Six Month Rule (Kingston Ale House) (8 page)

Chapter Eleven

Holly hid behind her menu, wishing Kingston Ale House was fancy enough for daily specials, a reason for her to have to study the text more carefully. But the food menu only changed if something wasn’t selling. All Jamie cared about were his brews. Still, Holly kept reading, just in case she wasn’t sure if there really was parmesan cheese on the truffle fries—or if the cheese fondue for the hot pretzels was a beer fondue. Of course it was.

Holly practically lived here. She knew the menu by heart, and having her meeting with Will here was supposed to lessen the anxiety. But every time she peeked over the top, she saw him genuinely studying the beer list, eyebrows raised as he moved a palm back and forth across his jaw. Add to that the short-sleeved navy henley and dark-wash jeans he just happened to have in his office, and well, Holly’s mouth went dry.

“Business or pleasure?” a familiar voice asked, and Holly looked up to see Jeremy Denning, her friend Annie’s brother and Jamie’s assistant manager—and apparently also a sometime server. He stood poised in a Kingston Ale House tee and jeans, either squinting from the sun or smirking directly at Holly. She guessed it was the latter.

“Excuse me?” Holly asked, immediately regretting giving him the opening to repeat the question.

“Just making small talk with the customers,” he said, and Will set his drink menu down to give Jeremy the once-over. “Middle of the day on a Monday,” he continued. “Figured either it’s a business lunch or you kids are calling in sick to enjoy the weather.”

And then he had the nerve to freaking wink at her.

Ugh.
Jeremy wasn’t even working Friday night, which meant Brynn had already blabbed to Annie about Holly’s
stargazing face
, and Annie must have filled her brother in. Jamie was the only one who stayed out of the rumor mill. He had his beer, and he had Brynn. Nothing else mattered. But jeez, start a game of telephone with Brynn, Annie, and Jeremy, and the message reached the end of the party line in seconds flat. If there was one thing Holly hated, it was gossip.

Okay, that was a lie. Holly loved gossip, but if she was the subject of said gossip, then she turned her hypocritical nose up at it in a heartbeat.

“You’re the only kid around here, Jeremy. And I thought you gave up waiting tables when Jamie made you manager.”

Will leaned back in his chair and regarded the two of them, arms crossed over his chest and lips in a tight line. But he said nothing.

Jeremy shrugged. “You got one year on me, Holls. That only counts in high school years, and we’ve been done with that long enough for it not to hold any weight. As for waiting tables? Only when it’s a beautiful day like today and I get to do the beer garden.” He looked back and forth between Holly and Will, his grin widening. “Casual dress with an air of uncertainty—I’m calling it business with potential.”

Holly coughed just as she was about to sip her water.

“Sorry,” Will finally interrupted. “But do you two know each other?”

Holly groaned.

“Just my friend Annie’s annoying little brother,” she said.

Jeremy brought a hand to his heart with an exaggerated gasp. Then he held a hand out to Will.

“Jeremy Denning,” he said. “Annoying little brother at your service.”

Will shook his hand but still eyed Jeremy warily.

“Jeremy, Will is in Chicago for a bit while he and I work together on a project for Trousseau.”

Jeremy nodded.

“Business it is, then. Can I start you two with an appetizer?”

Holly wasn’t sure if she had the stomach for food any longer.

“I’ll have a pint of the Kingston IPA,” Holly blurted—not exactly an hors d’oeuvre—and smiled, sure Jeremy could see right through her.

“Right,” Will said, clearing his throat. “Make that two.”

Jeremy raised a brow.

“Like I said.” He smiled. “Business with potential.” He winked again, and Holly wanted to crawl under the table. Then she realized hiding out with Will’s legs in those great-fitting jeans would not ease the situation, so she thought better of it. After all, Jeremy was right. If things went according to plan, Holly and Will would be on their way to potential.

…

“Here we go!” Jeremy set a plate down in front of Holly. “Fish and chips for the lady. And…” Doing the same for Will, he added, “Fish and chips for the gentleman. Malt vinegar, ketchup, salt and pepper—it’s all on the table. Anything else I can get for you?”

