Page 7 of The Mechanic's Secret Santa

“You must be Mrs. Bernard.”

“Kendra, please. And you are?”

“Completely smitten with your daughter,” he says, wrapping Mom in a hug. Damn, he’s good. “But my name is Aaron. Aaron Montgomery.”

“When were you going to tell me?” Mom asks.

“It’s new,” I admit, finding the words surprisingly easy since they’re not really a lie. Or maybe it’s because I’m within arm’s reach of the gingerbread cookie and my focus has shifted.

“Are you ready for our date?” Aaron asks, slipping his hand in mine before I can grab the cookie. Our fingers interlock, and my damn heart starts pounding like it’s just run a marathon.

“Date?” Mom repeats.

“I hope you won’t think poorly of me, stealing Meg from the bakery to go ice skating.”

“Oh?” Mom’s tone and expression lifts. Yeah, I made the right call with the fake boyfriend thing. I try to tamp down my excitement. But with the way things are going, Mom might just sign over that deed tomorrow.

“Want to join us?” Aaron offers.

“What?” I blurt.

“I’m not much of an ice skater,” Mom admits.

“There’s a booze cart at the park,” Becky Sue adds, untying her apron. “It’s for the parents.”

“I’m in,” Mom agrees much too easily.

Aaron leans down, his lips brushing the shell of my ear—which causes my pussy to clench. Damn sports car dream—and says, “I slipped your cock cookie in your apron pocket.”

My pulse doubles. Why does it sound so fuckingsexywhen he says such a dirty word? I pat my apron to confirm his claim. “You’re welcome,babe.”

Chapter Four

AARON

“I can’t believe you invited my mom,” Meg grumbles between clenched teeth as she ties her ice skates like she’s mad at them. Her gloveless fingers are already a light shade of pink.

“I thought you said she hates skating.”

“Shedoes.”

I follow Meg’s gaze across the frozen pond where Kendra and Becky Sue sit on a bench near a heater, frosty mugs clenched in mitten-clad hands. “They’ve known each other a long time?” I guess, standing and offering my hands to her.

Meg stares at my open palms for several beats before deciding to place her icy fingers in them. “Becky Sue was my mom’s first and only employee when she opened the bakery almost twenty-two years ago.”

“But she knows about this?” I ask, referring to our fake arrangement.

“She won’t tell,” Meg says, sounding confident as she attempts to wriggle her chilly hands free.

“I’m not letting go until your fingers are back to a normal temperature.” I can’t help but smile at her scowl. Because beneath it, there’s a twinkle of something more. The chemistry between us has never been in question. It’s a shock that the bakery has never experienced a power surge from all the electricity surging between the two of us. But for whatever reason, Meg refuses to let her walls down around me.

“I’m not cold,” she insists.

“Just allergic to gloves that aren’t oven mitts?” I guess.

“Ha, ha.” With a playful eye roll, she pulls her hands free when we reach the ice and skates ahead. I’m nottryingto look at her ass, but in those dark red holiday leggings, it’s hard not to notice how easily that perfectly plump ass seems to glide across this frozen pond.

She’s good.

---