Page 68 of Santa's Girl
From the kiss. The wall. Her breath in my ear. The way she looked at me like shesawme, stripped-down and raw, and still leaned in anyway.
“She’s different,” I muttered.
“Yeah,” Jinx said, serious now. “And that’s why you don’t screw it up. Don’t wait ‘til the snow’s melted and she’s back in Charlotte or wherever, tryin’ to figure out why you never called.”
I didn’t say anything.
Didn’t have to.
The idea was already taking root.
One to three feet of snow.
Just enough to trap her. Just enough to keep her.
Maybe fate was trying to give me a do-over.
And this time, I wasn’t gonna waste it.
15
BECCA
Iwas two sips into my first cup of coffee, hair a disaster, hoodie halfway zipped, when the doorbell rang.
“Expecting anyone?” I asked, raising a brow over the rim of my mug.
Aunt Margie shook her head, robe tied tight, eyes narrowed at the front door like it had personally offended her. “Not unless the HOA finally grew a conscience and decided to deliver warm cinnamon rolls for all the holiday grief.”
She opened the door and the entire morning derailed.
“HO HO HELL YES!” came a loud, gravelly voice as Jinx stepped inside in a Santa hat and leather kutte like he was fronting the world's most chaotic Christmas cover band.
Behind him, Diesel just nodded once, holding something bulky wrapped in a red bow and looking like he’d rather be literally anywhere else.
“What ishappening?” I blinked, setting my mug down.
Jinx strutted forward, shaking an imaginary bell. “Special delivery for Miss Becca Lynn—” he looked at a slip of paper dramatically, “—of Charlotte, North Carolina, currently residingat the residence of one Margie Jeanette Bishop, proud owner of the sassiest fruitcake in Pigeon Forge.”
“What in the hell?” I muttered.
“Per boss’s orders,” Jinx declared, “you are hereby forbidden from driving around in a glorified metal soup can.”
He dangled a set of keys in front of me.
I stared.
“Behold,” he intoned, “your new sleigh. One Ford F-250, snow tires, chains, and a plow fit for a queen. Or at least a woman who refuses to stay outta trouble.”
“What?” I blinked, stunned. “No. No no no. He didnot?—”
Jinx stepped forward and pressed the keys firmly into my palm. “He did. Don’t argue. You’re on Boss’s orders now.”
I stood there, mouth open like a goldfish, clutching a giant truck key like it was a winning lottery ticket I didn’t ask for.
“Wait—my car?—”
“Outta commission,” Diesel said gruffly.
