Page 16 of A Mistletoe Mix Up
“Okay, let me clean up the mess. It’s my fault anyway.”
“You’re right. It is your fault.” I cross my arms.
He stretches his arms and lets out a yawn. His hair is still a little messy from sleep. It’s the most relaxed I’ve ever seen him. He walks to the pantry, grabs a broom, and begins to sweep up the scattered chocolate chips.
“Good morning, by the way,” he says, still sweeping.
“Morning. How’d you sleep?” I watch his face intently. He’ll probably say he’s fine just so I don’t feel bad.
“I slept fine, thanks for asking.” He bends down, sweeping the chocolate chips into the dustpan, then deposits them into the trash. His muscles flex underneath his shirt, and—why am I noticing his muscles?
“How did you sleep?” He leans against the counter, crossing his arms.
“Great, actually. Your bed is way more comfortable than mine.” I plate more pancakes.
He quirks an eyebrow. “I guess I have good mattress-picking-out skills.”
“Oh, you do. It was some of the best sleep I’ve had.” I cut a piece of pancake. “Taste test?”
He takes the fork from my hand and takes a bite. “Hmm, surprisingly good,” he mumbles through a mouthful of pancake.
“I know I’m no chef, and they aren’t Gramps’s cinnamon pancakes. But surprisingly?”
“No, really. What did you do? Sometimes the protein mix turns out kinda bland.”
“I added a secret ingredient.” I chuckle.
His brows narrow. “Oh, really? And I suppose you’re not going to tell me?”
“Not a chance.” I wink, stealing the fork from him to take a bite.Hey, that is pretty good.
“Come on, Tandy. You’re really not going to tell me?”
“Where would the fun in that be?”
“This is cruel and unusual punishment.”
“Punishment? Really?” I take a step back and lean against the counter.
He moves closer. “The crime of withholding information.”
“Oh, is that so?” I challenge, meeting his gaze head-on. Cheesy topic, I know. But I’m not backing off now. I’m stubborn, and he knows it.
“Definitely. It’s a very serious offense. I’m a cop, remember? I can’t let criminals roam free.”
I burst into laughter, trying to back away from him, but the counter is behind me.
“I gotta flip the pancakes, Gray! They’re gonna burn!”
“Then tell me the secret.”
The corner of his mouth twitches, and something twists in my stomach.
“Alright, alright! I added vanilla, cinnamon, and chocolate chips,” I admit in a rush, gesturing toward the pancakes frantically. “Now, can I save the food?”
He laughs with a dramatic bow and steps aside, allowing me access back to the stove.
“Your secret is safe with me, Bookworm,” he teases, resuming his spot against the counter.
