Page 6 of The Naughty List

I shrug and rock back on my heels, searching for the right words to say. Looking over at Tillie who is no longer paying me a lick of attention, I say, “I actually wouldn’t mind staying here to hear more about this mistletoe booth and—”

“Get out of my kitchen, Elliott Winters, and go help your brother in the stables,” Mom says, shooing me with her hand as she turns back to Tillie, fixing her face from a scowl to the warm smile I love. “Now, let’s hear all about these ideas of yours, dear.”

SIX

TILLIE

A few hours later,I get into my SUV and slam the door a bit more than I originally meant to, huffing out my pent up frustration. Of fucking course Elliott Winters, the rude and semi-right-although-I’ll-never-admit-it-out-loud man from Ivy House is Meri’s son.

How could someone so wonderful and light and sweet have a son who is so downright mean? I thought smalltown men were supposed to be charming and not—

All right. I’m done spending my time focusing on Elliott.

Absolutely done.

The man can think whatever he wants about me. He can make up his assumptions and he can stomp in here like a petulant child, but guess what?

I’m here.

I am here and there’s nothing he can do about it. And next time he finds it okay to talk to me the way he did in that coffee shop, I’ll give him a piece of my mind.

Hell, I’ll give him more than that. I’ll give him a real piece of New York City. Because I guarantee he’s never seen that in this little off the map town.

Taking a deep breath, I flip on the overhead light and write out some of the ideas that Meri and I brainstormed before she let me go for the night. The two of us got so deep into conversation I forgot to write some of it down. I’ve noticed, just in the short time of being in her presence, that Meri Winters is quite the captivating woman. She’s a mother, so it doesn't surprise me that her maternal presence is calming and comforting, but there’s something else special about the woman. She has an ornate ability to make people feel so at ease—me included.

Even despite the fact that her asshole of a son kept popping into the kitchen throughout our time together. He kept using excuses like,oh I need to get dad’s pillsorjust need to grab a glass of waterbut his intrusions weren’t lost on me. I knew exactly what that man was doing.

I glance at the clock and sigh.

Sawyer.

I meant to call and check in on him again a little bit ago, just to make sure he wasn’t giving Eloise a hard time about anything, but everything got messed up and pushed around and I totally forgot.

Guess I’m not winning pseudo-mom of the day today.

With a shake of my head, I decide to put my plans for the festival, along with my ever-lengthening to-do list, to the side. It took me about an hour to get from my place to the farm this morning, but seeing as it is a bit later in the evening and I’ve definitely missed the majority of rush hour, I think I may be able to make quicker time tonight.

Just as I clip my belt across me and start to shift my SUV into reverse, a rapid knock on my window startles me. I jump in my seat, and my hand flies up to my chest as I automatically look to see whoever just scared the shit out of me. Just when I thought I couldn’t be more annoyed, there he is.

Elliott Winters.

Pressing the window button, I roll my eyes as the corners of his lips turn upward in a grin.

“Was that really necessary?” I ask, noticing my hand is still flattened across the center of my chest.

He shrugs, and it’s something I’ve noticed him do a couple times now.

“I couldn’t exactly stand there and hope you see me,” Elliott says and his words only serve to grate on my nerves further. “

“Exactly,” I tell him, starting to roll my window up before he places his hand on it and I stop, not wanting to take this guy’s hand off on my first in-person day at the farm. “Exactly,” I say again, plastering on a smile. “You could just not be here, period.” I shrug, taking a page out of his book.

“Look, Tillie.”

Elliott shoves his hands behind him and where I can only assume are his back pockets.

“We got off on the wrong foot.”

His words are short and clipped and right to the point.

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