Page 42 of Christmas in Paradise

He considers for a second. “How about we say my scheme will speed up your own efforts?”

“However we say it, man, I appreciate your encouragement.” I lock the back door, then face him again. “Thanks.”

Carson gives me a salute, then walks around the building to the front where he’s parked.

I watch him go, wishing I had as much confidence in my success as he seems to.

Chapter 12

Hope

I’ve been in Paradise for a little over a week, mostly working at Carson’s party store, Pizzazz Paradise, which also doubles as his event planning office. When I’m not there, I’m driving all over the place, scoping out venues and vendors for the different Yulefest events we’re planning.

We’re on such a tight timeline, that my days are totally packed. The only time I stop working is during the few hours after I pick up Charly and get her into bed. Then I spend another couple hours on my laptop scheduling things, making detailed plans for each event, and updating the Yulefest Advent website Carson and I created.

With everything going on, I haven’t had time to think about Seb. And I haven’t even seen him since the puppy peeing incident.

But Charly talks every day about Unkuhrad like she’s seen her. And if she’s seen Seb’s puppy, she’s probably seen him too. But obviously, I can’t grill my three-year-old about any interactions she’s had with him.

Not that I don’t try. I ask her flat out if Gia’s son was there with the puppy, but she just says that Miss Gia doesn’t have a little boy and goes back to talking about the puppy. Between her mornings at Gia’s preschool with other kids and her afternoons at Gia’s house, she can’t keep all the different people straight.

And I’m not necessarily upset about not seeing Seb. It’s for the best, for so many reasons. Mostly because I don’t have time to “see” him like he wants to be seen.

Still, I’m really interested in whether he’s trying to get to know Charly. I don’t have a lot of faith that his puppy is any better behaved than it was the first time I saw it, but that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten how sweet it was for him to let Charly name her. Awkward, and totally out of his depth when it comes to communicating with a child, but sweet still the same.

But Seb’s the furthest thing from my mind when I walk into Pizzazz. I wave to Carson’s friend Steven Carson (they joke all the time about having the same name but switched around). He works the front register, looking totally out of place in his dark flannel shirt and work boots. But he has an amazing eye and can sell people party products they never knew they needed.

“Hi Steve!” I call while hustling to the back office.

“Morning, Hope! Make it a momentous day!” He says the same thing every morning—he’s a creature of habit—and I love it more every time.

I love my little space in Carson’s tastefully decorated back room where he has a couple of desks and display shelves full of party décor to give customers ideas for their events. That’s where I’m headed as I scroll through email on my phone and turn the corner, running right into a broad chest in a brown leather jacket.

“Oof, sorry,” I say, then look up to see the solid wall of a chest belongs to Seb.

No wonder it felt so familiar.

His lip quirks at the corner, and my pulse blips.

“What are you doing here?” I take a step back, feeling my cheeks light up like dry kindling.

“Hello to you too.” He hands me one of the Breakfast at Britta’s coffee cups he holds. “Carson asked me to come in to talk electrical stuff.”

“Thank you.” I breathe in the smell of toffee and cream with undernotes of nuts and chocolate.

He remembered my favorite coffee: a butterscotch dark roast. I take a sip, letting the motion and the warmth soothe my nerves. Because I should have known when Carson said he wanted me to manage all the lights and electricity needs for Yulefest, he’d be calling in an electrician to help. And there’s only one electrician in Paradise.

Sebastian Sparks.

My eyes dart to Carson, wondering if he did this on purpose. He’sverybusy at his computer, and his mouth twitches in what might be a suppressed smile.

“All right, team,” he says. “Let’s get to work. Take a seat.”

I glance at Seb, who’s looking at me.

“Ladies first.” He sweeps his hand forward, so I take the seat at Carson’s desk across from him.

Seb takes the one next to me. It’s a tight space, and our knees are only inches apart. I swear he’s sitting closer than he needs to purposely distract me from what Carson is saying.

---