Page 33 of Sleigh Bells and Snowstorms
“Of course not, darling.”
With a soft laugh, she shook her head, then got out of the car.
Perhaps it wouldn’t be a date. But there was always next time.
Standing in front of the full-length mirror in the bedroom, I took a hard look at my reflection. Something wasn’t right.
I’d donned the dark green flannel, and the jeans were a good fit. My stubble wasn’t exactly a thick beard—I’d seen many of those around town—but that would take a bit of time to grow if I wanted to really embrace the lumberjack aesthetic. And I wasn’t sure that was necessary.
But there was something I didn’t like.
The sleeves. That was the problem. I unbuttoned the cuffs and rolled them up to my elbows. Much better.
Decked out in my new Tilikum wardrobe, I put on the boots and coat Natalie had selected. It made me wonder what my sister would think if she saw me. No one in my family knew what I did for a living, and they were used to a much more sophisticated Jensen Lakes. My behavior was particularly outrageous when I was with my sister. Pretending to shamelessly flirt with her friends had long been one of my favorite pastimes.
I decided it would be fun to keep Nora guessing. I took a selfie and texted it to her, asking how she liked my outfit.
Nora:What are you wearing???
Me:Do you like it?
Nora:I would love to make fun of you, but you wear that too well. How do you do that?
Me:All part of my charm. How is my precious Raina?
Nora:Busy stealing my husband from me.
Me:As it should be.
Nora:Exactly. She’s sitting up on her own now.
Me:I knew she was the world’s smartest little girl.
Nora:Of course she is. She’s mine. I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what you’re up to?
Me:Probably not.
Nora:Fine. Stay out of trouble.
Me:Where’s the fun in that?
I slipped my phone into my pocket and went next door to pick up my not-date for the evening.
Natalie answered wearing her winter coat, and her face lit up with a smile. “You look great. Very Tilikum.”
“Thank you. Shall we?”
I led her to my car and held the door for her while she got in. She smelled amazing—a hint of vanilla that was warm and inviting. Like a Christmas cookie. It made me want to get closer to her. Touch her skin. Bury my face in her neck and breathe her in.
Of course, I couldn’t. Not unless she wanted me to, and she’d had her guard up since the moment we met.
She gave me directions, and like everything in the small town, it was close and easy to find. We parked outside as the streetlights went on. The sun set early in December. A Christmas wreath hung on the door and inside we were greeted by a string of multicolored lights lining the bar.
Christmas really was everywhere in that town.
The bartender looked like he probably spent most of his free time chopping wood. He had a thick beard and even thicker arms, straining the seams of his red-plaid flannel shirt. He gave us a chin tip as we entered.
Several tables were filled, and about half the seats at the bar were occupied. One rather grizzled gentleman at the bar had turned on his stool and was engaged in a lively conversation with several men at an adjacent table.
