Page 31 of My Secret Santa Dallas

I craned my head to her. “I came two seconds after you.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Blair grinned. “The terms were stated, and you agreed to them. QED…”

“If you dare start talking Latin to me…,” I warned.

“I don’t even have the strength to be talking now,” she said, eyes closed. “But by two seconds or twenty minutes, you still lost. I want a cappuccino tomorrow. Extra foam and mocha drizzle, thank you.”

I eyed her. “You’re not bossing me around.”

“I don’t like you much either,” Blair said. “But you’re still my lackey now.”

Keeping my eyes on Blair, I was close enough to count her lashes. “And what would you like me to call you when I give you your coffee, hm? Your Highness? Your Majesty?”

“Either will work,” Blair said. “Without the heavy dash of sarcasm, thanks. Sarcasm turns my coffee sour.”

I couldn’t help butlaugh.

After another trip to the building site, now dusted with a layer of melting snow, we finally got to the Riverbend Café, a building that had not been there before I’d left. It had all the makings of Starbucks but was not so pretentious. It didn’t matter because I was sure Miss Bougie was loving this.

“This is awesome,” Blair said, looking around. “Reminds me of some of the smaller traditional shops back home.”

“So, what’s your poison?” I looked around at the glass cabinets and the rows of fancy coffee machines. I stepped aside as a waiter passed by with a tray of glasses and platters of baked treats. “Oh right, cappuccino with extra foam and some drizzle?”

“Mocha,” she said.

“Well, go buy it,” I said.

Her brows shot up. “What?”

I leaned in. “The terms were I would carry your order to you. Nowhere in that did I say I have to buy it. Do I remind you about negotiations? The legal principle is ambiguity in a contract benefits the party that did not draft it, in this case, me.”

She stared at me for nearly twenty seconds before laughing and slapping her hand on the wall, almost curving into herself. We drew a few eyes to ourselves, but I didn’t pay them much attention.

“I guess that business degree is working for you.” Blair laughed. “Are you sure you don’t want to jump from corporate lackey to corporate leader? Because I might have a job for you.”

“No thanks,” I replied, checking my watch. “And weneed to hurry up. We’re needed at the diner in two hours for this Secret Santa briefing.”

Shifting from her place, Blair went to the counter, ordered her drink, and looked at the artwork on the walls. When the barista called her name, I scooped the drink up and presented it to her with a flourished bow. She snorted and took the drink, sucked the straw between those pouty lips, and for a second— a split second— I thought back to the moment she’d wrapped those lips around me.

I shivered. God, she had a mouth.

A pure orgasmic sound came from her mouth, forcing my head to snap to her as I was heading to the door, almost tripping over the rug on the floor, nearly slamming my head into the glass door.

Blair blinked up at me, as innocent as possible.

She’d done that on purpose; I knew it, she knew it. Hell, if the people around us knew our situation, they’d know it, too.

Huffing, I headed out to the truck and yanked the door open more forcefully than I had to. From the corner of my eye, I saw her smirk— damned blondes with a superiority complex.

We hopped into the truck, and I turned the vehicle around to head to the diner. We drove by the elementary school where the playground, lightly covered with snow from earlier, had a holiday-themed merry-go-round.

I wondered if the town square would start smelling of roasted chestnuts and pine as an impromptu band would come on out for the tree lighting, the voices carrying on the wintry evening. If it got cold enough— and it usually did— the pond in the park would turn into a skating rink, and the teens would have a field day.

“I can already see this place is one of those smalltowns where people go caroling and have church bake sales and charity runs,” Blair said while looking out the window with a dreamy look. “It’s the kind of place where you can go to your neighbor for a cup of sugar and not get salt instead.”

My heart twisted. “These people will give you sugar, salt, and the whole spice rack even if you don’t need it.” I hazarded a look at her. “Back in Georgia, did you know your neighbors?”

“No,” she said. “We lived five acres away from the nearest neighbors. It was not like we could hop a fence and go and play hide-and-seek with whoever was over that wall. Besides, I had ballet lessons, tennis lessons, dance lessons, and cotillion class from the moment I was five.”

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