Page 26 of Mistletoe & Magic
As we pass the coffee shop, I point out every Christmas decoration in sight, rating them out loud.
“That one?” I say, pointing at a custom wooden Santa on someone’s roof. “Nine out of ten. Loses a point for the saggy sleigh.”
He huffs. “What gets a ten out of ten? Who makes these standards?”
“You’ll know it when you see it.”
We turn the corner and there it is, a twenty-foot inflatable snowman holding a candy cane the size of a telephone pole. I tilt my head and judge.
I yell, “TEN!” so loudly he actually flinches.
“Your energy is exhausting,” he mutters, but I swear I see the edge of a smile before he turns his head.
“You have no idea. My stamina is out of control. You gotta get in shape to keep up with my enthusiasm,” I tell him and watch his eyes darken a little with something that looks like desire and challenge.
I don’t want to flirt with Remy, but flirting with Remy comes easy, and I can’t seem to stop.
We run our errands in record time. He’s efficient,tossing bags and boxes into the cart without hesitation. I pick up all of my supplies for Junie’s advent calendar project. Remy says nothing, just tags along and towers over me as we walk. Once, I almost slide my gloved hand into his excitedly, but then I remember that he doesn’t like me.
But damn, I wish he did.
When we load the supplies into the truck, a Christmas song comes on. Without thinking, I start singing.
He pretends to look exasperated, but I don’t miss the smirk.
“Fired,” he tells me again.
“Again, would love to see you try to fire me, Remington Bennett. I’m the best thing that has ever happened to you. You neeeeeeeeeeeeeed me,” I sing to him and dance in my seat.
“Ridiculous,” Remy throws the truck into reverse, resting one hand on the back of my seat as he twists to look behind us. It’s such a simple move—practical, even—but there’s something sexy about the way his arm stretches behind me, muscles flexing under the fabric of his flannel, his jaw set in concentration. I try not to notice and fail.
Instead of replying, I reward him with my own lip-syncing rendition ofI Think We’re Alone Now by Tiffany.An eighties classic.
By the time we pull into the bookstore to park I’ve decided two things.
He might secretly be more fun than he lets on.
I wouldn’t mind spending more time with him again. In a non-professional setting.
And I wouldn’t mind seeing what else is hiding under all that flannel and gruffness.
Chapter 8
Remy
Iam smiling at a receipt when I realize I have been smiling for five minutes straight at basically nothing. And I know why. It is the woman in my passenger seat who keeps treating errands like a holiday parade, as if we're having the best day of our lives instead of just running basic errands.Somehow Ivy has the gift of making everyone feel magic in the mundane.
With everything she does, she’s sunshine.
The way she sings to the radio and waves at everyone we pass on Main. When I mutter the need to get going, she pats my arm and then waits by the truck for me to open the door for her.
"Thanks, Remington," she calls, cheerfully.
I give her a look. "Why do you call me that?"
"Why not?" she asks, giving me a smile that makes my lip twitch. “It’s a sexy name.” She says it in a teasing sexy voice that makes me feel things.
"No one calls me that," I mutter.
