Page 6 of Christmas Kiss

Fuck my life!

Maybe he would accept a blowjob in return for all his help. I wouldn’t mind that trade, and maybe we can see what happens afterward.

As I walk to the door, my heart pounds, and panic settles in my throat. I’ve been trying to get this place cleaned up for months now, and I thought I was making headway, but suddenly, I’m seeing it through new eyes, and it’s a mess. The floors need to be refinished, the walls could use paint, thekitchen cabinets are falling off the hinges, and I haven’t even bothered with Christmas décor.

I don’t want to open the door. He can’t see me like this. He’ll know for sure I can’t handle my shit, and I don’t want him to think that about me. I want him to see me as a capable young woman who has her life together.

That said, I can’t leave him out in the cold. I draw in air and pry the door open slowly, unveiling a giant man holding a large pizza, a pie box from the diner, and two huge bottles of juice.

“I figured you weren’t drinking enough, given how busy you were today.” He lifts the bottles and shakes them gently in his massive hand. “Grape juice seemed like a good option.”

“I think I might love you,” I blurt, taking the boxes from his hands.

I need help. I’m not sure anyone has ever been so stupid.

“Wow, it’s that easy? I should’ve popped over with food a while ago.”

“Well, considering I was about to make canned soup and pass it off as homemade, this is the stuff love is made of.”

God, save me from myself!

“Good to know. Hopefully you like cheese. I wasn’t sure what to order, so I went with a classic.”

“It’s perfect, and you shouldn’t have, but thank you.”

“Sure. I ran into Mrs. Robinson at the diner. She said you liked the mile high pie, too.” He sets the juice on the table, which I also need to refinish. God, this thing is covered in scratches. “I love that woman. She’s a national treasure.”

Mrs. Robinson owned the general store until recently, though you can still find her helping out from time to time. Everyone loves her. She’s the sweetest woman in town, and though she’s probably old enough to be my great grandmother,she was like a mother figure to me, especially since my own mother never seemed to care for me much.

“She is. I stopped by last week and we made Christmas cookies. I think she’s lonely, though. Ever since Mr. Robinson died those few years ago, she hasn’t quite seemed the same, ya know? I invited her to Christmas this year, but she said she wanted to keep her traditions.”

“Speaking of Christmas… where’s your tree?” As Charlie looks around the room, his tattoo peeks a little more from his collar, no longer hidden along with his broad and strong shoulders.

He’s so hot. Tight jeans, a button-up shirt, all that ink… I’m not gonna last. In about three seconds, I’ll be known all over town as the girl who mauled her boss on top of a cheese pizza. The headline will read,‘Innocent man, just looking to help.’

Oh shit, we were talking. “Yeah, I don’t have one.”

“You work at a tree farm, and you don’t have a tree?”

“Well, I’m a little pregnant these days, and as you can see, I have a lot left to do with the place. A tree is just something to put up so you can take it down again a month later. It’s not really a good use of my time. Besides, no one else is around to see my lack of Christmas spirit anyway.”

“That’s fair, but it’s the small things that make a difference,” he says, grabbing a slice of pizza from the box. “I think as you get deeper into the season, you’ll wish you had a tree. I’ll bring one over after the wedding. A little one, and I’ll take it down for you after the holiday. That way, it will be no effort on your part, and you’ll still get to have a tree.”

“Well, now you’re being way too nice to me, and now I know for sure that my sister is wrong.” Fuck! Did I say that out loud?

“Wrong about what?”

I grab a slice for myself and take a bite. It’s been a while since I had a takeout pizza. I forgot how great this stuff is, though right now, I’m more thankful for the full mouth because I have no idea how to clarify what I’ve just said.

“What’s your sister wrong about?” Charlie prompts again, pouring us juice into cups he grabs from the cupboard. I’m a terrible hostess. I should’ve at least offered to get him a glass.

“Oh, I don’t even remember now. Pregnancy brain!” Of course, that’s not true, but it’s the best I’ve got on the spot.

“Is that really a thing?”

“What?”

“Pregnancy brain,” he laughs.

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