Page 39 of The Naughty Elf

What else can I say? I can’t tell him that I’m enchanted by his daughter. That I’d do anything to keep her smiling, to keep her near me.

She tugs me out the door and easily slides into my truck for the short drive to her house—the guest house I helped her dad build fifteen years ago before Hayes Homes took off.

Ginger slides over to me and pulls one of my hands in her lap once we get going. I’m more nervous than I’ve ever been with a woman. But when she opens my hand and runs her fingertips over the lines and calluses, I relax. Her touch travels to my wrist, measuring it in her hand, which can’t close all the way around it. Ginger traces the veins in my forearm until they disappear under my sleeve.

We’re only a minute from her house, but she links our fingers together and leans her head against my shoulder. I don’t want this drive to end.

I want to soak in the feeling of her because I hate the missing pieces of myself when she’s not near me.

She lets me pull her out my side when we get there, my hands lingering around her waist and her hands on my chest. I drop a kiss to the top of her head and take in her sweet, citrusy scent.

Her arms wrap around my middle as she steps closer—into a full hug—and I lose another bit of my heart to her. “Thank you.”

Her words are soft and muted against my chest, but they set me on fire. My reply is stuck in my throat. Ginger never needs to thank me. It makes me happy to do things for her.

When she pulls away, I miss her already, even as she leads me into her house and her kitchen. I remember the shape and how perfectly set up it is for two people to cook together.

“I have sausage thawed in the fridge, but I don’t have a plan for it.” Ginger grabs an apron from a hook and wraps the string around herself to tie in the front. Her hair is up in a messy bun, and she’s washing her hands.

I shake myself out of my stupor and look through her fridge, pulling out red and yellow peppers and onions. Leftover potatoes and ham get added to the counter, and her cupboard provides a small can of crushed fire-roasted tomatoes. A few other flavor enhancers join the collection, and Ginger watches me with a naughty smile.

“And your plan with all of this is?”

“Perogies.” I point to the potatoes, ham, and cheese, then I point at the other ingredients. “Sauce.”

Her laughter echoes under the ceiling, tapping my skin like a livewire. “Show me.”

I make the simple dough—just flour, water, egg, and salt—and roll it out as she mixes the potatoes, ham, and cheese for the filling. We use a round cookie cutter to cut them out, then stuff them gently. The struggle to pinch them together has her laughing beside me.

Once they’re waiting to be boiled and sautéed, I start to cook the sausages. Ginger uses this as an opportunity to stand between me and the bowl on the counter. The way she looks up at me has my heart beating in a quick, unsteady rhythm.

Her clean hands spread up my front, over my shoulders, and into my hair. I’m growling because my hands are covered in raw meat, and I can’t touch her back.

She just stares up at me with those unbelievable eyes. Flecks of silver dot her irises, and her cupid’s bow mouth is quirked sinfully. Freckles scatter across her nose and cheeks.

“Do you have any idea how hot it is to watch a man being this competent in the kitchen? You made a dough. From scratch.”

Her grin pulls another small smile out of me. I never smile this much.

Ginger finds the curve at the edge of my lips with her fingers. If my hands were free, we’d be kissing right now. But she teases me by touching it. Tension makes my skin feel tight, hot, ready to take action.

She comes closer, sending citrusy sweet air into my lungs.

A car door slams outside, making her jump against me. Every muscle clenches as she slides out from between me and the counter in time for Gracie to spill inside, Genevieve close behind her with a paper sack in her arms.

“I brought the snacks I promised.” At the counter, she leans over to see our progress. Her brow raises. “I see you found yourself quite the helper, baby.”

The affectionate way Genevieve brushes a stray hair from Ginger’s cheek makes my desire to touch herrebound inside of me. Then, her eyes narrow in on me more seriously, like she’s dissecting my intentions.

“Bennett has a few odds and ends he didn’t pack this morning at the house. He wants to be sure you grab them before you go home tonight.” Her gaze slices into me, and I do my best not to shrink away from the scrutiny. Her message is clear—I’m not staying the night.

I nod, and the tension in her shoulders relaxes a fraction.

Ginger is hanging up Gracie’s coat as her daughter pulls off her boots. “All right. Off to shower. By the time you’re done, food will be ready, and we can get to bed early because we have to be up before the sun. Okay?”

“Okay.” Gracie races to the bathroom, and I’m surprised at how good she is. I really shouldn’t be, but I’ve seen how so many kids talk back to their mothers these days. It always grinds my gears. I’m so glad my child doesn’t do things like that.

Planting a kiss on either cheek, Ginger thanks her mom for the treats and walks her to the door before she returns to my side. I’m dropping the crumbled sausage into a hot skillet.

---