Page 26 of The Snuggle is Real
Just what I needed: a hunky, strong sweetheart of a man doting on a little girl—and hitting me in all the swoony feels—when he was straight and one hundred percent out of reach.
And I’d just signed up for spending more time with him, because I was a glutton for punishment.
But hey, at least, I’d get to enjoy a truly impressive sight this holiday season. Because Ford made me want to say,Put me on the naughty list, Santa,something fierce.
CHAPTER 8
Ford
Charlie vibratedwith excited energy as we entered Season’s Readings, a cute little bookstore next door to the coffee shop, Jolly Java. It was one of the free festival events—though I probably wouldn’t escape without buying something.
Still, thanks to the Holiday Hope Foundation, I didn’t have to sweat the small stuff so much. I could buy Charlie a storybook and know that it wouldn’t mean I couldn’t afford to take her anywhere else the rest of the week.
Or month.
“Look, it’s the Grinch!”
Sure enough, kids buzzed around a fullygrinched outguy who held the Dr. Seuss storybook under one arm.
He wore bright green tights, a red Santa coat and hat, and his face was painted green.
“Wow,” I said. “That’s…something.”
Something I’d never do. But then Eddie was a theater major. Judging by the playful scowls and hisses he was exchanging withthe kids, he was happy as aWhoinWhoville. Before the Grinch stole their Christmas, anyway.
Nick Morgan stepped out from between bookshelves, an Emerson Maxwell mystery novel in his hands.
I glanced behind him, almost expecting someone else to be there. But no. Of course there wasn’t.
“Hi, Ford,” he said. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Guess not.”
He crouched down. “Hey, Charlie. You might not remember me, but I remember you.”
She blinked wide eyes at him. “You do?”
“Yep, I knew you when you were itty-bitty. You see, I’m?—”
“An old friend,” I cut in, not wanting to delve into the truth here and now.
He glanced at me, face tightening slightly. “Right. Just an old friend saying hello.”
“Hello,” Charlie said, holding out her hand.
With a bemused smile, Nick shook it.
“Why don’t you join the kids so you don’t miss the start of the story,” I suggested.
Charlie looked up at me. “You won’t leave?”
“Nope. I’ll stay in the store. Don’t you worry.”
She nodded once, dark pigtails bouncing, and skipped toward the cozy corner set up with fluffy carpeting, bean bag seats for the kids, and a puppeteering stage off to one side.
Nick straightened. “So, it must be nice having Charlie for the holidays.”
“Real nice,” I agreed.
