Page 2 of Eggnog and Edging
I’m dazed but recognize that a car just hit mine. The airbags didn’t deploy, but I’m too pissed to consider that a small victory.
Is it a hit-and-run if I get hit and drive away?
I consider finding out, but with the line of cars in front of me, I don’t have anywhere to go.
Agonizing over how fucked my plan is, I pull to the side of the road to inspect the damage. The note I included with the gift will have to cover for me after all.
“Why the fuck did you slam on your brakes, old man?” the hotheaded teenage boy says as we meet between the cars. Defending that twenty-seven isn’t old is the least of my problems.
“I didn’t.” Did I? Shit, I don’t know.
Ignoring him, I bend down and determine that the damage is minimal—the bumper crunched into the rear quarter panel. Turning to his vehicle, it’s impossible to tell how much of the damage on his old pickup is from today.
The kid continues his pompous rant that I’m at fault, but I stare him dead in the eyes and tell him, “I’m going to make you a deal. We both drive away and pretend this never happened.”
His mouth hangs open, but at least he shuts up.
“Are we good? Or are you going to insist on exchanging insurance information?”
“We’re good.” He rushes back to get in his truck and just before jumping in says, “Thanks, man.”
Impressed that he’s not a total jerk, I smile. He kind of reminds me of myself at that age. But I don’t have time to reminisce about how different I am at twenty-seven than I was at seventeen.
As I get back on the road, I take that maturity as a good thing. I’m more prepared to give Starla the life she deserves. It’s only been the last couple of years that I got my shit together—largelydue to her father encouraging me to finish my culinary sciences degree and go into business with him and his best friend.
Which is precisely why I worry how her dad will react to me falling for her… or more precisely, me acting on those feelings.
I’ve managed to run off all of her potential boyfriends, but at some point one is going to slip past, especially since I moved away from home.
My stereo system pops up a text message alert and I have it read the message aloud. The package has been delivered.
Everything will be fine, just make it to her house in one piece.
Five minutes later I turn onto her street and spy Cullen, her dad’s best friend and business partner, getting out of his Corvette.
My heart drops. What is he doing here?
I can’t make my declaration of love in front of him. I’ll regroup. Starla probably took the package in already and—
Dammit! Cullen grabs the package off the front porch and steps into the house. How much worse can my day go?
Screeching to a halt in the driveway, I barrel out of my car and bolt inside. I find him in the kitchen holding the gift as Starla enters the room, wearing a tank top and pajama pants with her hair wrapped up in a towel.
She’s perfect like that—freshly out of the shower, her perky nipples making it clear she’s not wearing a bra.
“This is for you,” he says, extending the gift—my gift. Since I used a special courier, the package is gift-wrapped, not a generic brown box delivery and the note is tucked under the bow.
A possessive laugh rumbles in my gut. He has no idea what he’s handing her.
“Thank you,” she says, a little too much swoon in her voice. But I also sense confusion. She didn’t think he was the secret admirer. Good.
I used the same gingerbread-cookie-themed wrapping paper each time so she already knows the gift is related to the other eleven.
It doesn’t stop my chest from tightening with how she looks at him. She wants it to be from him. But it’s my lucky day since this is the gift with the handwritten note.
She pulls the end of the bow, and I try to figure out how to handle this. I don’t want her reading the card in front of him… and yet I do.
That’s when I feel the weight of his gaze boring into me. There’s something knowing in his eyes. Something sinister. I recognize it because I’ve had the same look when Starla had a boyfriend over.
