Page 15 of There's Only One Sleigh
“Magical artifact?”
“Yeah, you know. Like a hammer that smashes everything, or a lasso that forces people to tell the truth.” She laughs again, and I raise the salt shaker, needing to get us back on track before thefries get cold. “A light sprinkle of salt. Then a sprinkle of white vinegar across the top.”
“I definitely should be writing this down,” she says as I demonstrate.
“You’re just mocking me now.” I use my fingers to toss the fries without letting any fall off the plate. “Mix it up a bit. Then another dash of salt and a final sprinkling of vinegar. It’s all in the layering.”
I hold the fry out to her, stretching my arm across the table so she can smell the vinegar. I’m wondering if that was a mistake—I happen to like that smell, but I know from Lyla’s reaction if she stops by when I’m cleaning that not everybody does—when Whitney bites off the end of the fry.
The jolt of desire hits me like pure electricity running through my veins, and I imagine her taking another bite so her lips meet my fingers. Then, because my mind is a horny trickster, I get an image of her slowly sucking the salt from my fingers and, dammit, my jeans are pretty uncomfortable all of a sudden.
Before I can figure out what to do with the fry, she snatches the remaining piece from me and pops it in her mouth. Luckily, she seems oblivious to my discomfort and the fact my face is probably as red as the vinyl seats.
“That’s delicious,” she says, sprinkling vinegar over her own fries. “It seems wrong that something can be used as a household cleaning product and also make french fries delicious, doesn’t it?”
I clear my throat in the hope my voice won’t come out sounding like a man who just pictured her sucking said cleaning product-slash-condiment off my fingers. “But it works.”
The conversation dies off as we dive into our lunches, taking the edge off the kind of appetite a morning of shopping works up. But as I’m working my way through my burger, I wonder justhow bad I should be feeling about my attraction to the woman sitting across from me.
Sure, there’s the fact she works for my brother-in-law and, since he assigned her to help me, she’s kind of working for me, as well. Not officially, but I know she feels as if her work on the Christmas fair will influence Donovan’s opinion of her, so that’s kind of messy.
But also, I don’t know a lot about her personal life. Just because she’s here in Charming Lake with the holiday right around the corner doesn’t mean there’s nobody waiting at home for her. It just means she put her job first, and that wouldn’t be out of character for Whitney.
“Do you have a significant other waiting for you back home?” I ask because I can’t find a more graceful way to ease into the topic. “Being in Charming Lake for two weeks in December is a big ask on Donovan’s part.”
Whitney doesn’t look offended by the question, thankfully. “There’s nobody right now. And before you think it’s because I’m focused on my career, it’s more that I’ve been comfortable with my life and haven’t really made an effort.”
“Be honest. There was a guy, and he didn’t put the deli meats in the deli meats drawer, right?”
She laughs so loudly, several other diners turn to look. “He alphabetized my spices, thank you very much.”
“Huh. I would have guessed you were into that sort of thing.”
“I organize my spices according to how frequently I use them, so the ones I use the most are easily at hand. It’s about efficiency, not just organization for organization’s sake.” She takes a sip of the ice water she ordered with her coffee. “What about you? I haven’t heard you mention a significant other.”
“Nope.”
She tilts her head, looking thoughtful. “So what do the good people of Charming Lake know that I don’t? Because—on thesurface, at least—you’re attractive and funny, and you have a stable job. I’m surprised you don’t need one of those deli number dispensers.”
That’s strangely flattering, I guess. “You have to remember I’ve known most of the women around here for my entire life, so a lot of them had taken a number before we graduated from high school, so to speak. And it’s not easy finding a woman who loves this town as much as I do, and who wants to spend her entire life here. Also, one who’ll consider the entire community part of our family.”
“Including that guy who just walks up one side of the main street and down the other, glaring at people?”
“Including that guy. Maybeespeciallythat guy. You see a grumpy old man walking around being grumpy. I see a retired lawyer who lost his wife in the car accident that left him in chronic pain. Clifford walks because he says the alternative is sitting around, doing nothing but waiting to join his wife. The glaring is actually squinting from the pain, and the man has given enough free legal advice during those walks to buy a private island if he charged for it. Or at least a yacht, maybe. I don’t actually know how much a private island costs. I should ask Donovan.”
“He doesn’t own any islands.” She leans forward, her expression thoughtful. “Don’t you find it a little claustrophobic, knowing the life story of every person around you? And they know yours, and everybody’s all up in your business all the time?”
“Sometimes,” I admit. “But I think I’d find it even more claustrophobic being surrounded by a sea of strangers, with nobody up in my business at all.”
“I guess I can see that. I’ll be sure to smile at Clifford from now on, instead of glaring back at him.”
“Now Shane, the tall guy with the fringed suede coat you can’t miss, on the other hand—if you see him walking around and he glares at you, it’s because he’s truly miserable and hateful. He can’t work up the ambition to actually go live alone in a remote, off-the-grid cabin in the woods somewhere, so I think he’s actually trying to will us all to disappear.”
“Good to know.”
When she pulls her wallet out of her bag, I shake my head. “We’re on official Santa Fund business. And before you give me hell about the appropriate use of the money, you’ll notice we didn’t get a bill. Barb’s got us covered today.”
“That’s kind of her. I’m leaving a tip, though.” She puts the cash on the table and drinks the last of her coffee, which is my signal it’s time to go.
