Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Mila laughed at Remi’s outrageous, yet impressive dance moves before fanning herself dramatically and pointing toward their table to indicate she needed a break. Not that anyone really noticed; they were all too entertained by Remi.
She returned to the table she’d been sharing all night with Remi and a couple of her cousins, dropping down into the chair and chugging the lukewarm water she’d been ignoring all night in favor of the spiked punch.
Mila was going to pay for drinking so much vodka tomorrow, but her tipsy brain reasoned it away by pointing out it was Valentine’s Day, and she was still painfully single. If she wasn’t going to get kissed at the end of the dance, the least she deserved was a decent buzz.
A large part of Mila was secretly delighted this party was almost over.
Not because it hadn’t been fun, but because Aunt Claire, Gretchen, Edith Millholland, and the other half dozen women in the ladies’ auxiliary who helped organize the event had talked about nothing else since New Year’s.
They’d rethought the decorations and food so many times, Mila nearly lost her mind.
Especially since the majority of the cooking had fallen to her, Aunt Claire, and Kasi.
In years past, the Valentine’s Dance had been just that.
A dance. This year, the ladies had decided to up the ante and make it more family friendly by adding a dinner beforehand.
The original plan—and the reason Mila had agreed to incorporating a meal—was because the food would be easy fare… spaghetti, garlic bread, and salad.
Somewhere in the middle of January, the simple pasta was deemed “not enough,” and suddenly Mila was making four large lasagnas—two veggie, two meat—and a mountain of chicken parmesan, as well as the spaghetti sauce.
She’d spent countless hours in the kitchen the past few days, preparing enough food to feed an army.
Given the lack of leftovers, she supposed it had been a hit.
Once her glass of water was empty, Mila set it down and reached for her half-full glass of Cupid’s Punch, something Edith Millholland had whipped up, calling it their “signature cocktail.” Edith had heard the term at some fancy wedding she’d attended in D.C.
and decided their small-town dance needed a bit of classing up, hence the themed cocktail with the cute name.
Mila didn’t care what Edith called it, just that it was doing the trick. Helping her forget that she was attending another one of these damn Valentine’s Dances alone. That hadn’t been much of a hardship prior to this year, because all her cousins, Nora, and Remi had always attended single, too.
This year, she’d been sharing a table with Theo and Gretchen, as well as Levi and Kasi, both couples so sweetly in love, Mila was risking a cavity just being close to them.
She chastised herself for the ungracious thought.
Mila was thrilled to her toes for Theo and Levi. They’d met their true loves, and seeing them so happy warmed her all the way to her soul. Even if it did cast too bright a light on her own…loneliness was probably the word, even though it felt wrong.
Probably because the only time Mila was alone was in bed at night.
The rest of her day was spent in constant company, beginning with her aunt each morning, as Mila helped her prep desserts for the B&B guests.
From there, Remi typically served as her assistant, the two of them cleaning any vacated cabins, while preparing them for the next visitors.
After that, she moved to the winery to get their food options set up before moving on to do the same at the brewery. Both businesses had employees who worked in the kitchens, filling the orders as they came in, while Mila served as manager as well as prep chef.
Once her regular chores were completed, she found herself helping various family members or friends with a variety of other tasks, more often than not.
Gretchen, still fairly new in her position, often asked for help setting up the event barn for upcoming celebrations.
The ladies’ auxiliary was in the middle of a huge charitable project, knitting and crocheting scarves and hats for the underprivileged, so whenever she had a free moment, her hands were flying fast and furiously as she attempted to finish the ten pieces she’d promised to donate.
And up until tonight, the rest of her spare time had been spent planning, decorating, and cooking for this dance.
The only time she took for herself lately was the Tuesday night “cooking lessons” with Boone and Sadie. Since the initial one, she’d been back twice, teaching them how to make meatloaf—which Sadie loved—and the beef stew that Boone had enjoyed so much at Sunday dinner.
After Boone had warned her away his first night on the farm, Mila had taken special pains to steer clear of the man. Not because that was what she thought he wanted, but because she’d hoped not being around him would help her shake off the effects of that stupid love-at-first-touch curse.
