Page 70 of Grinch Girl

I gaped at her. “Carol! Have you finally lost it?”

She just beamed at me. “I am celebrating, Jane. I just got word that the Wontana Yacht Club NYE party sold a measly seventy-five tickets. I also hear that it’s a completely boring party. The same boring people standing around talking about the same boring things.”

She spun in a giddy circle, looking ten years younger than the woman who’d been bossing us around like a drill sergeant for the last month. “Look what we’ve done! Look at all these happy people.” She winked at me. “Look at the Falworth Small Business Association’s bank account!”

She reached for a third Jell-O shot, but I shoved the tray into the hands of a passing Lady before she could grab one. “Hold up, wild woman. Go get a bottle of water before you down another one of those,” I said sternly.

Carol grabbed my face with both hands and gave me a smack on the lips. “Will do. Greta would be so dang proud of you—you know that, kiddo?”

I swallowed over the lump in my throat and checked in with the cameramen for a few minutes. They didn’t need to film all night. As long as they got final footage of the paired couples and a bunch of shots of the party,Single Bellswas a wrap. We’d edit the last episode to include clips of the whole month so it would be a nice series summary. “Another half hour and you guys can just join the party, OK?” They nodded gratefully.

Sean showed me his phone. “We’ve gone viral. #TrashyNewYear is trending on Twitter. Rumor has it that @RozNGod is actually here somewhere.”

Going viral certainly wouldn’t hurt tourism. I put my hands on my hips and surveyed the huge, crazy scene. Carol was right; we’d done this.I’ddone this. My silly idea—combined with Bella’s cash and a lot of hard work from everyone—had saved the town through winter.

Iwasrather competent, wasn’t I? And competence was a very mobile attribute.

Lost in thoughts of the future, I almost missed the dramatic throat-clear behind me.

“You know, this is quite the filthiest Christmas song I’ve ever heard.”

He came!I closed my eyes briefly and then turned to face Nate with a raised eyebrow and cocky jut of my hip.

His dark eyes glinted, and he gave me a flash of teeth. “Seriously, J-Bird, are you listening to these lyrics? I’m certainhe just sang a lewd analogy: ‘I’ll fill your stocking with my candy cane of joy.’”

Thanks, Tripp. I snorted. “Classy tune for a classy party.”

I narrowed my eyes at Nate. “I’ve just realized something. I never see you coming. You always, always sneak up behind me. Is that difficult?”

Nate gasped a surprised laugh, and a sheen covered his eyes. “Actually, it is,” he admitted. “I have to find you in the crowd without you seeing me first. Then I determine a path to your rear, which is challenging because you rarely stop moving. The final step is finding the perfect angle to stand behind you when I speak. A spot where you can’t see me but I can see your face.”

I couldn’t believe he actually copped to doing it on purpose. “Why bother?”

His smile became softer. “I like catching you off guard.”

His voice went to a whisper. “I like to see the way your body changes when you hear my voice. Your breath catches. Sometimes you close your eyes. Sometimes your cheeks go the tiniest bit pink. Like now.”

“Maybe I’m just hot.” Embarrassed, I brought my hands to my face.

But he caught my wrists en route and held them. My heart began to pound hard, rushing blood through my veins so quickly that every inch of my body felt tingly and on alert.

He eyed me closely, his gaze raking me from head to toe. “You look gorgeous tonight.” A line creased between his eyes. “No lasting effects from your hop in the lake?”

I rolled my eyes, shifted my weight. “Just eternal embarrassment.”

He gave me a mock-stern look. “I don’t believe I shall ever be a party to you doing whiskey shots again.”

“Trust me, lesson learned.” I would have danced away, given him some sort of feisty, nonchalant gesture, but he was stillholding my wrists. My body was trapped by the rising tension between us.

“I was scared you weren’t coming,” I admitted quietly.

His grip on my wrists tightened. “I was scared you didn’t want me to come.”

The song changed to something with a low, thudding beat. We stared at each other, the air between us going thick and heavy, making it completely obvious that his fear was unfounded. He tugged me an inch closer. “Do I need to wait until midnight to kiss you?” he asked, his voice low, gravelly, and urgent.

God, I loved that he wanted to kiss me so much. I licked my lips and flexed the wrists that were in his grip. No, I didn’t want him to wait for “Auld Lang Syne.” I wanted him to settle his mouth on minenow, to stand on my tiptoes, put my arms around his neck and press my body against his from head to toe.

But.

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