Page 50 of A Very Naughty Christmas

“That’s nice of you, but I walk to work. Besides, it’s really not any of your business.”

He reached out and caught her wrist as she turned to leave, spinning her back. “What if I say I want to make it my business?”

A blue flame that she suspected was equal parts desire and determination lit his gaze. She tried to deny the uptick in her pulse his touch caused, but couldn’t. Still, she stuck to her guns, saying coolly, “That’s not your call, either.”

“Some asshole did a number on you, didn’t he? And I don’t mean an insensitive high school jerk shooting off his mouth, trying to be cool in front of his friends.”

Dixie didn’t reply, tugging at his firm hold. When his hand slipped down to curl around her fingers, she prayed her palms didn’t sweat and give her away.

“Who was he?”

“There wasn’t a he, so much as a they. And you don’t have enough hours in the day for me to count them all down. We close in five minutes.”

“You can fill me in while I take you home.”

Her brows arched in disbelief. As if.

“If you give me a chance, I could show you I’m not like any of them. I swear.”

“I’ve heard other guys swear they are different. But they only proved me right and themselves jerks. I don’t have the time or the patience for that anymore.”

He caught her other hand while looking up with concern and compassion on his face. “You were hurt, darlin’, and I hate that for you, but those other guys weren’t me.”

“No, but the worst of the lot was my daddy, who left my mama with five kids she couldn’t feed. He’s a tough asshole to follow.”

Startled by her sudden confession, or maybe because he felt he needed to let her go after that bombshell, when she tugged next, he released her. Dipping into her pocket, she pulled out his check and left it on his table, before hurrying into the back and away from the intensity of his scrutiny. Then she busied herself with prep work for the next morning, rolling silverware and setting up the giant tea dispenser so that all she had to do was press start when she came in.

If Kyle pushed it, she’d ask Lester or Pete, who was doing the books in his office, to drive her home. No way was she getting into his fancy car and letting him see where she lived. It was embarrassing.

With no more busy work left to do, she went to her locker and slipped into her winter coat, which was thin, worn, and at least ten years old, and provided little protection from the chill winds and driving snow of a winter storm. Once she’d tucked her seen-better-days old work shoes into her tote, she stomped her feet into her boots, tugged on her gloves—at least these were new, with the tags still on them; she’d scooped them up for a steal at the thrift store down the street—and headed up front. Pete was cashing out the register and Kyle was nowhere in sight. A mix of relief and disappointment warred inside her.

She asked Pete, “Where did he go?”

“You mean the rich dude who clogged up a booth for hours and only racked up a puny four-dollar eleven-cent bill? He left. Next time he comes in, tell your boyfriend there’s a twenty-five-dollar minimum for squatters.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Right,” he drawled. “He the same non-boyfriend who’s been here three or four nights this week, sitting in your section, and glaring death ray stares at any other man who dares glance your way?”

“He does not,” she shot back reflexively, stunned. Had she missed this, or was Pete spinning another of his tall tales?

“Russ Parker came in for his usual Wednesday night after prayer meeting slice of pie and had the bad luck to arrive the same time as the doc. When he took the last booth in your section and you greeted him with a huge smile, I thought the good doctor was going toperform surgery on poor Russ’s vital organs right there on the Formica without anesthesia and nothing more than his dull case knife.”

Clearly, he was exaggerating, and Pete was well-known for laying it on thick. If he saw a lizard, by the end of the yarn it’d be an eight-foot gator, and a minnow always turned into a five-pound bass. But she didn’t say anything else when he scowled at her, having caught her eye roll.

“Remember, I’m off tomorrow. I’ve got the crafts show in Asheville.”

“I know. You’ve been talking about it for weeks.”

“Sorry, but it’s important. I always sell a lot of my paintings when I go to these things.”

“I know, Dixie. You’re covered.” His head angled toward the front windows as a car went by outside on the wet pavement. “If you wait fifteen minutes, I’ll drive you home when I leave. I promised your boyfriend that I would.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, it was either that or he was going to hang around all night and wait for you.”

So, he hadn’t just left. She wasn’t sure what she thought about that, although the warm, tingling feeling that stirred inside her was meaningful.

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