Page 17 of Her Christmas Fix
His vehemence makes me smile. “You read tabloids?”
“I Googled you.” He sounds almost apologetic, but I would have done the same. Hell, I did do the same. Griffin doesn’t even have a Facebook account.
“Find anything interesting?” I ask, mentally reminding myself there’s more to me than what someone can find online.
“A bunch of lies.” He ties off a section of greenery with unnecessary force. “Not worth the time it took to write them.”
“Let me guess.” I tap a finger against my chin. “I’m difficult on set. High-maintenance. Impossible to please. That one has stuck the longest.”
“It’s complete crap. We’re averaging twelve-hour days at your house, and you’ve been nothing but?—”
“Careful,” I warn, but I’m grinning. “You’ll ruin my reputation if you keep saying nice things.”
“Your reputation is also bullshit, but it’s unclear if I’m helping or harming in that regard. Noah saw us kissing on Main Street.”
Heat floods my cheeks at the memory. The kiss has been playing on repeat in my head since that morning, along with all the almost-moments since then. The way he touches my lower back when we’re working. How our fingers brush when we pass tools. The charged silence as we try not to stare at each other.
“Hello, there!” Mary Lou Townsend appears at our table, her silver hair perfectly coiffed despite the evening breeze. “Griffin Meyer doing crafts. Will wonders never cease?”
“I’m all about the holiday season.” Griffin smiles but keeps working on my wreath. “This is Monika.”
“Oh, I know who she is.” Mary Lou studies me, and I brace myself for what might come next. It’s always hard to know?—
“You look like your grandmother. Same green eyes.”
The breath whooshes out of my lungs. “You knew her?”
“We weren’t close, but she was always friendly when I’d see her around town.” Mary Lou pats my shoulder. “She’d be so pleased you’re fixing up that house. She had a soft spot for it.”
My throat tightens. “Thank you for telling me that.”
“Let me know if you need anything. We take care of our own around here.” She winks at Griffin. “Though it looks like you’re in good hands.”
After she leaves, Griffin finishes my wreath with a small bundle of holly berries. “Told you so,” he says.
“Told me what?”
“You’d have a good time.” He reaches over and places a gentle hand on my thigh, causing a shiver to rush through me. “That people here wouldn’t make it weird.”
“I wonder if someone put the word out?” A slight flush creeps up his neck at my question. “Maybe asked people to treat me like a normal person.”
The flush deepens, and holy hell, watching this mountain of a man blush might be the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Griffin Meyer, did you protect me on the down low?”
“It’s not a big deal.” He pushes back from the table and begins cleaning up our craft supplies. “I didn’t want you to have to be on for anyone.”
And that’s when I know I’m completely screwed. Because I’m not just grateful or attracted to him. I’ve fallen so deep that I can’t see the water’s surface anymore.
“Want to check out the rest of the festival?” he asks after we say goodbye to Mary Lou and walk out into the chilly night. The history center is situated at the end of Main Street, and I glance toward the center of town where the festivities are still going strong.
“Actually…” My voice sounds steadier than I feel. “I want to go home.”
He stills, and I realize I’ve called his cabin home. But I don’t take it back because it’s true, only it has more to do with Griffin than any four walls.
“Let’s go home,” he says quietly, interlacing his fingers with mine, and those butterflies multiply again and again.
9
