Page 15 of Flown in for Christmas

A moment later, we’re alone for the third time in the last twenty-four hours—or has it been less than that? I don’t know. Time feels like an illusion at the current moment.

I snort to myself, flipping through the fluffy hoods.

“For someone who claims to not be good at lying, I’d say that went rather smoothly,” Nick says quietly, pushing his hands in his jeans’ pockets.

I give him a subtle side-eye. “Was that a test,honey?”

He grins, shrugging. “If it was, you passed with flying sleigh bells.”

I laugh, plucking a long down coat from the rack for closer inspection. “So, should we do a little…preliminary prep for this week?”

“Like what?”

“Well, you don’t know much about me,” I say, shimmying off his jacket and handing it to him. “I mean, I’d like to think I know the basics about you.”

He folds it over his forearm, eyeing me. “Really now. And what would that be?”

I proceed to rattle off his entire work schedule, favorite breakfast, lunch, and dinner spots, workout routine, how he hates anunder-toasted bagel, his birthday, that he’s thirty-five, his blood type, all the way down to his regular bathroom breaks—all of which causes his face to flame a cute shade of pink.

“Point taken,” he mutters.

I shrug, batting my lashes. “I know my boss.”

He crosses his arms, eyeing me as I try the coat on for size and promptly place it back for a different color. “It seems I called the right woman for the job then,” he says.

I’m not necessarily looking for his praise, but…it is nice to be acknowledged for being good at something. “I’m, um, glad you did,” I add, trying on the deep red version of the lengthy coat that falls below my knees. I check myself out in the mirror and do a turn to the left and right before glancing at Nick. “What do you think?”

He looks me over from head to toe. He takes one long stride toward me and reaches to tug the faux fur-lined hood up. The rough backs of his hands graze over my jaw and my body temperature rises ten degrees.

Could be the coat? Could be the man? We may never know.

The fuzzy, multi-brown shaded fur tickles my cheeks as I tilt my head to peer up at him. He’s gazing down at me with a crooked grin and a glint in his eye. “I think you look…” he hesitates, his grin faltering, “…warm.”

I push down the disappointed feeling that overcomes me at his choice of adjective.

This isn’t a whimsical Christmas love story, Joy, control yourself.

I decide on the coat and we head toward the boots. “So, what should I know about you, then?” he asks as I hunt for my size in a sea of boxes. “Say…things I wouldn’t know from your HR file.”

I spin on him. “You pulled my HR file? When?”

He makes a face that screamscaught. “A few hours ago.”

Before he knew I’d say yes? “That was awfully presumptuous of you.”

“I was hopeful,” he says, adding with a smirk, “So, what’s on the cheat sheet for getting to know the future Mrs. Joy Davis?”

He’s joking. He’sjoking.

Damn him and that perfect cheeky grin.

I control my racing thoughts by considering what information could come up this week that may put us in a corner. I decide to tell him the equivalent of what I know about him: my favorite restaurants, how I take my tea since I don’t drink coffee, my top five reality TV shows, and a basic rundown of my daily routine outside of working for him. I optnotto go into detail about my depressing family dynamics.

“Oh, and I’m allergic to penicillin,” I tell him.

“Penicillin. Got it.” He nods.

We walk toward the front with my new boots and coat in hand. “Did you kids find everything you need?” Jerry asks when we reach the register.

---