Page 60 of Flirting with the Scrooge

“Thanks everyone for another great decorating season. I can’t wait to see what everyone does next year!”

The crowd disperses. Some gather near the fire pits, while others stand in line at the s’mores station. I’m helping Mrs. Fields clean up the ballots when I catch sight of Connor sauntering up to the podium.

Mrs. Fields glances at me and then to Connor. “I’ll see if they need help with the s’mores.” She slinks away, leaving me alone with my hot as sin neighbor.

He stops at the other side of the podium. “Damn. I can’t believe I didn’t win. I had my heart set on the Pickle of the Month.”

I laugh. “Fuck Xmas Frank next to a Charlie Brown tree with even fewer decorations wasn’t going to win anything. But A for effort.”

“Dammit Frank. I knew he wasn’t festive enough,” he mutters under his breath.

While Connor’s yard has been home to Fuck Xmas Frank for the past two weeks, earlier today we had to evict him. Connor had a hunch that a potential new buyer wouldn’t appreciate him as much as we do. Instead of tearing him down, we very carefully relocated him to my yard with the use of a wheelbarrow. I figured he would fit right in with my hodgepodge of decorations.

“Maybe you can give me a consolation prize later.” He rests his forearms on the podium and leans in. “Also, I do believe my ballot read ‘You look so fucking gorgeous right now. I can’t wait until this is over so I can rip your clothes off and bury my face between your legs.’ That would be a win for both of us.”

Heat creeps up my neck. How many times can I blush in one night? This has to be some sort of record. “What if Mrs. Fields read the votes?”

“Well, then she would think someone wants to bury their face between her legs. Who knows, might have made Mr. Fields’ night. What do you say we get out of here, and I can get started?”

“As much as I would love your face between my legs, it’s gonna have to wait. The celebration goes on for another hour, then I have to clean up.”

“I’ll stick around and help. Perhaps I could treat you to a s’more?”

Maybe it’s his soft tone or the hesitancy, as if he’s asking a girl out for the first time, but my knees go weak from the simple gesture. If the podium wasn’t holding me up, I’d melt to the ground. “I would love that.”

His lips tip up into a full smile as he holds out his elbow for me. I intertwine my arm with his and we walk side by side to the s’mores station. We find an empty log in front of the roaring fire. Connor gets us a couple of roasting sticks, marshmallows, graham crackers, and a chocolate bar from a nearby table. We sit side by side, thighs touching, as the orange glow from the fire cooks our marshmallows to perfection. After they’re assembled, we eat our sweet treats in silence.

An hour later, everyone has left. We finish cleaning up and as we walk down the sidewalk, the first thing I notice is the for sale sign sticking out of the snowbank. I knew it was coming, but it’s still hard to see.

“So, the house is officially on the market?” A heavy, somber feeling envelopes me.

His gaze follows mine until he notices what I’m staring at. “Yeah. Earlier today.”

I don’t say anything, mostly because I don’t know what to say. It’s like if we don’t talk about it, maybe it won’t be true. He won’t actually be leaving, and we can continue to grow whatever this is between us. But it’s all a lie. He is leaving. It’s just that neither of us wants to say it. I tamper down those feelings. We’re supposed to enjoy however many days we have left, and I can’t enjoy them if I’m pouting. So, I change the subject.

“I have a date idea for tomorrow night. It’s out in public, but it will be dark. No one will see you or recognize you. What do you say?” I peer up at him, a wide grin on my face.

“What is it?”

“Do you trust me?” I wrap my mitten covered hand with his.

“I believe when I used those words, an orgasm was involved. Is that what I can expect?” He pulls me to his chest and wraps an arm around my back so I’m walking backward.

“Perhaps something could be arranged. But after. No pre-date sex.”

“What about after breakfast sex?” he counters.

“Now you’re just being presumptuous that we’re having a sleepover tonight.”

“Or you’re the one being presumptuous when all I wanted to do was to invite you over for breakfast in the morning.”

The corner of my lips tip up into a smile and then a laugh bubbles out of me. “Oh, I’m sure that’s exactly what you were thinking.”

“No, you’re right.” He bends down, wraps his arms under my butt, and lifts me over his shoulder.

I wiggle and squirm in protest. “What are you doing?”

“I’m totally thinking sex, sleepover, breakfast, and more sex. Whose house?”

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