Page 40 of About Last Christmas
“Um.”
“Sadly, no position at Thatcher’s.” He adds cream to his coffee, samples it, then adds more. “I get to channel my inner thespian and pretend to be an ailing parent.”
“Ailing parent?”
“You know, Henry, who owns the hardware store across town?”
I scoot my chair closer. “I know of the hardware store.”
“Well, Henry really wants a sunroom. You know, those fancy ones you see on those home design shows. He wrote the Silver Creek Secret Santa with a made-up story about his dying dad, and he asked me to pretend to be his father.”
This has to be the letter I read. The one I picked! And it’s a scam. “Professor, that’s unethical.”
“What’s unethical is all those college kids using ChatGPS for cheating.”
“GPT.”
“What?”
“Never mind.” I press a finger to my temple. Just when I thought I had it all figured out. “You shouldn’t lie about that, Professor. Besides, what’s in it for you?”
He leans forward and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Henry asked for forty thousand dollars in his letter, but he already got an estimate for the sunroom for around thirty-five. So, he told me I can keep the rest. Can you imagine all the Cambridge texts I can buy with five thousand dollars?” He proceeds to fake-cough. “Does that sound believable? Maybe I should add a wheeze or two.”
I pull his pie away, and he protests.
I keep it hostage with one hand, and with the other, I grab a carrot stick from the snack tray. “Here.” I drop the veggie in front of him. “You don’t deserve Gran’s pie if you’re going to go through with such a fraud.” Which he won’t because I’m definitely not picking Henry the Hustler. It takes several minutes, but Professor promises to relinquish his future life as a scammer, and I return his pie.
With Leo absorbed in the football game, and Mom roped into a round of Hearts, I duck into the kitchen under the guise of cleaning up, but, really, I need a moment. My mood drops even lower as I dip my hands into the sudsy sink. I feel duped. Thismorning, I was convinced I’d chosen the right candidate. Now, I am doubting my judgment.
Maybe I should donate the money to the chamber of commerce and let them take on the role. I blow out a slow breath, struggling against the tightening in my chest. I’m morally conflicted. Gran asked in her letter that I take on the task.
Footsteps sound behind me, booted and heavy.
Leo.
I glance over my shoulder at his handsome face, and he nods at the stack of plates. “Want some help?”
Despite my earlier disappointment, the sight of him has me feeling better. “Is football over?”
“No, I felt the need for company.”
“Oh? I think Leonard and Bruce were swapping enema stories. I’m sure they’d love your input.”
His smile slips. “You’re too sweet to do that to me.”
“Am I?” I arch a brow.
“I’ll wash those dishes in exchange foryoubeing my company.” He approaches and smoothly tugs the dishcloth from my hand.
As if I’d ever deny myself the view of a hot guy doing dishes. “You’re on. You wash, and I’ll dry. Here.” I grab an apron from the drawer and hand it to him. “I’d hate for you to get messy.” As a connoisseur of clothes, I can tell his sweater is high quality.
He holds it up and reads the front, “Chop it like it’s hot.”
I sweep a hand over my own apron. “Clearly, we’re all sophisticated at the Carlton residence.”
He chuckles. “I prefer your version of refinement.” He pushes up his sleeves, and yep, with those hot wrists, I know I made the right choice accepting his offer. He slips on the apron and plunges his hands into the soapy water. “Thanks again fortonight, despite not planning on me. Next time I’ll interrogate Leonard a little better.”
I laugh. “I expect someone like you to have more invitations than you can handle.” I remember how those women flocked to him at the firefighters’ benefit. Not to mention, those who practically elbowed me out of the way at the parade to get his attention. “I would’ve asked if I thought there was a chance of you coming.”
