Page 31 of One Foggy Christmas
I hold his phone out to him. His fingers skim mine in the pass-off. I pull my hand back, trying not to think about how divine his touch was.
“Lindy?”
Through the earpiece, I hear her snap, “Where are you? Dinner is happening right now.”
Wow, she’s a feisty one.
“I should’ve known you'd start calling if I ignored your text.”
“Well, are you coming?” I’m so glad she’s a loud talker, making it easier for me to eavesdrop.
“No, I’m still at work.” His eyes flick to me.
“You’re a workaholic, and I hate it.”
“I know you do.”
“You’re missing out on my stroganoff.”
“Save me some. I’ll eat it later.”
“If you’re lucky.” She sounds irritated but, at the same time, not. “Okay, goodbye.”
“Bye.” Nash sets his phone back down. “Sorry about that.”
“No problem.” I begin cleaning up the pizza, working as if I don’t have a care in the world. “Was that your girlfriend? She sounds lovely.”
“Sadie?”
“What?”
His lips morph into quite possibly the most amused smile I’ve ever seen from him. “Are you jealous?”
“What?” I scoff and puff and do all the things that I shouldn’t do if I want my lie to be convincing. “No! Why would I be jealous?” I aggressively throw stuff into the pizza box—the ranch cups, parmesan packets, chili pepper packets—until Nash grabs my wrist, stopping my movements.
His eyes are so soft and green, looking up at me. “Lindy is not my girlfriend.”
“You don’t have to explain anything to me.” I try to keep cleaning, but he tugs my arm, forcing me into my chair so we're face to face.
“Lindy is my cousin.”
“Your cousin?” I wish I were better at hiding my emotions, but my small smile gives me away.
“My cousin.” That same amused smile returns to his lips. “Besides, I don't need a girlfriend. I’m holding out.”
Confusion clouds my expression. “For what?”
“For you.” Flirtation rounds out his grin. “I thought it was pretty obvious where my romantic interest lies.”
Steady beats pound in my chest, and I think my soul just pirouetted out of my body, dancing happily around me.
As much as Ilovethe feeling, this is not the reaction I should have to my boss.
My eyes dart to the home screen of his laptop as a way to change the subject. “That’s Switzerland at Christmas, right?”
He shifts his focus to his computer. “Yeah, the flying Santa attraction at the Christmas market in?—”
“Montreux,” I finish his sentence for him.
