Page 11 of The Naughty List

“Well, I’m just going to grab one of these,” I start as I open the glass dome of the pastry stand. I take two strawberry jam Danishes as consolation for not getting my crepes. “And leave you ladies to it.”

“Hey, honey,” my mom calls out just as I turn to walk out the back door again. “Could you show Tillie the caribou field? I would, but your dad has another appointment this morning.”

By Tillie’s widening eyes, it’s crystal clear she was not involved in this little plan of my mother’s. Mom’s lip curls up just the slightest in the corner. I haven’t said anything to her about Tillie, but if Bennett and Clara didn’t say something to her, someone else would have by now anyway. After the speed dating incident at Ivy House and our lovely little conversation in the barn yesterday, word was going to get around Tillie and I aren’t exactly the best of friends. There’s nothing this town loves more than gossip.

“I’m sure I can find my way another day,” Tillie counters from the end of the island as her fingers find her necklace and she twirls it. “I have to start placing orders anyway and I don’t think I brought the right shoes for walking.”

As if I’m not standing right there in front of them all, my mother, Janet, and Clara start discussing their shoe sizes and who would have a pair of boots Tillie could use.

“I don’t really have a say in this, do I?” I finally speak up once they’ve realized my mom and Tillie wear the same size shoes.

My stomach sinks at the thought of being stuck with that miserable woman, but I can’t find a justifiable reason to say no to my mom. I had personal hours to burn before the end of the year, so I took this entire week and the Friday and Monday of the festival weekend off. Normally, they’ll roll over twenty hours into the next year, but if all goes as planned, I won’t be there to use them next year.

“No, you don’t,” Mom confirms as she leaves the kitchen to get boots for Tillie. Pausing as she reaches me, she lowers her voice before she says, “Be nice.”

Exasperation fills my body as I mentally prepare myself for the walk with Tillie. I’m already tired and we haven’t even left the kitchen yet. At least today I won’t have to babysit her to make sure she doesn’t screw anything up. Like, really, who decided this woman could be left to her own devices on our farm? She doesn’t even have a pair of boots!

TEN

TILLIE

I can thinkof a million things I would rather be doing than walking twenty minutes beside Elliott Winters. He hasn’t spoken a single word since we left the main house. Oddly enough, I’ve realized that the silent treatment is a million times worse than any of his snarky comebacks. The silence makes me think he’s plotting… and that terrifies me.

Not in the, I think I’m in harm’s way or that he would do anything intentional to hurt me, kind of fear. Elliott is a pain in my ass, but I don’t think he’s a bad guy in the sense I need to worry about him that way. More like, how much harder is he going to make this already difficult job for me?

Four weeks isn’t a lot of time to plan an entire festival of this magnitude. Meri and I have had quite a few Zoom meetings since the beginning of September, but she didn’t fully commit until a week ago. From what I can tell, she was truly holding onto the hope that Brighton would be further along in his recovery by now. I don’t think she faults him or anything like that, but our initial interview started off with me facilitating the festival and now I’m planning the entire thing.

As we walk further from the barns and the housing, the thick pine scent infiltrates my nostrils. I wonder if the Winters family get the same nostalgic Christmas feels the way everyone else does when they come out to the lots or if they’re just so used to it by now. Growing up, the only time I can recall having Christmas trees in the house was when Will lived with us. The first Christmas I spent living with him, Catherine, and Eloise, we went to a farm kind of like Merry & Bright and cut our own. If I had a Christmas tree in the house, there was stability. The smell of balsam and pine reminds me that I’m safe.

Which is probably why I’m foolish enough to open my mouth and ask what I do.

“So, listen,” I start. “About the mistletoe kissing booth. Any chance you’d sign up to man the booth for a bit? I know you’ll have to walk around and do your thing as a family member of the farm, but I think the potential for you to raise a decent amount of cash is there. Even if you only commit to a fifteen or twenty minute slot.”

I must sound like a complete idiot because Elliott stops dead in his tracks and looks at me with furrowed brows.

“I just want to make sure I heard you correctly.” His lip curls into a half-smirk and I already regret mentioning it. “You wantmeto man the kissing booth?”

“It was just an idea.” I shrug in an attempt to brush it off. “Like I said, I think you have the potential to raise a good amount of money. It is for charity after all.”

Elliott’s brows have since risen and his smirk is growing by the second. Rays of bright November sun hit his hazel eyes just right and I swear there’s flecks of gold dancing in them. I guess I’d been too busy being annoyed by him before now to notice the little dimples in his cheeks and how sharp his jawline is. I forget how truly awful he is for a second when I wonder if the rest of his body is as perfectly defined as his face is.

Hauling trees around the farm isn’t exactly for the weak. I work out as often as I’m pretty damn sure I couldn’t throw a tree over my shoulder that way I’d seen him do yesterday.

“And, what makes you think I have potential?” he asks, looking directly into my eyes.

Despite wearing a jacket, a sweater, a camisole, a pair of jeans, and undergarments, his gaze makes me feel like I’m standing in front of him completely naked. My breath hitches as he takes a step forward. His eyes flick down to my lips and I temporarily lose every shred of common sense I possess thinking that he might kiss me. The worst part is I don’t think I’m not entirely sure if I would hate it or not.

Come back to Earth, Tillie.

This guy is the bane of my existence. I am not supposed to fall for the enemy.

Despite the mental pep talk I had just given myself, I open my mouth and say, “Oh, come on. Don’t act modest on me now, Winters. The whole good looking hometown boy returning to work for his family during the holiday season? They make movies about this shit every year and women eat it up. You know exactly what you bring to the table… or the kissing booth.”

“Hm. All I got from all of that was that you think I’m good looking, Firecracker.”

There he is with that fucking nickname again.

I’m just about to correct him, tell him that my name is Tillie when that asshole winks at me. Never in my entire life has a man actually winked at me without it being creepy and alluding to something they wanted from me sexually.

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