Page 17 of Sleighing You
“Speaking of….” he continued, clearing his throat, “did you know that the nameAveryis derived from the Old English word, aelf… which means ruler of elves?”
I nearly snorted. “Excuse me?”
“You, Avery Pinkerton, are StoryBook’s very own personal Christmas Elf.” He grinned, and even though he was teasing me, it was different tonight than it was this morning. There was more playfulness. And maybe even a bit of… flirtation? Was I crazy, making that up? This guy was technically my boss. We should not be flirting.
Then I glanced up again, and that grin was still there. That grin could melt the snow right off my windshield. I licked my lips and studied him closely—the tightened lines of his throat when he laughed and the small lines framing his deep malachite eyes, the way he shifted uncomfortably with the laugh and covered his grin with his fist. When I looked deeper, beyond his sexy full lips and cheeky smirk, there was still a lingering seriousness beneath the surface—as though smiling and laughing was a foreign act to him. He was a tourist when it came to joy. Yes, his lips were curved, and his chest bounced with his chuckle, and his eyes crinkled… but just like someone learning a new language, he was uncertain and stumbling his way through it.
And that small discovery drew me to him even more. Maybe… just like the Grinch… he only needed someone to take his hand and show him how to be happy.
Nick came over with a tray of drinks, breaking the moment. He set a candy cane martini, a peppermint schnapps hot chocolate, and a Grove IPA for Chris onto the table for us. “Enjoy,” he said.
I slid the martini over and took a sip, moaning as the peppermint and white chocolate flavors hit my mouth. “Oh, this isgood.”
“I’m not usually a festive cocktail kind of guy… but for the sake of solidifying a good business relationship between us and the bar, I should probably take one for the team.”
I pressed my lips together and nodded. “Mmm. You probably should. It’s a sacrifice that will make the history books. Be talked about for years to come. I bet they’ll erect a statue in your honor.”
Despite my snarky humor, Chris smiled wider and wiggled his eyebrows. “Just make sure they get the jawline right.”
The spark in his eyes seemed to shift as though it had transformed into an electric current right before my eyes, I felt it travel across the table and skim over my skin. My heart thrummed faster, and my skin flushed warm and tingly as he brought his lips to the edge of the hot chocolate mug and took a slow sip, his eyes remaining on me the entire time.
When he lowered the mug, whipped cream stuck to his stubble like a creamy mustache—and what was even better, he had no idea.
I touched my forefinger to my top lip and cleared my throat. “You’ve got a little, um, whipped cream…”
He quickly swiped at his top lip with his hand and his eyes widened in shock as he looked down at the glob of cream in his palm. “That’s more than a little.”
He tried to wipe it off in his other palm, which only spread it around more. Then, in a last ditch effort, he wiped his hands on his sweater—which only made the bright green fibers stick to his palms.
He grunted in frustration. “Didn’t Nick bring us any napkins?”
I chuckled and dug into my purse. I always kept sanitizer and hand wipes on me at all times. When you work in a store that had kids running around (sometimes amuck), you needed them more than you’d expect. I rooted around until I felt the small square and tossed it onto the table. “Here. This will work better than a dry napkin, anyway.”
He blinked, staring at the hand wipe. He glanced up at me a moment, then back down. “You want me to wipe my hands with this?” That cocky smirk was back, and when I dropped my gaze to the table, my face went red hot as I realized I had handed him a condom from my purse.
“Oh my God,” I lunged for the condom and threw it back in my bag, searching for the hand wipe which I quickly found. “This. I meant to give you this.”
“Phew,” Chris sighed and took the square paper wrapper I handed him. “I was going to say, I don’t think a condom would be much help here.” He lifted his sticky palms into the air.
“Especially not that one. Damn thing’s probably expired.”
Oh, my God.Shut up, Avery. Shut up, shut up, shut up.Chris didn’t need to know that my best friend had given that condom to me last year on St. Patrick’s Day “just in case.” And he definitely didn’t need to know that I went home that nightalonewith a fistful of chocolate gold coins and a big gulp sized Shamrock Shake.
Chris tore open the hand wipe and cleaned off his hands. “Thanks, this worked great.”
“No problem. I’ve always got a wet one.”
What. The. Actual. Fuck.I had a chronic case of word vomit. I cringed and dropped my forehead to the table. Whatever sexy moment Chris and Ihadbeen having had long since passed.
“That didn’t come out as planned,” I muttered, speaking into the table.
Above me, I heard Chris’s chuckle. “Well, thank you for your wet one. It really helped clean thecreamoff my hands.”
A deep belly laugh bounced my shoulders and took over my body. My humiliation shouldn’t be so damn funny… but it was. And sometimes the best thing you can do is laugh at yourself.
