Page 2 of How He Got the Girl
I don’t realize I’ve stopped singing until Daisy elbows me. Hopefully, I haven’t been staring at him too long. Maybe he didn’t notice. I glance back to find him looking at me with a knowing smirk. Mr. Hottie totally knows I was staring.Wonderful.
Heat floods my cheeks. He probably thinks I’m decking my brain’s halls with images of him…and he wouldn’t be wrong. I think his face will forever be ingrained in the forefront of my memory. One doesn’t easily forget a face like his.
Daisy nudges me for a second time and shoots me a sideways glance.
Oops, I did it again.
I jump back into the song. At least I have this elaborate routine to focus on rather than the handsome face in front of me.
I’m laser-focused for the rest of the song. Cool as a cucumber. No more tomato-faced Mallory here.
“Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-laaa.” I hold the last note, throwing in extra pizazz so that Daisy and her brothers can’t say I wasn’t singing with gusto or from the diaphragm or gut—whatever that means.
The older woman claps before turning and grasping Mr. Hottie’s arm. “Wasn’t that wonderful, Griffin? We’ve never had carolers at our door before.”
I slowly drag my eyes back to Mr. Hottie—er, Griffin—taking deep breaths to calm my stupid racing heart.
He nods and leans against the doorway, making his arm muscles flex against his long-sleeved shirt. The cotton material goes taut around his biceps.
There’s no hope for my racing heart now.
If I die, at least my final view was this fine specimen of a man.
Griffin blows out a low whistle. “You’re right, Granny. And if caroling brings women as beautiful as these ladies to the door, obviously I’ve been missing out.” His smirk is downright criminal—straight to jail for his ability to make women swoon.
“The men aren’t hard on the eyes either.” The older woman grins.
One of Daisy’s brothers covers a laugh with a cough.
Griffin reaches into his pocket. “It’s not much, but here’s what I have on hand.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about until he approaches me with a handful of change. Before I can tell him we’re notcollecting donations, Griffin steps forward and plops the coins straight into my lidless, half-full cup of hot chocolate.
The pennies, quarters, dimes, and nickels falling into the cup send the liquid sloshing over the side onto my mittens. I hiss as the hot chocolate quickly soaks through the material and burns my fingers. Instinctively, I drop the cup. It hits the shoveled sidewalk, spilling the rest of my drink and sending change rolling everywhere.
He stares at my mittens, his eyes wide in abject horror. Without saying a word, Griffin steps into the front yard, bends down, and scoops up a handful of snow before pressing it to my hands.
The snow is freezing, but my body shivers for an entirely different reason.
“Are you all right?” he asks, his eyes full of concern.
“I am now,” I breathe.
Daisy covers her mouth beside me, and her brothers snicker behind me.
I purse my lips. “I just said that out loud, didn’t I?”
His mouth tilts up into a grin that sends my heart on another high-speed chase. I’m not sure what the destination is, but I think Griffin’s muscular arms are a good guess.
“I’m happy to help you beall rightany time, beautiful.”
I’d usually be creeped out by any man calling me beautiful, but there’s a genuine presence about him that makes his words sound endearing. And his slight Southern drawl doesn’t hurt anything either.
“I’m sorry about your”—Griffin looks at the spilled drink on the ground—“hot chocolate?” The higher inflection in his tone makes it sound like a question.
“Only the best cup of hot chocolate in the world,” I say, trying not to sound overcome by his nearness.
“Griffie, I can’t believe you ruined that sweet girl’s drink.” The lady steps forward and swats his arm. “It’s freezing out there. And now she has wet gloves to boot.”
