A manly voice for a manly man. She buzzed him in before opening her apartment door and stepping into the hall. His boots sounded on the stairs and then he came down the hallway toward her. He held a bulging plastic bag in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.
But she was more interested in the man than what he’d brought for dinner. He wore his shearling coat, snug jeans and a brown Stetson dampened by melting snow. She couldn’t remember opening her door to a more appealing sight.
His gray gaze warmed as it met hers. “I’ve never seen you dressed in anything but a Rangeland Roasters uniform. You look different.”
“That uniform isn’t exactly the height of fashion.”
“No, but...you do it justice.”
“Thanks.” She tingled with awareness. If she’d imagined this might be a platonic evening spent in casual conversation, he’d just changed the game. Then again, she’d never believed their date would be casual and platonic.
She stepped back from the door. “Come in. And thanks for bringing wine. I had no idea what we’d drink with dinner.”
“Tea is traditional, but I wasn’t in the mood for tea.” He brought the chill of a cold Wyoming night with him as he walked in, along with the exotic scents of Asian spices, a whiff of pine-scented aftershave and a crackle of electricity.
She hadn’t realized how he filled a space until he stood in her living room. She’d hosted a couple of her girlfriends since she’d moved here, and her folks had visited twice, but the apartment hadn’t felt truly small until Ty Slater stepped inside. She wasn’t complaining. He was the most exciting guest she’d ever had.
“Nice tree. Smells great.”
“Doesn’t it? That’s Christmas to me.”
“Agreed.” His smile flashed. “It isn’t Christmas until there’s a tree in the living room. How do you want to do this? We could eat while decorating, or eat first and then decorate, or vice versa. Your call.”
“I’m starving and we don’t want the food to get cold, so let’s eat first.”
“Works for me.” He lifted the plastic bag and the wine bottle. “Where to?”
“All I have is the kitchen table.”
“Hey, that’s all I have, too. My apartment is about the size of yours. In fact, I have that same futon. Did you get yours in Cheyenne?”
“Uh-huh.” She led the way into her tiny kitchen. “From that furniture store that’s always running sales.”
“That’s the one.” He set the bag and wine on her small round table.
“Did your salesman have a Santa Claus beard?”
“Yep, same guy.” He took off his coat and hung it over the back of one of the chairs. The movement stirred up the scent of whatever soap he’d used, something lemony.
Whitney took a deep breath. Having this man around was aromatherapy for a condition she hadn’t realized she had. She hadn’t intentionally cut dating out of her life. It had come with the new job.
“I found out he plays Santa for the kids who are in the hospital over Christmas,” Ty said.
Looking at him standing in her kitchen, his broad shoulders emphasized by the yoked style of his cream-colored Western shirt, she felt as if Santa had brought her an early present. “That’s awesome!”
“I thought so. Made me feel good about buying the futon from him.” He removed his hat. “Can I just put this on the counter? It needs to dry off a little.”
“Sure. Anywhere.” She would love to mess with his hair and get rid of the hat-brim crease.
“You don’t have a lot of stuff sitting around.” He laid his hat on the counter brim side up, cowboy-style. Then he finger-combed his damp hair, leaving it tousled and sexy looking.
“Just the espresso machine.”
“I’d expect that. I meant you don’t have a lot of doodads and whatchamacallits. Very streamlined. I like it.”
“Thanks.” Her list of things she liked about him was growing longer by the minute. “My mother thinks my apartment’s stark, but I call it uncluttered.”
“Less to move when you’re cleaning.”
“Exactly! And it’s not like I spend a lot of time here, so I don’t want to waste money buying a bunch of things I’ll never use. My mom brought wineglasses when she and my dad came to visit in October, only to discover I didn’t have a wine opener. I just buy screw-top.”
Ty laughed, picked up the wine and opened it with a twist of his wrist. “I’m beginning to think we’re twins.”
“Sort of, yeah.” Except that twins didn’t always think alike. For instance, Selena would have decorated this apartment within an inch of its life. But now wasn’t the time to think about that. She opened a cupboard, pulled out two of the pricey goblets from her mom and set them on the table.
“I took a chance on the wine. I didn’t know if you were into it, and if so, what you liked.” He held up the bottle. “This is a Sauvignon Blanc. Is that okay?”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Well, taste it and make sure you like it.” He poured some in a glass and held it out to her.
“Is this the part where I’m supposed to swirl it around and stick my nose in the glass?”
He grinned. “Whitney, I do believe we’re going to get along.”
She met his gaze. “So do I.” She drained the glass and returned it to him. “Fill ’er up while I get us plates, napkins and silverware.” She turned back to the cupboard.
“Yes, ma’am. I asked them to include chopsticks, though, if you want to skip the silverware.”
“I’ve never learned to eat with those, so I’ll require a fork.” She put cloth napkins, one of her few touches of elegance, on the plates. Then she opened another drawer and added utensils, including serving spoons for each carton.
“Want to learn how?”
She considered the prospect as she walked back to the table with the plates. Might be fun, considering who’d be teaching her. “Okay, why not?”
He’d unpacked the cartons and set them in the middle of the table. “See, I knew you were a woman with adventure in her soul.”
“You did? Why?”
Opening each carton, he shoved a serving spoon in. “We could be meeting for a drink tonight, which would be the typical first step since we’ve never gone out. But you discarded that conservative move in favor of inviting me over to help with your tree.”
A shiver of anticipation ran down her spine. “Too bold?”
