Page 48 of A Very Naughty Christmas

She knew what he was doing, trying to wear her down. Well, it wouldn’t work.

Even so, she asked herself in a moment of complete honesty, if that were true, why did her inner voice sound so entirely unconvincing?

He didn’t come in every day, maybe two or three times a week for dinner and he always had pie. How he ate so much and stayed so trim was beyond her.

One evening, he arrived late, near closing, and took a seat in her section. As strategies went, it was effective because she was the only waitress left and had no choice other than to take his order.

“Hey, Dixie,” he greeted her with a friendly smile.

“Kyle,” she said, all business. “What can I get you?”

“Coffee, black, and peach pie.”

“We’re out.”

“Blueberry?”

“Nope, outta that too.” As she replied, she kept her attention fixed on her order pad as if his pie selection was so complex it had to be written down. If he were a regular, he’d see through her act because it was well known she could take an eight-top’s entire order without paper and pen and get it dead right, down to the doneness of the meat and all the substitutions.

“Dixie.” She peeped at him from beneath her lashes and found him grinning up at her. She arched a brow, saying nothing. “How about we make this easy, baby, and you tell me what you do have?”

“Apple and prune. And don’t call me baby.”

“Prune!” His reaction was animated, his lips curling in distaste. “No wonder you have that left. Gross. I’ll take apple, darlin’.” His wink was slow and sexy and it did strange things to her tummy. And it was all she could take.

“What are you doing?”

“A man can’t have coffee and dessert in the only sit-down restaurant in town?”

She frowned. He was right.

“Or did you think I was coming to see you?” His blue eyes twinkled as he cocked his head to the side, an endearing look on his face that sent a flood of heat to her panty region. “Or did you hope that I was?”

“I, um… No. It’s not that.”

“You did. That’s okay, because you’d be half right. The other reason is because I’m a lousy cook and have been working late. It’s no fun going home to frozen dinners, and takeout gets old quick. The food here is good and the service is excellent. Tonight, I ran so late that I choked down a vending machine sandwich a few hours ago.” He shuddered. “Now I’m thinking apple pie might get the awful taste out of my mouth. Can I get it a la mode?”

“Yes, we have vanilla bean ice cream,” she uttered softly as her face flushed hotly. As if he would stalk her after a few kisses. A man as handsome and wealthy as Kyle could have any woman in Western North Carolina and probably had. That he’d be interested in a poor waitress from the wrong side of the tracks for more than a little fun was laughable. “I’ll be right back.”

She scurried away to get his pie, rushing into the kitchen to get the ice cream from the walk-in. Lester, who had already shut down the fryers, was watching her, his mouth quirked up in amusement as he leaned on the counter with his arms crossed.

“Dr. Love at it again, Dix?”

Twisting around, she stared at him, finding it disturbing that he’d used the same title as the man in the stairwell. Could it be true? “I, uh… no, he wanted… um, pie a la mode.”

“He wants something all right, but it ain’t got shit to do with ice cream.”

His chuckle prompted her to ask, “You know him, then?”

“I know of him. That’s Kyle Prescott, the football star.”

“That was a while ago.”

“Yeah, now he’s a sawbones for sick kids. Why don’t you go out with him? You could do a hell of a lot worse.”

She shook her head. “I’m not interested.”

Lester smirked, not buying her fib. “Is that why you stare him down when he’s not looking, and your eyes scoot away the second he does? You’re not shy, gal. What gives?”

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