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“What basement were you talking about pouring?” Holt’s eyes flick up from the blueprints he’s looking at on his desk, to me.

Like always, they make me feel things they shouldn’t make me feel.

I ignore those things as I hold the to-go box toward him. I cross the space. “I got you a burger.”

He raises one brow but takes the container. “You did?”

“Yeah, you’re always grabbing me coffee.”

His lips twitch, but no smile.

Dang. I like his smiles.

I clear my throat. “I, um, don’t have a basement pour on my calendar.”

Holt opens the container, lifts the burger from inside, and takes a big bite. He settles back in the chair and watches me as he eats.

I don’t know why it suddenly feels like flames are flickering under my skin, but it does. I decide to ignore them and tell him instead, “We do a big barbecue every year at the end of June.” His eyes don’t leave me as he nods once. Then he takes another bite. I figure I’m to continue, so I do. “Mom hosted it last year for obvious reasons, but it wasn’t the same.”

He swallows and grunts a rough, “Owen told me about your June barbecue, Faye.”

I blink. “He did?”

Holt nods, but he doesn’t give me anything else.

I stammer, “Wh—what did he say?”

“That he wanted you to have it this year.” He takes another bite. Seriously, the man has taken three bites, and the burger is near finished. I should have gotten him two or even three.

Why does he do everything so massively?

“Oh.”

“Faye,” Holt calls, and I blink up at him again.

“Hmm?”

The amusement that flashes in his dark eyes can’t be missed. “Are you hosting this year?”

“Oh—uh—that’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Again, that brow raises. “I’m listening.”

“Well, I don’t man the barbecue. I’ve tried. I always end up burning everything.” I don’t mention my eyebrows as I laugh nervously. I don’t know why I’m nervous. “Not even a hot dog is safe from me on the grill. I strictly boil hot dogs.”

Holt grimaces. “That’s a crime.”

I shrug.

“You feed boiled hot dogs to your kids?”

My spine straightens. “It’s not that bad.”

“I should report you.” He tosses the container into the trash next to his desk. I can’t believe he inhaled that burger like that. It wasn’t small.

I spin on my heel to leave, waving. “Forget it, Holt.”

I hear movement, and then I’m caught by a giant hand around my waist. He palms my belly, tugging my back into his chest as a rumbled, laughing, “Hey,” falls between us.