HOLLY
“A cooking class?”
Dylan smiled as he slipped his hand into mine. It was big and warm. His palms were calloused, from hour after hour of daily weightlifting.
God he looked good. Casual but cool, in dark jeans that accentuated his amazing bubble-shaped ass and a button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to mid-forearm.
“I— I thought you said dinner?” I asked again.
“We’re eating dinner,” he smiled. “We’ve just gotta cook it first.”
He examined me, and his smile faded amidst my confusion.
“Did you not want to do this” he asked genuinely. “Because we could just as easily—”
“No, no,” I smiled back. “It’s not like that at all! I just, well, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I’ve never been to a cooking class.”
He smiled as he led me into the room. A dozen or so other couples were
