She realized how utterly all-consuming it must be, trying to haul this place back from the edge, especially with Walter standing in his way.
“You have a difficult task. Which makes what you’ve accomplished all the more admirable.” She glanced sideways. “Not a single empty table.”
“Élise will be having a nervous breakdown.”
Kayla thought of the fire she’d sensed in the other girl. “One person’s nervous breakdown is another’s opportunity. It’s exciting. I think she’ll fly.” By the time she’d cleared her plate, she was sure of it. “That was incredible. What you’ve created here—” she tapped her fingers on the table, thinking. “You need a different strategy for the restaurant than you do for the rest of Snow Crystal.” When he raised his eyebrows, she continued. “The Inn should have its own identity.”
He leaned back, listening. “Go on.”
She outlined her thoughts, relieved to focus on work because the alternative was focusing on him. When she paused to gauge his reaction he was watching her with those dangerous blue eyes that drew her in.
Her mind blanked.
The people around her faded.
She forgot the restaurant and the other diners. Forgot everyone except him. And still he looked at her until her heart kicked her chest like the hooves of a wild horse trying to escape captivity.
The silence was agonizing. The tension, torture.
And she knew he felt it, too, because when he spoke his voice was thickened and rough.
“When you’re passionate about something, your whole face lights up. I love that. I love your energy and drive.”
Her hands were shaking, so she put down her wineglass. “I’m passionate about making this work for you.”
“Why?”
It shouldn’t have been a difficult question to answer. He was a client. But those weren’t the words on her lips. “Because I can see how much it matters. I can see what you have riding on it.” Forcing herself to focus, she outlined more suggestions, checked her hands weren’t still shaking and reached for her phone so that she could make some notes. “What do you think?”
“What I think,” he said slowly, “is that no matter what the situation or the conversation, you always bring it back to work.”
“Work is the reason I’m here. I think we need to make dining here as personal an experience as possible. Maybe Élise could give away some kitchen secrets, offer recipes that diners can re-create at home. We can post photos of the food and maybe the occasional one of the chefs at work.” She was talking too fast and too much.
She knew it.
He knew it.
He leaned forward, still watching her. “What happens if you don’t talk about work?”
“You’re paying me to talk about work.”
“Your light was on at 2:00 a.m. and you were up again at five. Why don’t you sleep, Kayla?”
The knowledge that he could see her cabin from his barn gave her a jolt. “If you saw that, you must have been awake, too.”
“I was working on budgets and forecasts. Not my favorite occupation for two in the morning. And now I want to forget about work.”
She didn’t want to forget about work. It was vitally important to her that she didn’t forget about work or she’d start thinking about him and the chemistry. And that kiss. Oh, God, that kiss.
He was a client and she wasn’t used to blurring the lines.
“Tell me about growing up at Snow Crystal.”
“I’d rather talk about you.”
“I’m boring.”
“Most people who work hard, play hard.” He sat back as Tally removed their plates. “You don’t seem to be one of those.”
“I have fun doing what I do. My clients are beneficiaries of that.”
“I can think of at least ten minutes earlier today when you weren’t thinking about work.”
That moment had been simmering between them all day.
“What happened earlier was a mistake, Jackson.”
“You think so?” His gaze flicked to hers. “Generally I know when I’m making a mistake. Coming back here sometimes feels like one. Working at 2:00 a.m. always feels like one. Kissing you, didn’t.”
Desperate, she latched on to the one part of the conversation that wasn’t personal. “Why does it feel like a mistake to have come back?”
“I’m not going to let you do that. I’m not going to let you shift this conversation.” His gaze was locked on hers. He didn’t look away. Not even when Tally delivered the main course to the table—rack of lamb served with baby vegetables and crushed herbed potatoes. “Tell me why you were willing to work over Christmas.”
“You heard Brett—I feast on difficult. Except right now I’d rather be feasting on this. Élise is a fabulous chef.” Kayla focused on the food on her plate, wondering why being close to him made her nervous. “I’m not going to be able to move tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow I’m giving you a ski lesson. You will have sweated off the calories by lunchtime. So you don’t see your folks during the holidays?”
He wasn’t going to let it drop.
Kayla put her fork down, leaving her food untouched. “What was it you said today in the forest? Something about preferring it straight? I’m going to give it to you straight, Jackson. This may come as a shock given that your home seems to be a sanctuary for decorations and a breeding colony for gingerbread Santas, but not everyone is addicted to Christmas. Some of us don’t like the holidays too much. In fact—” she hesitated and then decided it was time to be honest “—I hate it. It’s my least favorite time of year. I was willing to work over Christmas because it seemed like the perfect escape. Does that answer your question?”
IT DIDN’T BEGIN to answer his question, but that was probably because he had a bunch of them.
“You came here to escape Christmas?”
“I thought it might be easier.” She picked up her knife and fork and sliced through the lamb. “I thought I had more chance of avoiding festivities here than I did there. You promised me a secluded log cabin. It sounded appealing.”
“And then you found out my family makes a big fuss of Christmas.”
“Mmm.” She chewed. “That came as a bit of a shock, but I’m over it now.”
“Why do you hate this time of year?”
“It’s frustrating trying to get anything done. Publications run on a skeleton staff, opportunities for coverage go down, people in the office walk round wearing ridiculous bits of tinsel in their hair—”
“That tells me why Christmas is inconvenient. It doesn’t tell me why you hate it.”
A few seconds passed.
“It just isn’t a happy time of year for me.” She said it quietly and he felt something tug inside him.
In the flickering candlelight he could see the thickness