Page 13 of Yule Know It When You See It
Whew. I’d thrown that quip as a Hail Mary, but Simone didn’t disappoint me.
“Did Simone leave out that small detail?” I hoist the briefcase’s strap over one shoulder.
“Yes.” Axel taps his finger on my desk. “She did.”
I shrug without a care in the world. “Like you said. We’ll put our heads together.”
Bouncing on my heels, I head for the elevator, grinning like the Grinch, knowing the ball is firmly in my court now. And, given it’s the third Friday of the month, it also calls for my favorite monthly lunchtime treat: the coveted truffle mushroom sourdough melt. But first, a stop at Desiree’s desk to revel in my first of many victories over Mr. Nord.
I’m a professional. I’ve interviewed men nearly twice my size, ready to gouge someone’s eyes out, having just lost in the playoffs. But this? Being asked by your editor to team up with someone on a column? And not just anyone, mind you, but a rude, smart assromancewriter? It makes me wonder if Simone set up this mystery on purpose. She wouldn’t be the first editor I’ve had who played mind games to entice the best articles from their writers. At any rate, I’ll think far more clearly once I put food in my stomach.
Despite the rush I’d been in this morning, I spied a small sandwich and coffee shop in the building’s lobby. I hurry from my desk as soon asTheodoraleaves my company. Theo Hackett. The gall this woman had, knowingly steering me in the wrong direction. But that smug look on her face? I wonder if I’d been the tenth person to fall for it—maybe even the twentieth.
Thankfully, when I reach The Coffee Chapel, there’s only one other person in line. Red and green garlands hang from the light fixtures, a miniature tree resting on the counter’s corner. A dancing Santa dressed in beach attire but the same trademark red hat swivels its hips in the other corner to the tune ofJingle Bell Rock. I press a hand over my growling stomach, its pitch putting the Abominable Snowman to shame. Even more to my favor, the woman in front of me only orders a simple black coffee that arrives in her hand a minute later.
I squint at the boards hanging over the register, rotating sandwich styles written in alternating colored chalk. “The truffle melt sounds delicious. I’ll go with that, and a latte if you don’t mind.” Digging into my back pocket, I produce my wallet.
“You’re in luck. We have enough ingredients left for one final truffle sandwich today.” The young man behind the counter states. He quirks a brow at my accent but thankfully chooses not to pry.
I chuckle and tap my card against the reader once the total displays. “Maybe I should stop for a lottery ticket too, huh?”
Because getting a final sandwich is about the only form of luck I’ve had in the past twenty-four hours.
“Here’s your coffee. And it’ll be just a few minutes to crisp the bread and melt the cheese.” The cashier gives a warm smile as he slides the coffee cup in my direction.
“Thanks.” I move to the condiment bar, doctoring up my coffee as I see fit and staring out the shop window at the bustling downtown Chicago streets.
Light snow flurries make flakes catch on patrons’ hats, jackets, and scarves. A man yanks on his car handle only to find it frozen. I’ve been there. And my only saving grace had been asking for hot water from a nearby restaurant to thaw it. Tourists mosey from store to store, adding shopping bags to the loads on their arms, gazes almost always skyward. It starkly contrasts to the born and bred Chicagoans who look anywhere but up and keep their walking speed brisk.
“Sir, your sandwich is ready,” the cashier announces, and after scooping the brown paper wrapping into my hand, I give a final thank you and move for the exit, spying a redhead stepping to the counter from the corner of my eye.
“Well, that’s strange. I don’t see my sandwich written on the board. Itisthe third Friday of the month, right? Did I miscount?”
The voice is unmistakable, and I pause at the doorway, freezing like I could become invisible.
“Sorry, Theo, but we sold the last one a few minutes ago,” the cashier says.
Smiling to myself, enjoying this upper hand I’ve suddenly been given, I peel back the paper, and walk back to the counter.
“What?” Theo spats, her hands flying to her hips. “To whom?”
The young man rubs the back of his neck and shrugs. “I’m not sure that’s information we’re supposed to divulge, ma’am.”
“This truffle sauce smellsdivine.” My declaration comes out coarse, laced with a sort of prodding challenge.
Theo’s petite hands form fists at her sides before she slowly turns on her heel to face me, gaze dropping to the sandwich. Pink flushes her neck and cheeks, her eyes rapidly blinking as she attempts to disguise the internal scream I know thunders within her.
“Axel, that ismysandwich.” In a huff, she folds her arms.
The audacity of this woman.
Still, I can’t deny her attractiveness, especially when she’s pissed off. Her button nose tilts higher, cheeks flush with color matching her hair, and those big emerald eyes surge with mischief.
“Yoursandwich?” I pretend to search it, peeking under part of the bread, flipping it over to observe the bottom. “I don’t see your name on it.”
A strained smile edges her lips, her thin brows cinching toward each other, and a nervous giggle follows.
I bite my cheek to keep from laughing at how adorably distraught and caught off guard she looks. To further torment her, I toss the sandwich in my palm, raising it with the speed of a tortoise to my lips.
