Page 18 of The Grump Who Stole Christmas
“Iama big-deal business person,” I said, suddenly feeling defensive. “Executive VP at Hart’s Insurance, a Fortune 500 company, okay? It doesn’t get bigger than that unless I’m the CEO. I think I can handle some financial statements.”
“Just making sure. I’ve metExecutiveVPs in the past and a lot of them are just full of hot air. All puff, no substance.”
“Yeah, well, I’m filled with…substance. I’m going to find out what’s been happening and I’ll fix it.”
“Good. I want to plant some trees this spring and in eight years I want to be the one who chops them down.”
“You actually chop down the trees?”
He smiled. “Sure. A lot of folks who come out here want to chop them down themselves, you know, for the experience. But for some, they need a little extra muscle.”
“You really are Paul Bunyan,” I snickered.
He set the pan he’d been drying back on the stove. “Let me know what you find out. I might be able to help.”
“You’re an arborist,” I reminded him. “How are you going to help with the inn’s business problems?”
He shrugged. “I’ve got other skills.”
For whatever reason, maybe the way his voice dipped, or the way there was just a beat before he saidskills, my mind went totally…there.
I fidgeted in my chair and thought about what it might mean if he made love like he cooked.
Deliciously.
Mug-Stealing Mortal Enemy!
Thank you subconscious. I needed that reminder.
“See you around, Kay-Kay.”
“Stop calling me, Kay-Kay,” I snapped as he left the kitchen.
He paused in the doorway, then said without looking back at me, “Yeah…no. I don’t think I will. Clean out that mug and put it back in the cabinet where it belongs, please.”
I waited until he was out of earshot before I mumbled into my mug.
“Ha, that’s what you think. You’re never going to find this mug again.”
* * *
Paul
“Ha,that’s what you think. You’re never going to find this mug again.”
I smiled from the other side of the doorway. I don’t know why I suspected she was the type to have the last word, even when there was no one around to hear it, but I did. I stopped and waited just beyond where she could see me and smiled at her evil plots to hide the mug again.
Fun.
That’s what I’d felt when I’d snuck into her room to take the mug.
I was notthat guy. I didn’t invade people’s space without permission, and I certainly didn’t like having my space compromised. That came from having so many strange women in the house with me growing up. All of them thinking we should be closer than we actually were just because they had the titlestepmomattached to their names.
I have no idea what compelled me, but when I’d walked by her door on the way downstairs and saw it had opened a crack, I’d peeked inside. She was sound asleep, her long dark hair piled up on her head, her mouth open, making a small whispering sound through her nose. Not a snore, but a sound a sleeping kitten might make.
She’d looked younger, way less stressed, and entirely cute. Like she was all snarling lioness when she was awake and walking the planet, but in reality she was this vulnerable little kitten.
Then I’d seen the mug sitting on her nightstand and knew immediately it was there purposefully. That she’d been trying to hide it from me.
