Page 1 of Stuck with Me

CHAPTER1

Rosie

If Mariah Carey only wanted her lover for Christmas, she should’ve told him instead of writing a damn song about it. Then I wouldn’t be stuck hearing it for the millionth time this holiday season. Thank God it’s Christmas Eve and I won’t have to for at least eleven more months. Or witness my teenage barista, Krista shake her hips each time All I Want For Christmas is You comes on the Brew Box’s playlist.

“Hey, Rosie?” Krista calls as I sit at my spot in the café.

I glance up from my laptop mindlessly.

“Mind if I dip a little early? My parents really want me to go to the Christmas Eve service at church tonight.” She pouts her pink, glossy lips.

My brain is already frazzled with the never-ending to-do list jotted down on about five sticky notes stuck to the front of my laptop. Between the holidays, closing the café early, and meeting my nemesis today, I’m not fully paying attention to Krista. But after a quick glance around the café, I nod. “Sure, that’s fine. But I need you here at six a.m. on December 26th.”

She smiles wide and squeals. “Thanks, Rosie. Have I mentioned lately that you’re the best boss ever?”

I glare playfully at Krista. “You can thank me by opening the shop on time on December 26th.”

“You got it, boss.” She gives me an army salute and I breathe out a laugh, shaking my head.

Krista is a good kid. At seventeen, she has more responsibility than most her age. And if she wants to be respectful to her parents by attending the Christmas Eve service at Maple Ridge Lutheran, I won’t stand in her way. I almost wish she’d invite me along.

Almost.

The ladies of the congregation go all out with the decorations on both the inside and outside of the church. Lots of brightly lit artificial Christmas trees and a huge nativity out on the lawn. Grandma Gigi dragged me to Christmas Eve service every year, even before she took over legal custody of me in my preteens. This will be my first Christmas without Gigi. It seems strange to go to service by myself and Cammie is busy with Maverick and her family.

My throat thickens and I blink back impending tears. Damn grief is like an ambush, hiding and waiting to pounce on you. But I refuse to have a breakdown in the middle of The Brew Box and have my customers witness me ugly cry. It’s not an attractive sight, believe me.

The bell above the door chimes and my heart crashes against my ribcage as my eyes flick up. My gaze locks on the man entering the shop.

It’shim.

Tall, handsome, long legs. He’s dressed in a pair of dark jeans and boots. The Carhartt jacket hugging broad shoulders looks brand new. And a fucking cowboy hat. He studies his feet as he stomps snow onto the mat inside the café. Or maybe he’s taking notice of my festive Cousin Eddie mat. The one with the infamous quote from National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation:Shitter was Full.

He frowns.

Okay, so I suppose not everyone shares in my sense of humor. And it’s not surprising that Mr. Cabin Stealer wouldn’t find it amusing. It only makes me love the welcome mat more.

Nico’s eyes draw up to meet mine from across the café and no matter how hot this guy might be, the reminder of why he’s here drives me to continue hating him. He gives me a curt smile before he heads toward me, but I shoot a glare his way and don’t let those long legs distract me while they stride over.

“You must be Rosalie Milano? I’m Nico Moretti.” He goes in for a handshake that’s never gonna happen. “Thanks for agreeing to meet with me.”

I remain strong and narrow my eyes even more as I cross my arms and tuck my balled fists around me. “Like I had a choice,” I sneer.

Nico purses his lips and drops his hand to his side, flexing his fingers.

Shit. Not the hand flex. It gets a girl every time.

“At any rate, I appreciate it.” He drops down in the chair across from me as if I’ve just given him an invitation. He lifts his cowboy hat off his head.

My attention draws to the tiniest bit of graying hair at his temples as he rubs his hand over his head. This feature I missed in his photo makes him more attractive rather than less. Damnit.Why can’t it be less?Ugh.

I squeeze my thighs together; my stupid hormones are like Girls Gone Wild over this Silver Fox. I swallow and remind myself; I hate him. “I don’t get what was so damn important that it couldn’t wait until the day after Christmas like we previously agreed to?”

“I was hoping to save us both some trouble and thought we could come to an agreement before the holidays.”

I pinch my brows together. “What sort of agreement?”

“What if we found a way for both of us to keep the cabin?” he suggests.

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