Page 9 of Wintertime Love (Holiday 2)

Finn’s small smile doesn’t reveal anything as he shrugs, calmly. “Is it?”

I’m not really paying attention, motioning to Stacy to get me a sandwich and something to drink but then I turn to meet his steady gaze. “I would say so. What brings you here?” The man might have cured my hangover. It might be a little too early to tell but I’m definitely feeling better a few minutes into the ugly tasting drink. Since I had been bemoaning the fact that I might have to go around the whole day in this horrifying state, I’m beyond grateful to him.

At my question, Finn just smiles again. “Nothing worth mentioning at this particular moment.” He shifts in his seat, getting comfortable, and then pins me with his eyes. “So, tell me Miss—”

“Just Clara, please,” I say, hastily, unable to handle the way he says ‘Miss Clara’. It makes me feel strange, almost raw and naked. He shouldn’t be able to make it sound so blatantly sexual but he does.

He blinks and then a slow smirk unravels on his lips, before he says, “All right. Clara, then.”

Why does that sound even worse?

“I was wondering, Clara…” He smiles at me now.

Even though it’s an innocent smile, I feel like I’m being watched by a predator, my heart beating a little wildly in my chest. He’s not even doing anything!

As if he doesn’t notice my flushed cheeks, he continues, “If you could tell me about some of the sights I could see here? Maybe some good tourist spots?”

Just then, Stacy puts down a cold cut sandwich that I’d prepared this morning and a cup of coffee. She glances over at Finn, a pretty blush on her cheeks.

He just gives her that rakish smile that would warm any woman over.

Maybe I’ve had too long of a dry spell, I wonder as I bite into the sandwich. It would explain why I’m acting like a hormonal teenager around this man. “Thanks, Stacy. Can you do a quick inventory of the beans in the back? Bert is coming by in an hour and I want to give him an estimate.”

Stacy nods and after another shy glance towards the Irishman sitting across from me, she leaves.

Finn is watching her walk away.

I say, flatly, “Don’t even think about it. She’s in high school.”

Finn turns towards me. “Brunettes aren’t my type.”

I sip at the coffee. “Oh, yeah?”

He watches me from under the hood of his lashes. “I seem to have a thing for prickly blondes.”

I splutter, the mouthful of coffee still in my mouth and swallow with great difficulty, coughing as I attempt it. Grabbing the napkin, I wipe my mouth while glaring at him, simultaneously. “Who’re you calling prickly?”

His eyes widen, fractionally, and there’s laughter in them. “I apologize. There’s nothing prickly whatsoever about you.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Just when I was thinking I could maybe get along with you.”

His knees brush mine as he pulls his chair closer, saying silkily, “There are other ways to do that.”

“Look, you perv—”

“You could show me around town.”

My face turns red.

Again, he looks amused. “Well, guess I’m not the pervert here, after all.”

I glower at him. “I don’t have time to—”

“Your Aunt said you’d do so,” he interrupts.

I pause and hesitantly ask, “Which aunt?”

“Veronica.”

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