It hadn’t worked.
The less she saw him, the more she thought about and obsessed over him.
Something his daughter had inadvertently fueled, because while she’d been maintaining a distance from Boone, she refused to do the same with Sadie.
In many ways, Mila felt like she and Sadie were kindred spirits.
Mila knew how hard it was to grow up without her mom.
Sure, the circumstances were different—Mila’s mom had died, while Sadie still got to see and talk to hers occasionally.
But it was clear they both missed their mothers, and Mila hoped to fill a tiny bit of that void for the young girl.
Mila suspected if Boone hadn’t come home early a few weeks ago, when she’d been teaching Sadie how to bake cookies, she would have continued to give the man a wide berth.
That determination or self-preservation or whatever it had been was squashed somewhere in the middle of watching him pound chicken for the Italian dinner.
Ever since telling her that he wasn’t interested in dating or relationships, Boone had done nothing to make her think that was a lie, or that he’d changed his mind.
Tuesday nights might be the highlight of her week, but apart from friendly conversation, Boone hadn’t offered even the slightest bit of hope that he was interested in her romantically.
Nope. She’d been friend-zoned.
Story of her life.
She’d spent most of high school and even the years since playing the matchmaker, her guy friends asking for her help in setting them up with whichever one of her girlfriends had struck their fancy.
Mila wasn’t sure, but she suspected she might hold the Gracemont record for most times serving as a bridesmaid.
She had eight godawful dresses she would never wear again hanging in her closet as proof.
She was perfectly aware that she was giving off all the wrong vibes to prospective suitors.
Apparently, quiet, soft-spoken, goodie-goodie types weren’t in high demand when there were lots more outgoing, fun girls around.
Mila suspected most people in Gracemont still believed she was a virgin, which was another strike against her, since men her age also weren’t looking for someone so inexperienced in the bedroom.
Of course, while she wasn’t a virgin, that fact was true by such a small margin, she wasn’t sure she could defend it.
In actuality, she’d slept with only two men, one time each, and neither of them lived in Gracemont to tell the tale to other prospective suitors.
Which, in hindsight, might be a blessing.
So…yeah. She was the living model of the phrase, “Always a bridesmaid, never a bride.”
Mila looked at the time on her phone and noted it had been eleven minutes since the last time she’d snuck a peek at Boone.
She’d made a game of only rewarding herself with glimpses of him after restraining for at least ten minutes.
Clearly, her life was very small if granting herself the chance to look at the sexy man felt like a huge prize.
Glancing in his direction, she was pleased to see he was engaged in a conversation with Uncle Rex. It meant she could steal a good long look of his gorgeous profile.
Mila had never considered herself one of those shallow women who placed too much stock in a man’s appearance and physique, believing it was the inside that mattered.
Boone was testing her on that because, holy shit, the man was built.
He was no stranger to hard physical labor, and it showed…
in his thick muscular arms and legs, his wide, strong shoulders and back.
The man was a mountain she was dying to climb.
And if his great body wasn’t enough to send her thoughts down wicked, wicked paths, there was his handsome face.
Actually, handsome didn’t begin to describe how freaking hot the man was, with his piercing dark eyes, his sharp jawline, and full lips that, when he smiled, had her longing to taste them.
He kept his light brown hair short, though there was enough length that she could run her fingers through it if she ever got the opportunity.
He also had a beard.
God, Mila was a sucker for bearded men.
Pastor Joshua was clean-shaven. Actually, his face was so smooth, she wasn’t even sure the man had to shave. Not that whether a man had a beard or not should matter.
It was what was on the inside, she thought, even though she followed that with an internal eye-roll. Maybe she was shallower than she thought.
Mila spent most of her days now in constant denial.
Because in addition to the lie she was telling herself about looks not mattering, Mila was also operating under another doozy, pretending that if all she could have was Boone’s friendship, she would take it and be happy.
Yeah, right.
Liar, liar, pants on fire.