As much as Holly did not want to be under Jeremy’s watchful eyes, she kind of didn’t want him to leave. Because that would mean she’d have to start talking to Will instead of insisting she had to answer phantom emails from Andrea or bringing her pint to her lips every time it seemed like Will was going to ask her something. After all, Holly had set up this meeting. She’d been so sure of herself when she saw him in the elevator this morning, but now?

What if he said no? Charlie had jumped at the chance for six months of fun, no broken hearts at the end. And it had worked out perfectly. They didn’t have to see each other every day if things got awkward, but things never did. Charlie was just as committed to not committing as Holly was. It was kind of a win-win other than Holly really not being into him anymore.

“Can I ask you something?” Will reached for the malt vinegar and doused his whole plate as he spoke. “Or do you have another email to respond to?”

Holly’s eyes darted from her phone to Will’s, then she instinctively put a french fry in her mouth and held up a finger since she couldn’t possibly speak while chewing.

“Did you order fish and chips because I’m English?”

The corner of his mouth quirked up into a teasing, lopsided grin.

Holly swallowed her fry—and her hesitation.

“Did
you
order fish and chips because you’re English?” she asked with small chuckle.

Now Will sprinkled salt over his vinegar-doused plate. “When it’s done proper, and when I ache for home, sure.” He picked up a fry soaked with vinegar and dropped it in his mouth, his tongue reaching below his bottom lip to catch a rogue drip.

Holly’s mouth watered, so she ate another of her own fries to occupy her needy taste buds.

“That’s not how you eat yours, is it?” he asked, and her eyes widened. Will shook the bottle of vinegar. “Either you do it proper or—I’m sorry. I can’t let you eat that.”

Holly washed the fry down with a sip of her IPA.

“You can’t
let
me? You’re kidding, right?”

Will’s expression was impassive.

“I don’t kid about fish and chips.”

Yeah, he didn’t kid about much at all, come to think of it.

“If you call them chips, then what do you call
real
chips?” she asked and popped another fry.

“You’re just stalling now,” Will said, grinning as he leaned toward her. “You think if you distract me, I’ll let you continue this mockery you’ve made of my country.”

She snorted. “Mockery? You’re joking, right? Will Evans knows how to make a joke?”

“Crisps,” he continued. “We call chips crisps. And fries are chips. Trucks are lorries, cookies, biscuits, and elevators, lifts. There’s your American-to-English dictionary, love. Now you have a choice, Ms. Chandler. You can try a proper chip…” He lifted one off his plate and pointed it at her. “Or you can tell me why you asked me here for a meeting that seems on the verge of never actually starting.”

“Both!” Holly blurted, not giving herself time to think. Nope, it was time to dive in. She watched him waver for a second, could see the wheels turning. He could drop the fry and let her call his bluff, or he could keep right on leaning closer, sliding his elbow across the table until his fingers met her mouth.

She watched him swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing as a sort of nod—a decision.

Will went with option number one.

First Holly tasted the salt as the fry—or perhaps the chip—hit the tip of her tongue. Not a big fan of pickles, she had always thought the vinegar was to blame. But as Will’s fingers came closer to her mouth, pushing the fry farther back on her tongue, she felt the tang on her taste buds and couldn’t help the sigh that escaped her parted lips.

“Mmm,” she said softly, closing her lips over the edge of the fry, Will’s fingers escaping, but not before the tip of one brushed her chin. “I stand corrected.” Holly licked her lips. “Thank you for showing me the error of my ways, Mr. Evans.”

Will cleared his throat. “Come on, Holly,” he said. “What’s this about? Lunch—the afternoon? So far it doesn’t feel quite like a meeting, and I thought—”

“I don’t date,” Holly interrupted.

There. She’d put it out there. Now all she had to do was follow through.

Will’s brows pulled together, and his mouth hung open as he stopped midbite. So she continued.

“Friday night was—a lot of things. I wasn’t expecting the evening to go in the direction it did. I mean, we work together. I’m from here. You’re from there. I have career advancement to worry about and you have a—a—”

“A Sophie.” Will filled in the blank.

“Right. A Sophie. And I
get
it, Will. I do. You’re a father, and I’m certainly not in any position to impose on that when… Family? Holy progeny, Batman. Not even on my radar.”

