Page 37 of Santa's Mistletoe Playbook

“But you’re nice, and you give people a chance.”

“I’m nice, sure, and I wanted to prove that hot guys can like fat girls.”

Curtis pulled at his hair to keep from putting his hands on her hips and yanking her from the couch and into his arms. “Did it like… escape your notice thatyouare a hot girl?”

Bea made a sound like a lightning strike, a burst of harsh laughter. “Excuse me?”

“You. You are a hot chick. Ah! No talking back.” He held up his hand and looked at her, taking a long breath in.Be factual. Not a hormone bomb.“You’re stupidly hot. You are nothing but curves and cute. And you have a dirty mind and a dirtier mouth, and any guy with a brain and eyeballs would beg you to be his girl. Okay?”

“But Neal?—”

“Has two eyes, we can see that. It must mean he has no brain. He’s shallow. He picked Jasmine based on his idea that a thin girl would be a better choice—why? Sheer robot brain. He looked at her and thought that her size made her beautiful instead of looking at you and going, ‘Hot damn, I want that girl to be mine.’”

Bea swallowed several times, head cocking. “Hey. Um. Can I ask you something?”

“What?”

“You have eyes. And a brain. And you think I’m hot?”

Oh, shit. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. When she just stared, he nodded harder, feeling his hair shake into his eyesfrom the force of it. He pushed his hair back and swallowed. “Yeah. I do.”

Another strange look. A staring match. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“Like what? ‘Please, please, please let me out of the friend zone because I’m secretly madly in love with you’? You’d laugh at me. I know I’m just the ‘tall candy cane’ bestie who gets stuff off the top shelf. I don’t have big muscles. I don’t have the cool hair. I’m a foodie nerd with pictures of Alton Brown in his bedroom, who wants to honeymoon at Hershey Park.”

For a minute, he thought Bea was about to curse him out. Her cheeks were turning red and she seemed to be swelling up, her breath coming in little puffs.

“You love me?”

“Duh.”

“You love me like that? Like hot girls and honeymoons?”

“You mean I love you like I want you to be my girlfriend and I secretly write Mr. Curtis Miller-West in my notebook?” He tried to laugh and it fell flat. “Yeah. I love you like that.”

This time, it was his sneaker that came flying past his head and fell with a thud when it hit the bedroom door.

“Curtis! Why didn’t you say anything? You’re adorable and sweet and the best catch ever! I thought you didn’t like me like that!”

“I thought you didn’t likemelike that!”

“Well… I didn’t. I wouldn’t let myself. No one gets friend-zoned more than the funny fat chick.”

“If you keep using ‘fat’ like it’s a negative—I’m going to dull every single one of your knives. I’m going to use them to cut felt and open cans,” Curtis growled in his most menacing voice.

Bea looked appropriately stricken. “I’m sorry! I can’t help what Hollywood and everyone else says about ‘perfect bodies.’”

“How do I put this?” Curtis walked closer to her, standing so close that he could feel the outermost edge of her breasts under her batter-stained apron. “What does every good chef know? Fat is essential. Fat adds flavor. It adds balance. Good food needs somerichness.” His mouth caressed the word as his eyes disobeyed orders and started mapping the curves so close to him. “And I don’t see you as a size or a weight. I see you as…I gotta stop talking.”

Bea stepped closer. The brush of her breasts became a full-on press. “Why?”

“Um. Manners?”

“Throw them out.” Her head tipped back, and Curtis felt the room swaying.

Her. Looking up at him with desire on her face and a little smile on her parted lips.

His every fantasy come true.

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