Page 19 of Mistletoe Meet Cute
“It’s not nice to ask a lady her age, Grinch.”
“That might sound better coming from a woman not currently making hot chocolate while holding my favorite mug hostage, vixen.” I sip my coffee and lean back against the counter. Fuck, this coffee is good. Too good. I look back up at her. “Did you get a different brand of coffee too?”
Holly smiles, and the look goes straight to my cock.
What the hell?
“Merry Christmas, Grinch.”
I shake my head and drink my flavored fucking coffee. “You didn’t answer the question.”
“Yes, I did get a new coffee. It’s Sweet Temptations’s holiday blend, and it’s delicious. Don’t lie.”
“Not that question,” I groan because she’s not wrong. This is delicious.
She shakes her head and adds mini marshmallows to her mug. “I’m twenty-four. Why? How old are you?” she pushes back and looks back at Sophie. “I mean, your daddy likes to act like he’s eighty.”
“Not eighty.” Even though my body feels like it some days. “I’m thirty-two.” Too old to be having these thoughts about my nanny. The one who’s basically the same age as my baby sister.
Young.
Too young.
CAMDEN
Thursday
Another day, another pair of knee-high socks.
This woman makes pale blue-and-white striped socks look incredible in a way I want to see wrapped around my hips while I fuck her senseless. Not good thoughts to be having about my employee, but Christ, it’s been over a year since I’ve gotten laid. Over a year since I cared. And suddenly, this tiny woman is in my house, invading my space, my thoughts, my everything, and it’s killing me.
Even if she is exactly what I needed for Sophie.
I’m going to have to keep reminding myself of that.
Just a few days into this arrangement, and she’d run screaming for the fucking hills if she could read my mind or see my dreams.
Today, she’s standing in front of the stove, pouring her morning hot chocolate into another Christmas-themed mug. This one light blue with green-and-pink mistletoe on it to match the damn weeds she’s got hanging all over my house, not to mention on the front of her white sweatshirt.
What is it with her and mistletoe? I’ve counted at least three.
She added thick strands of garland draped over my mantle to match the banister. Twinkle lights are mixed in. More deep red ribbons accent everything, and there’s a wreath hung in every window.
Every. Single. Window.
And I have a lot of windows.
I have throw pillows now, and they’re red and green and gold plaid. There’s even a matching blanket thrown over the edge of the couch. A soft one I actually like. Probably not going to admit that out loud either.
I think the Pottery Barn Christmas catalog came to live in my house.
I might not even hate it. It’s just a whole lot.
Holly shakes a can of whipped cream and sprays it on top of her hot chocolate, then adds a candy cane to the mug and smiles up at me. “You sure you don’t want any, big guy?”
I arch a brow, white knuckling another ridiculous mug. Today’s looks like Buddy the Elf. At least this one is from a good movie. “I’m good.”
“Suit yourself.” She sips the drink through a red-and-white cardboard straw and sighs happily.
