Page 30 of Her Grumpy Cowboy
“The muscle has arrived.”I grin.
Tyler rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitches.He pivots toward the chaos, and in two minutes flat, has kids at stations and a system for drying iced stars that would impress a general.He glares at anyone who calls him helpful and then leans closer when Grady says, “Good work.”
I circulate everywhere at once.The air smells like cinnamon and butter and cold plastic from the tubs of sprinkles.Parents warm their hands on coffee mugs.Mary orchestrates with her wooden spoon—does she carry that thing around like a wand, pointing it at children like she’s commanding an army of frosting-fueled elves?
“Don’t eat the decorations until they’re on the cookie,” she barks at one kid, who has rainbow sprinkles stuck to his lips like confetti.“And don’t think I don’t see you, Ellie June, double-dipping your marshmallow.”
Grady takes up a position by the window, his back to the storm, his eyes on the room.I suspect he’s been in other rooms with worse weather.He helps Tyler open a jammed frosting bag, demonstrating the exact amount of pressure to make it obey.He elbows Jamie when she pretends not to need a hand with the milk frother.He looks at me too often and not often enough.
“Angel,” Mary singsongs at some point, sweeping past to press a kiss to my temple.“Tell your grumpy cowboy he’s doing that thing again.”
“What thing?”I ask, even though I know.
“Looking at you like he wants to jingle your bells with his candy cane.”She gives Grady a knowing look over her shoulder.
I nearly choke on my cocoa.“Mary!”
“What?”she asks innocently.“I was young once, you know.I still remember what it’s like to want to climb someone like a pine tree in December.”
Grady smirks, completely unbothered, while my entire face catches fire.
“Stop it,” I hiss, trying to bat her away with a gingerbread mitten.
She winks.“Don’t be shy, sweet girl.It’s Christmas.The whole point is giving and receiving.”
I groan.“Please stop talking.”
“Fine, fine,” she says, walking off.“But if he proposes under the mistletoe later, just remember who lit the match.”
Grady leans close, voice warm and low in my ear.“For the record, Idowant to poke you with my candy cane.”
“Grady!”
He chuckles and steps in to help Ellie June, who’s locked in a battle with a bag of mini marshmallows.She gives it one last heroic tug… and the bag bursts open, launching marshmallows in every direction.
“Marshmallow snow!”someone yells.
Grady crouches down beside Ellie June, his big hands gentle as he picks stray marshmallows out of her hair.
“Hold still, trouble,” he murmurs with a crooked smile, brushing a curl behind her ear.
Something in my chest pulls tight as I picture him crouched beside a little girl of our own.One with my blonde hair and his silver eyes, clutching marshmallows in her fist as she looks at him like he’s the safest place in a too-big world.I want that.Not someday.Not maybe.I want it withhim.
The part of me that never truly settled until he walked into my life finally decides,okay, this.Yes, this.
By midafternoon, the storm throws a sulk and the power hiccups.Mistletoe Mugholds steady.Cookie kits are packaged—brown bags stamped with a sprig of mistletoe and ribboned with twine.
Tyler stacks them with quiet pride.When Mrs.Crowley whispers, “thank you” and hands him a tip, he tries to refuse.
Grady says, “Take it.Put it in your boot.Don’t spend it all on stupid.”
Tyler obeys because of course he does.
The crowd thins to a hum.Mary leaves with a wave and a look that saysbehavewhile absolutely not meaning it.The bell over the door jingles one last time, leaving Grady and me alone.
“Come with me,” I say breathlessly, skin tingling from the way he’s been watching me all afternoon.“Back room.I need you.”
Heat flares in his eyes.“What kind of need?”