“Holy progeny—?”

Nope. She couldn’t let him take the wheel. Not now. Holly had to steer this baby home.

“What’s your sign?” she asked.

Will seemed to have lost interest in his food and drink altogether as he leaned back in his chair and ran a hand through his already breeze-tousled hair.

“Taurus. I don’t understand—”

“See?” She bounced in her seat. “See? A Gemini and a Taurus?” She scoffed. “We’re so completely wrong for each other. If we dated it would
never
work out.”

His eyes narrowed. “Do you really believe in all that? That the stars decide who’s right for whom?”

She groaned. “No. I mean…I don’t know. I’m just saying that the odds are stacked against our compatibility, which is
actually
in our favor.”

She felt like they were speaking two languages. She had to get to the good part so he’d understand.

Holly huffed out a breath. “We kissed.”

He nodded. “We kissed.”

Will wasn’t stopping her, so she was going to soldier on, see how far they’d get.

“And it was good, right? Like
really
good.”

Another slow nod. “Christ, Holly.” His voice was soft and rough. If she closed her eyes, she could swear they were in the middle of that kiss again, because she knew Will was replaying it in his head just as she was in hers. “It was bloody spectacular.”

His words came out like a confession.

“I don’t date,” Holly repeated. “Not seriously, anyway. Because it always seems to fall apart around six months. And you?” She smiled softly, waiting for him to catch on. “You’re only here—”

“For six months.” He blew out a breath. He was up to speed, but she could still sense his hesitation. “Holly. We work together.”

“I know. Good thing we both have the same goal—the best show possible for Tallulah Chan.”

“And I go home to London every weekend I can. For Sophie. Sophie
always
comes first.”

“I know.” She nodded, then offered him a teasing grin. “And work comes first for me. But there are all those weekday evenings—and days like today.”

Their food was growing cold, and Holly didn’t think either of them cared.

Will leaned forward on his elbows. “What are you proposing, Ms. Chandler?”

He wasn’t smiling. Not yet. But he was interested, and that was all she needed.

Holly leaned forward as well, palms flat on the table. Her fingertips brushed his.

“Do you think about that kiss?” she asked, her lips so close to his.

“I do.”

“Do you think about what could have come
after
that kiss?”

Holly fought not to squirm in her seat as her core burned with the memory of Friday night.

“I do,” he said again, and his warm breath ghosted across her lips.

“What if you didn’t have to worry about what this meant for you and for Sophie? What if while you’re here, we work during the day, and at night—when we’re both up for it—we take advantage of spectacular? Everything runs its course by the time you leave, and we end up with a lovely half a year spent putting together a brilliant fashion show and getting all that kissing stuff out of our system.”

Will shook his head. “You’ve got this all figured out, don’t you?”

She shrugged. “It’s
like
dating, but without all the expectations and heartache. We enjoy the honeymoon phase and call it a day.”

“Just like that?” he asked, and she nodded, her lips so close to brushing against his.

“Just. Like. That.”

He reached a hand toward the back of her head. “I’ve got one condition,” he said. This was it. He was going to kiss her, and they’d take this thing between them as far as it would go. But instead she felt a soft tug. Then another. And another after that until her brown hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders. “I want to know when we’re off the clock, when we’re no longer office Holly and office Will. Because this show is just as important to me. I can’t cock things up because you smell good or you drive me bloody mad by wearing red shoes.”

She giggled. “I knew you’d like those.”

His hand rested on her neck now, under her hair. And despite the heat of the sun overhead, goose bumps broke out all over Holly’s skin.

“How will I know you’re off the clock?” she asked, feeling bold. “I don’t want to pick the wrong time to do this.” Holly flicked her tongue against his lips, and Will sucked in a sharp breath. She’d caught him off guard, but he didn’t back down.

“I’ll take off my tie.”

Her eyes took him in—head, shoulders, torso, and the denim she knew was under the table.

“You’re not wearing a tie now.”

Will shook his head.

“Holly Chandler—whatever happened to your plait?” He tangled his fingers in her hair. “You’re sure about this?” he asked, and she could feel him so close to letting go.

“I’m sure.”