gaze. “Be happy, Vic.”
“You too, Dirk. Be happy.”
After a quick hug, and a salute at the door, he was gone.
I felt sorry and sad if I’d hurt him, but it didn’t seem as though I had. Not really. Regardless, the fullness of my feelings for Coop could no longer be denied. They erupted from my chest like the alien in, well, Alien. No more keeping it in. No more denial. No more stupid fear. I was all in with Coop because my heart told me so.
And, this time, I believed it.
Chapter Eleven
That night we had another cozy staff dinner around the table, made possible by the people who suggested that the guests go out to dinner. Bless them, wherever they are. It was a fun meal. Coop and I made the Christmas Casserole which, perforce, included anything interesting in the pantry. I did not think olives were interesting, but he overruled me. However, in the true spirit of compromise, and in response to my whining, in the end, he only added olives to half of it. Everyone pitched in, even Jed, who made really great garlic bread. Did I mention it was an Italian Christmas dinner? We all had a great time singing carols with Italian accentos.
Even Mason had a little party, because Farley had decided to leave Lola with us. I guess we were…dog sitters? Anyway, they were having a mutual lick-fest that really doesn’t bear detailing.
Anyway, it was another great memory with people who had somehow become my friends. No. It was more than that. They were dear to me.
How on earth had that happened? How on earth had they wormed their ways into my stony heart? Living together did that, I supposed. Sped everything up a bit. Admit it, you either loved everyone you’ve lived with, or hated them.
These guys were all the best, and I was starting to regret that all this…camaraderie would soon be over. Like tomorrow.
Gosh, I would miss this.
Beyond that, where would Coop and I be? What would we be?
I decided he and I needed to have a serious conversation so, after dinner, I sent Olivia to cover the guest house, because Wren had covered the night before, and I grabbed Coop and towed him into our room.
And yeah, it was our room now.
How had that happened?
“What’s up?” he asked as I closed the door. I totally understood his curiosity. Dragging men into my private boudoir at random isn’t exactly my modus operandi. Generally speaking.
“We need to talk.”
He paled. “Talk?” He said the word like it tasted bad. The fact that I didn’t allow Mason into the room seemed to concern him even more.
“Wanna sit?”
He made a pained face, but did so. “What do you want to talk about, Vic?”
I sat next to him on the bed. “Dirk.”
His expression tightened. “Okay.”
“He came by today.”
Oh, this shocked him. His eyes went wide. A muscle in his cheek flexed. “Did he?”
“Yeah. And…I sent him away.”
He visibly relaxed. Even blew out a gust of a sigh. “Really?”
“Really.” I took his hand. “I realized I had no real feelings for him. I mean, he’s great and all that, but there’s no reason for us to keep…marking time together.”
“Isn’t there?” He couldn’t hold back his smile.
“I think you know why.”
“Are you saying you want to explore this thing with me?”
I drew in a deep, centering breath, because this next part was hard. “Yes.”
I meant to continue the conversation, to talk about what this meant and where we were and what we might do about this insistent attraction…but he kissed me and that was pretty much the end of the conversation. As far as words went. Or brain function.
That guy could really kiss the thoughts out of a girl’s head, that’s for sure.
What happened between us in that itty bitty bed was, again, mind-blowing.
I could really get used to this, I thought to myself, between bouts, and there wasn’t a lick of fear or panic in my heart.
* * *
Apparently, when the guests came home, they oohed and ahhed over the wedding decorations in the great room. And then, they decided they wanted a little something sweet. Olivia radioed me in a panic. Fortunately, I’d taken the radio with me into the bathroom, which was where I was when she called. Coop and I had had our fun and I was getting ready to turn in, so I might have been a little short when I said, “I swear to God, if you tell me the chef is on