Page 24 of The Snuggle is Real
She blinked. “The pie? You mean for the Thanksgiving deliveries?”
“I mean the one you left on my porch, Secret Santa.”
She chuckled. “No idea what you mean. Maybe you’ve got a secret admirer.”
With a wink, she set off again. Huh. I’d been sure Rebecca was the one behind it. Maybe Elias or Taylor had picked one up at Ginger’s Breads for me. I must have bored five different people to tears with the story of my mom’s amazing holiday pie.
Ford nudged me. “Areyouwarm enough?”
I became aware I was shivering. I glanced down, but our box was empty. We’d given away all the blankets.
“Oops,” I said. “I guess I should have saved a couple. Are you all right?”
Charlie was bundled into a blanket and cozied up in Ford’s arms, so I wasn’t worried about her.
“A little chilly but not bad,” he said. “I run a little hot.”
Boy, wasn’t that the truth? The man ran alothot in my opinion.
“Well, let’s grab some cocoa. That’ll help.”
He nodded and we made our way toward a little stand that had been set up for the occasion.
“I can pay,” he said when we got in line, still facing the parade so we could watch the lights go by.
“Ford.” I chuckled. “Let’s put this on the Holiday Hope Foundation tab, huh? Might as well get you used to accepting gifts.”
“I’m sure your programs aren’t designed to buy me cocoa.”
“No? Well, you’d be surprised.” I impulsively blurted out, “I’m working on a new program that’s about providing the full Christmas experience.”
“What does that mean, exactly?”
I smiled. “I guess you’ll find out.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Why do you look so ornery? You’re not gonna force me to wear ugly Christmas sweaters and twinkling deer antlers, are you?”
That surprised a laugh out of me. Who knew Ford Donnelly had a sense of humor?
“I hadn’t considered it, but that’ll have to go in the idea box. What do you think, Charlie? Should Ford get some ugly Christmas sweaters and light-up antlers?”
She giggled. “He’d look silly dressed that way.”
“He would, wouldn’t he? I think we’ll do it.”
Ford muttered something unintelligible under his breath.
“Don’t be a humbug,” Charlie scolded. “It’s Christmas!”
“Sorry,” Ford said, voice rumbling quietly.
We reached the front of the line and I purchased the three hot chocolates out of my pocket. Ford wasn’t wrong. The Holiday Hope Foundationwasn’tset up to buy cocoa.
It wasn’t yet set up to help Ford and Charlie the way I wanted, either. But there was time to figure that out. Ford was much too skittish about this whole charity business for me to quibble over the details. One wrong word, and he’d bolt.
I handed them each a drink and took a sip of mine, sweet heaven coating my tongue.
Ford set Charlie down so they could more easily manage their cocoa.
