

Ben chews on his own sandwich, his expression morphing from disgusted to thoughtful. As he ponders his past eating habits, I take the time to study him.

We’re sitting at the small kitchen table, and Ben’s elbows rest on the worn plastic surface. He’s wearing his wire-rimmed glasses. I’m betting it’s because he knew he’d fall asleep in the car. Again, I can’t help comparing him to a sexy professor. With them on, all he needs is a sports coat with elbow patches, and my panties would catch on fire.

Speaking of fire, the one he built roars behind him, bringing out the red in his hair so much that I can’t even see the blond tones anymore.

My gaze moves from his face to his body. The purple shirt he has on completely covers his tattoos. I wonder if he wears long sleeves because it’s cold or if it’s a habit to hide the ink. I want to push them up his arms, so I can see more of his work.