Page 12 of Yuletide Acres

Troy chews his cheek, shooting me a grin. “I think someone could use a drink. What do you say, Mayor?”

“Not tonight, Troy. Marissa has a school project I have to help her finish.” It’s a lie, but at least now I won’t have to listen to my friend wax on about how he plans to lure Poppy into his bed. I’m really not in the mood for a knockdown, drag out brawl with my lifelong buddy. But over Poppy, I’ll make an exception.

I wave him off, feeling Susan’s blue gaze on me. “What, Susan?”

“Nothing, Dylan. It’s just the first time I’ve ever seen you jealous.”

“What am I jealous of?” Please let me be convincing.

“Anyone moving in on your girl.”

“Poppy is not my girl.”

“Sure, she isn’t. I’m done for the evening, so I’ll see you tomorrow.” She grabs her jacket, a smile on her face. “You know, Poppy got a lot of deliveries today. You might want to stop by and make sure she doesn’t need any help with the heavy lifting. Of course, I could always let Troy know. He seems all too eager to fill any vacancies.”

I hate how well this woman knows me. “I’ll stop by.”

“Good man.”

I’m back in my Jeep ten minutes later, drawn to Poppy’s door like a hound dog that has caught a scent. I can use the excuse that I’m being neighborly. This is what neighbors do, right? I flip down the mirror, shaking my head at my reflection.

Get it together, man. It’s just the shock of seeing her after all these years. That’s it. That’s all it was.

With a final glance, I pop out of the Jeep, pulling open the door to her store.

There, standing in the middle of umpteen million boxes, is Poppy. She’s worked up a bit of a sweat, her skin glistening from the exertion. Her long hair is pulled into a messy bun and she’s not wearing a speck of makeup. But it’s her outfit—yoga pants and a tank top accentuating her figure that knocks my world off kilter.

The woman did not look that good ten years ago. Oh, she looked good, but God in heaven, she didn’t look this good.

Her eyes widen when she sees me, but this time, she doesn’t smile. I can’t say I blame her. I’ve known great whites with friendlier dispositions than mine during our last meeting. “Hi, there.”

“I heard you needed some help.” So much for my theory. The feelings are even more palpable this time around.

“She does, which is why I’m here.” Troy steps from behind the curtain, his hands resting on his hips and a knowing smirk on his face. “I’ll take care of this, Dylan. Don’t you have to help Marissa with a school project?”

I want to punch him. I don’t care that we’ve been friends for decades. I want to knock that smirk off his face. And keep him the hell away from Poppy.

“I have some time.” I force a smile, grasping Poppy by the elbow and leading her to a darkened corner. “Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You certainly didn’t waste any time.” Just like that, I place myself squarely back into asshole territory. What is my issue?

“With unpacking? Don’t most people unpack their belongings when they move?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant,” she grounds out, her voice low and intense. Her hazel eyes harden as she jerks her arm from my grasp. “I’m fine, Mr. West.”

Seriously? We’re playing that angle? “Dylan,” I grit out.

“Does it make a difference? It seems no matter what I call you, it’s the wrong thing. I’m fine. Thank you for your concern.”

I grab her arm, pulling her close to my side. “I can stay and help.”

She shakes her head, but I’m not sure whether it’s from exasperation, frustration or a bit of both. “Go take care of Marissa.”

That’s my cue, but I’m ignoring it. “Aren’t you hungry?”

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