Page 11 of Matchmaking Under the Mistletoe

“Sure, that sounds great. Thank you for helping me get everything settled,” I say as we make our way back to the lobby. I hadn’t noticed it yesterday, but there’s a small coffee bar tucked around the corner, and as we get closer, the smell of cinnamon, expresso, and brown sugar hits my nose making my mouth water.

Brian gestures to the kid working behind the bar and after making small talk about the local high school basketball team, he says, “Anyway, Jaxon, can I get a hot vanilla latte and a…” before turning to me for my order.

“Oh, I can get my own,” I say with a shy smile, digging through my pocket for the cash I tucked in there this morning.

“Millie, put your money away and order your coffee,” Brian says, and I don’t miss the command in his voice.

“I really don’t mind,” I say awkwardly, not wanting him to feel obligated.

“Millie,” he says, turning toward me and looking me in the eyes, “please stop arguing, and let me buy you a coffee.”

“Yes s—yeah, okay. Thanks, Brian,” I babble, feeling off kilter from his gaze.

Did I really almost call him sir? What the HELL is wrong with me?

Shaking myself internally, I order a caramel gingerbread latte with extra cinnamon, and Brian gestures for us to sit at one of the small bistro tables in the corner.

“I need a break from all these events for a few minutes. Why don’t you tell me more about yourself? Huey didn’t give me much on the phone yesterday. Where were you headed when the storm changed your plans?” he asks.

I smile awkwardly before responding. “Would you believe me if I told you I don’t know? I just got in the car and started driving. I swear I’m not usually reckless or impulsive, but I needed to get out of D.C.”

“You’re not on the run from the police or anything are you?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at me.

I let out a little laugh at his question. “No, nothing like that. Just the ex-husband from hell.”

Brian nods before asking, “Got it. Is the divorce recent?”

“According to the lawyers, earlier this week… But the truth is, I’ve been single for a lot longer than that.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” he says, running a hand through his hair.

“It’s okay. It turns out, fucking three of your employees is a pretty quick way to end a marriage,” I admit, and resist the urge to slap my hand over my mouth.

What the hell is wrong with me? Why in the world did I just say that?

He opens his mouth like he wants to ask something else but doesn’t want to be rude so he stops himself and nods.

Not wanting to dive any more into the dumpster fire of the last month, I change the subject. “So, Mr. Mayor, how’d you end up in politics? You’re in your, what, mid-thirties? I thought all small-town mayors were in their eighties.”

He lets out a low laugh and runs his hand over his beard, and I try not to stare too hard at his mouth while he talks. “Thirty-four, actually. Now that you say that, the other mayors in South Springs county are pretty old. But I don’t really know to be honest with you. It definitely wasn’t in my original career path, but when our last mayor had to go into the nursing home, he asked me to run. At first, I thought he was losing it, and to be honest I don’t really know what he saw in me. But Mayor Adams was a retired police officer and claimed that he’d spent the last thirty years reading people, and he knew a leader when he saw one. I still don’t know what the hell that’s supposed to mean, but I guess he knew something I didn’t because I really love serving this town.”

I feel a pang of jealousy that he feels so confident in his career and that he’s found something that he enjoys as much as he does.

“Are the elections usually stressful?” I ask, and he laughs again.

It occurs to me that I almost never saw Allen laugh in the ten years that we were together. He was always so uptight and worried about making his next business deal, but Brian looks incredibly relaxed as he tells me about his job. He’s spent the entire morning talking me through my new job, and hasn’t once interrupted me to answer a “more important” call. Plus, the longer I sit here, the more I notice the veins in his muscular forearms and the way his mouth tips up right before he laughs.

God, does this man know how hot he is?

“I know most elected officials would say absolutely, but honestly, no,” he answers, dragging me out of my daze. “Once word got out that Adams was endorsing me, everyone just went with it. This is my second term, and I’ve run unopposed both times.”

“Oh my gosh, how old were you when you got elected?” I ask incredulously.

“Twenty-seven.”

“That’s wild! Have you always lived in Springside?”

“Sure have. This inn has been in my family for decades. Other than when I played football at Alabama, I’ve been here my whole life.”

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