Page 67 of The Sleight Before Christmas

“Serena,” Thatch utters low in warning as I shoot him a nasty side-eye before turning to deal withall-hands Hannah.

“Well, did you find what you were looking for?” I prompt. “Because I love my flooring. In fact, I think I’ll havemy husbandinstall some more really soon.”

Thatch’s smile breaks through whilelaughs-a-lot Laura’sfades because I’m so obvious now, I’ve made it uncomfortable. I have no issue with appreciation from afar, but Thatch never takes off his ring. And for all who do appreciate it, a wedding ring is a well-known shining symbol to honor the code and keep a respectful distance. And most definitely, keep theirhandsoff. So, since she chose to ignore said ring—and my comfort—gloves off for making it fucking easier to get away with it.

“Well, I’ll just be going,” she proffers weakly, offering Thatch an even weaker “thanks for your help” before turning on her wheels and stalking away.

“Hey,handsy, you forgot to grab your flooring!” I call after her as she speeds up, going double-time before disappearing around the corner.

“Babe, you made your point,” Thatch snaps, shaking his head.

“And why did I have to? She was too close,” I hiss, “she was too fucking close, Thatch.”

“She was a good two feet away, I have a two-foot rule,” he assures.

“Oh, do you? Get hit on often, husband?”

His grin breaks through. “Damn baby, you’re on fire today.”

“I’m not shit and don’t get all giddy. When she put her hand on you, you should have told her to fuck off.”

His grin amplifies, his eyes roaming down me. “Message received.”

“Whatever,” I roll my eyes, “ha, hee, ha,” I noisily imitate her giggle to further embarrass him as he crosses his arms, utterly unaffected.

He quirks a brow. “You done?”

“Yeah, I’m done,” I snap before grabbing my purse. “Unless you want to find another donkey to entertain. I’ll be in the truck.”

“Maybeyou shouldput yourself in a corner, Brat,” he says, eyeing the luminaries in the buggy.

“Maybe you should grab a name tag, Mr. Helpful.” I stalk off, “you could clean up in installation appointments.”

“Babe, get back here.”

“That would be a hell no,” I snap, glancing back long enough to see my chosen lights in his hands. Score!

“I have wood,” he calls.

“Well, good luck in getting that taken care of!”

Jesus, how long are these aisles?

“No, lunatic,” he chuckles harder, “I have wood coming. I can’t leave.”

“Whatever, I’ll meet you in the truck. Try not to pick up any morehusband-hugger-hussieson your way out. I’ll have ourchildrenwith me.”

“That’s not an incentive,” he taunts as I flip the bird before finally clearing the aisle, his rumbling laughter following me.

Without stopping, I crook a finger at Gracie, whose eyes bulge when she sees my expression before she ushers Peyton to follow. Gripping both their hands, I walk them out of the store and secure them both into Thatch’s truck.

“Mommy’s mad again?” Peyton asks Gracie.

“Quiet, Peyton,” Gracie has the good sense to say, meeting my eyes in the visor mirror after I pull it down.

“Yes, Sir,” Peyton answers as I tilt my head back on the rest and sigh.

Fuming for the whole ten minutes we wait for Thatch; when he finally opens his cab door, I catch his sparkling eyes and accompanying grin. Proof he’s enjoying this all too much.

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