Page 10 of Merry with a Grumpy Boss

The pet supply store wasn’t the only stop he made coming back from Charleston.

He pulled up to her address at three minutes past seven. There was no need to check the house number. Strands of colored lights outlined the small bungalow. The wooden snowman, herd of grapevine reindeer, and yards of white twinkle lights covering every bush and tree screamed, “Ginger Folly lives here!”

Bottle of wine in one hand, Max’s leash in the other, he climbed the porch stairs and rang the doorbell.Frosty the Snowmanchimed to announce his arrival.

Ginger opened the front door, her welcoming, “Hello” turning to laughter. He preened, modeling the hideous sweater he’d picked up at a secondhand store.

“How’d I do?” he asked. “I told them I need something really ugly.”

“It’s awful.” She flicked a miniature candy cane suspended from the sparkly garland strung back and forth across the green knit fabric. “Make sure you wear it to the company potluck. Walt usually comes up with a winner for the ugly Christmas sweater contest, but this is worse than anything he’s worn. Wait…what is Max wearing?”

“They had two of these tinsel monstrosities. I look better in green so Max got stuck with the red one.”

“I’m…touched.” She giggled. “People aren’t usually so enthusiastic about my dress code. Come in. Dinner is almost ready.”

He stepped into the foyer and stopped, mouth agape as he took in the décor. Beneath a huge tree with branches that stretched in every direction, a model train ran along tracks that circled the tree’s base. Candles in varying heights flickered in the fireplace, red stockings suspended from a polished wooden mantle. A winter landscape hung over the mantle, a horsedrawn sleigh caught forever traversing the snowy hills. The throw pillows on her sofa were embroidered with clever sayings like, “Naughty enough to be nice” and “Santa’s watching.” Every surface was filled with miniature Santas and elves and angels and snowmen, but rather than cluttered, Ginger’s home was cozy. And festive. From top to bottom.

Smooth jazz holiday instrumentals provided a relaxing soundtrack as she guided him on a brief tour. The decorations extended to every room—the dining room, downstairs and upstairs bathrooms, the kitchen, the guest room and her bedroom.

“My grandmother brought that quilt out every Christmas,” she said, gliding her fingertips over the holly berry pattern before leading him back to the dining room.

“You’re lucky to have so many happy memories.” Most of his Christmas memories were a blur of strangers decked out in their holiday finery, guzzling champagne and complaining about the expensive canapes. The next morning, he and his siblings had opened a mound of expensive gifts, but none were especially memorable.

“Before we eat, I have something for you.” Ginger handed him a shirt box wrapped in gold foil, a huge silver bow on the top. “It’s a little redundant now, but I hope you like it.”

Curious, he ripped away the paper. Max watched from the end of the sofa where he was curled up against a teddy bear with a red plaid ribbon around its neck. He parted the tissue paper and lifted out a cardigan sweater. On the back, in huge white cursive letters, read TEAM SANTA.

“It was my grandfather’s,” she whispered.

“Oh, Ginger. I can’t accept this.” He clutched the sweater against his chest, fumbling for words.

“I can’t wear all of his sweaters,” she said. “He would have wanted you to have it. He believed everyone needed one decent Christmas sweater. Now you have a nice one, and a?—”

He kissed her, the sweater crushed between them, dinner forgotten. She moaned and leaned into his embrace.

“You smell like garlic and oregano,” he murmured, “but taste like cinnamon and spice.”

“This is crazy.” She looked up at him, eyes dreamy and unfocused. “I hardly know you, but this feels…inevitable.”

“Like it was meant to me?” he dared to ask.

“Maybe.” She met his gaze. “Yes.”

“Is it too soon?” He cupped her jaw. “We can slow things down.”

“Gramps was big on trusting your intuition. He said if you had a gut feeling about something, good or bad, to not be afraid to take that leap of faith.” She smoothed a hand overthe front of his sweater, the tiny strands of tinsel reflecting her holiday lights. “You walked into Calhoun’s complaining about my decorations and my coffee and my sweaters, and now you’re wearing one of your own. I could fall for a guy into Christmas like that.”

“Ginger…”

There was so much he wanted to say, but everything was a warm, gooey mess of happy potential. Dayton had been receptive to his ideas, had even offered him to hire him as Arthur’s official replacement. Tempting as the offer was, he had something else in mind once he got the furniture company headed in the right direction. Then there was Ginger, a woman who represented the opposite of everything he’d been raised to value and aspire to. She didn’t care about his bank balance or how influential his family was. She valued kindness and empathy and compassion, and put those values into practice.

Haywood wanted the fulfillment and contentment Ginger had achieved through her community service. He wanted to come home to a woman committed to loving him and a dog loyal to him. Maybe, down the road, there would be redheaded children they tucked into bed together, urging them to go to sleep so Santa could visit.

“I’m a different man than the one who arrived in Love Beach a week ago. I was looking for something, and I’m pretty sure I found it. I found you.”

She was trembling, skin hot and silky as he unbuttoned her sweater to reveal a red lacy bra. He trailed his fingers over her delicate collarbones, pleased at how she responded to his touch. Her head fall back as her eyes closed, exposing the elegant arch of her neck. He buried his fingers in her hair as he pressed kisses to the hollow where her pulse beat a hectic tempo.

“Our first time should be beneath the Christmas tree,” he rasped, “but there isn’t a lot of room with the train tracks and all.”

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