Page 22 of Mistletoe, Mayhem & Mr. Grump
"He was pretty," I defend weakly. "And he could reach high shelves."
"Those are terrible criteria for dating someone," he says.
"What are good criteria then?" I challenge.
He tilts his head, considering. "Someone who makes you laugh. Someone who shows up when they say they will. Someone who understands that some things matter more than money."
"That's surprisingly romantic for someone who thinks food is fuel," I say.
"Thought. Past tense. This lasagna might change my mind," he says, taking another bite. "It's either delicious or I'm having a stroke."
"That's Giuseppe's motto," I inform him.
Mr. Jackson chooses this moment to shuffle past our table. "You two make a lovely couple," he bellows.
We freeze.
"Thank you?" I squeak.
"Oh yes, very authentic. The way you're holding hands — like you're afraid they'll explode. The constant nervous laughter. The fact that you're sitting as if there's an invisible wall between you. True love," he continues, clearly enjoying himself.
"We're just—" I start.
"New," Holden cuts in smoothly. "We're new. Still figuring things out."
"Of course," Mr. Jackson winks. "New. Three weeks new, I'd guess. Until the Christmas gala?"
"How did you—" I begin.
"The contract you dropped outside the garage had very clear terms," he says cheerfully. "Section 3, subsection 2a was particularly interesting."
I want to die. Not dramatically, just enough to escape this conversation.
"Did you read our contract?" Holden asks calmly.
"It was on the ground. In the square. Public property," Mr. Jackson says, pulling it out of his jacket pocket. "Also, it was in a laminated sleeve. Who saves a fake dating contract in lamination?"
"I wanted it to last," I mumble as I snatch it out of his hands.
"Three weeks' worth of lasting?" Mr. Jackson grins.
"Are you blackmailing us?" Holden asks directly.
"Blackmail is such an ugly word. I prefer 'suggesting you help with my Christmas decorations,'" Mr. Jackson says.
"That's definitely blackmail," I point out.
"Prove it," he challenges, then totters off whistling.
"We're being blackmailed by an octogenarian," I say in disbelief.
"He's efficient. I respect that," Holden says.
"You respect our blackmailer?" I ask.
"I respect his initiative," he clarifies.
Giuseppe appears again. "Was everything romantic enough?"
