Page 19 of The Grump

After hanging up, I took a look around the kitchen. The place was a mess. Granted, my whole house was in a bit of a disarray these days. I called it the “Christmas mayhem look.” Since I was running around the whole time from November until January, I didn’t have time to keep things picked up. I wasn’t a slob by any means, but I wasn’t a minimalist either. I filled my place with all sorts of things.

My home was cottage core and yet very modern. It was on the same property of a large, gorgeous house. The owners had built this place as an Airbnb at first, then quickly realized it was far too much work. They couldn’t dedicate so much time to it, so now they were renting it out permanently. I had huge floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the small yard. They’d even planted shrubs around the bungalow so they could shield it from the view of their house. I was truly super lucky. It was off the beaten path, and I drove forty minutes to the confectionery every day, but I wouldn’t change it for the world.

I checked on a batch of pralines I’d pulled out nearly two hours ago. It was cold, so I started packing them carefully and managed to fill up three boxes. Almost unwillingly, Xander’s words came to mind.

“If you... didn’t do individual wrapping of the pralines but rather batched them, that would speed up the process.”

He was right, of course, but I thought it added to the specialness of the treat every time you unwrapped a praline.

When my doorbell rang, I startled in my chair. Had forty minutes already passed? I checked the clock and, yep, indeed they had.

I rose from my seat, wiping my hands on a kitchen towel before hurrying to the front and unlocking the door. When I pulled it open, I let out a mighty sigh. Xander LeBlanc might be a huge grump, but he was certainly very nice to look at. He was wearing a suit and nothing else. True, the weather was pleasanttoday, but couldn’t he have put on a jacket or something anyway to hide all that sex appeal? I bet he wasn’t even aware of how hot he was.

Nah, he probably was.

“Good evening, Bailey.”

I sniffed the aroma coming from the bag he carried. “Hi. It smells delicious, like...”

“Shrimp and chicken jambalaya,” he said with an actual grin—the first I’d ever seen on him. It only added to his good looks, damn it.

“That’s my favorite. Thank you.”

“I know. I called my grandmothers after talking to you and asked them what your favorite food is.”

I nearly did a double take as he stepped inside and I closed the door. “Wait, what?”Who is this man? Where’s grumpy Xander?

“After the way things ended last time, I couldn’t show my face around here with food you don’t like, could I?” His grin was still in place.

Was it possible that this major grump actually had a sense of humor and maybe even a heart?

I didn’t want to jump to conclusions too fast. He was simply trying to get into my good graces for some reason.

But why would he? He owned the company. If he wanted to close it, he could do so tomorrow, and I had no say in it. It was his prerogative.

“Thanks. That was very considerate of you.”

“I’d have brought you hot chocolate, too, but from my experience, it’s no good if it’s cold.”

“Define your experience,” I said, taking the bags with the food and leading him to the kitchen.

“Once, when I went to spend some time with Bella, back when my brother was still single, I bought her hot chocolate. Notfrom the place on Bourbon, though. It wasn’t around back then. Anyway, the dang drink was cold by the time I got to their house, and I discovered that microwaving it somehow ruins it.”

Oh, man. I was melting, and I absolutely didn’t want to. I truly needed my wits about me when this man was close to me. He’d bought hot chocolate for his niece. And he’d brought my favorite food. He couldn’t really be that bad, could he? There had to be some soul in him if he was related to Celine and Isabeau, even if they didn’t share the same views on the confectionery.

Once in the kitchen, I quickly realized that there was no place to eat. When I turned to Xander, he was looking around with wide eyes.

“What happened here?”

“Told you, I’m working.”

He looked in the oven, too, then at the new batter I’d whipped up and the boxes on the counter. “Bailey,” he said, “this will keep you up half the night.”

“I know.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked. “I could’ve dropped by another evening.”

Hmm, decisions, decisions. Should I be totally honest with him?

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