Page 41 of Scrooged for the Holidays
“Big generalization,” I muse.
She places a hand on her round hip and cocks it along with one dark-red eyebrow. It’s attractive, and I think she knows that, too. “And all people who don’t like Christmas are Scrooges, then?”
I chuckle. “Touché.”
The singing of the carolers becomes softer as they move beyond the bakery and out of earshot. Being the head guardian of this town, I can communicate with others mind to mind if they give permission, where Sam and Kai can only communicate with me. I had let the singing Nephilim, who were playing the part of town carolers, know they were no longer needed and could leave.
Greer’s consuming gaze is still locked on mine as her shoulders visibly relax now that the singing is gone. It’s not unusual for someone who arrives here around this time of year to dislike Christmas, but like most things I’m discovering about Greer, she’s an extreme case.
I can understand it, given what I’ve seen of her past now. The holidays haven’t been kind to her in a long time. I can only hope that after she leaves here, she’ll make different choices and one day enjoy them again.
The thought of her leaving tightens my chest. I nearly frown as my hand moves to rub over my heart, but Greer’s voice stops me.
“I have to ask…” She pauses, her gaze narrowing. “Are you following me?”
I was wondering if she was going to bring up the fact we’ve seen each other before or if she’d be too embarrassed after last night. She may not realize that I know she watched and verymuch enjoyed herself, but I do. She also doesn’t know that I liked that she watched, that she was attracted to us enough to stay and get turned on. It turns me on, too. And while I know I shouldn’t be thinking of a job in an intimate way, I can’t deny I am. That I couldn’t rest or do much of anything last night other than wait for Kai to return.
I kept thinking about what the hunger we were all feeling meant and why Greer, beyond her gray aura and Scrooginess, is different from any human I’ve ever encountered. Trust me, I’ve encountered many. While her aura is bleak, everything else about her is sharp and passionate. She’s here for a reason, and I don’t believe it’s just to see her past, present, and future.
The conclusion I settled on while speaking with Sam and Kai is how I’m choosing to move forward. I will do my job, show Greer the Present-Day Christmas this evening, but with everything else, I’m going to see where the chips fall. Live in the present moment. One that has a beautiful woman staring at me, waiting for me to speak.
“I’m not following you,” I say, which is a partial lie. I’m not following her per se, but when I didn’t find her eating scones and drinking coffee in the dining area, I sought out her energy. It was easy to find, her gray and annoyed aura acting as a beacon.
“Did you get trapped here like I did, then?” she asks. By the building blush on her cheeks, I don’t think she believes that to be true given what she spied on last night. But I answer her anyway.
“No, I was in Garland for a bite to eat. But I live here—I own the inn, actually.”
Her blush burns brighter at the mention of the inn, and a visible shiver runs up her spine. She takes a second to collect herself and her thoughts before she speaks again. “Do you own the building as well?”
“I do.”
She hums. “What a coincidence. I’d actually love to talk to you about your business and the town.”
My eyebrows shoot up, wondering what she means by that. “You do?”
“Yes.” The moment she finishes speaking, her stomach growls loud enough that we both can hear it. I guess me and my Nephilim lovers aren’t the only ones feeling hungry.
I gesture with my hand toward the bakery. “How about we chat over tea and a bite to eat?”
“Make it coffee, and you have a deal.”
I smile warmly at her and nod. “Brilliant. After you, love.”
Greer’s discerning gaze darts around the seating area, her posture stiff and lips pursed.
“What is it?” I ask, picking up my teacup from the two-person table, a number for our order placed between us.
“This bakery is…”
I sip my English breakfast tea, the bitter flavor bursting across my tastebuds. “Is…?” I press after I swallow.
“Quaint.” She looks around. “And heavily decorated.”
I smirk over the cup before placing it on the saucer. The decor here is cozy, warm, and inviting. The walls are white, but holiday trim is everywhere to match the season. Plum-colored accents on the crown molding match the color of the booths and tables, really driving home the name of the bakery.
“You really don’t like Christmas, do you?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
Greer sips her latte, one she was very particular about, though I had a laugh that she asked for two pumps of peppermint in it. While peppermint isn’t exclusive to the holidays, it is thought of as a holiday flavor. It leads me to believe that I’m right in thinking that the part of Greer that believed in Santa and loved Christmas still exists. It’s just been buried for far too long.
