Page 27 of The Grump Who Stole Christmas
But I had to admit that was part of the fun.
Eventually the smell of the coffee got to her.
She sniffed with her eyes closed, turned her head. Her eyes popped open, she looked around, getting her bearings. She saw me sitting on her bed and…
She screamed.
“You do that a lot around me,” I noted.
“You keep freaking, freaking me out. What are you doing in my room? Again?”
“I brought you coffee. In your mug,” I said, pointing to the steaming mug of coffee I’d set down on her nightstand.
She sat up, flipped her hair out of her face. “And you felt delivery was necessary?”
“It was getting late. I couldn’t wait anymore for you to come downstairs. And I wanted to show you how gracious I was being by letting you have your boss lady mug.”
She flopped her arms on the bed and looked super adorable doing it.
“Let’s make this clear, right now. You are not to come into my room without an invitation.”
I made my eyes go wide. “Kay-Kay, are you planning on inviting me into your bedroom?”
She sputtered. Clamped her jaw shut. Then she glared at me so hard my dick started to twitch. I coughed and leaned over to pick up her mug and put it in her hands. She took it like a troll might take payment for crossing the bridge.
“I thought we bonded over brownies last night,” I explained, as an excuse for my overstepping the boundaries. “I thought we were brownie buddies.”
“We’re not buddies,” she grumbled as she sipped her coffee. Then she blinked. “Wait. Does this have cream in it?”
“Sweet vanilla cream.”
“I drink my coffee black.”
“Sure, you can,” I said. “But doesn’t it taste better this way?”
She took another sip. “It tastes really, really good.”
“I know, right? See, that’s what buddies are for.”
“I don’t need a buddy,” she grumbled.
“Why not?”
She didn’t really have a good answer for that.
“Buddies are great. You can share your burdens with them, you can ask them for favors. Like moving,” I pointed out.
“What about helping you to change a flat tire?” she asked, her lips quirked.
“Absolutely. Unless of course the lug nuts are put on with machines, then it’s impossible.”
She smiled. “Where is my dad?”
“He walked to the inn, over my objection because I think he’s not spending enough time on his ass letting his leg heal, to which he told me to mind my own beeswax.”
“That sounds like my dad,” she said and took another sip of her coffee. Not quite hiding the moan at the back of her throat.
It was a toss up as to what was hotter. Watching her drink sweetened coffee or eat a brownie in the middle of the night.
