Page 21 of A Not So Merry Rescue
As if I wasn’t already in trouble.
Hoping not to let her see me ogling her, I motion to the table, placing a plate with a brownie in front of each of us. “Tea and beer aren’t the best combination for brownies. Want a glass of milk?”
“Sure.” She nibbles a bite of the brownie, like the smallest bite ever. Like I added poison to the batter or something, yet she scrutinized me as I added every ingredient. I’m about to ask her how she likes it, but she goes back for more. A much bigger bite this time. Before it’s even down her throat, she moans. “Goodness,” she exclaims after swallowing. “Ah-may-zing.” She chomps again, exaggerating the moan.
As if I’m not turned on enough.
“So, no more doubts about my baking skills?”
“Did I doubt you? I don’t remember doing any such thing. Can I get that milk now?” She shoves the rest of it in her mouth. I chuckle, happy she’s enjoying it but glad she’s finished. Her noises are too much.
I set a glass of milk in front of her, which she immediately chugs.
“Can I, uh, have another brownie? Or is that too much?”
I’m already sitting, but I wave my hands in the direction of the brownies. “Have at it. Glad you’re enjoying them.”
She pops out of her seat and shimmies her way to the pan.
Yes, shimmies.
I can see the headlines now:Death by cute and adorable female.She’ll probably get off on a technicality.
SHE HATES CHRISTMAS!my mind supplies, the voice loud and demanding me to stop whatever this instant attraction is.
And it’s nothing more than attraction.
Surface-level stuff.
Stuff that leads nowhere.
It’s helpful to remember she’s only here until I fix her car,then she’ll be on her way to her destination and a memory in my rearview mirror.
I’m so caught up in my thoughts, her presence across the table startles me. She’s got two brownies stacked on her plate. Not sure where she’ll hide these calories away on her lithe body.
“Hats off to you, chef Beckett. I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed a brownie so delicious.” She shovels half a brownie into her mouth, licking the bits of chocolate left on her fingers.
I rip my focus away, inhaling my brownie. “See what happens when you make them from scratch instead of cheating with a box mix?” I offer after swallowing. “Makes all the difference.”
“I agree. I’m going to have to find someone back at home to make these regularly. Can I get the recipe?”
Intentionally ignoring her request, I return to our earlier conversation. “What type of books do you write?”
“Children’s mystery chapter books.”
Huh. Was not quite expecting that. Except it’s fair to say I don’t know what I was expecting. This girl’s certainly surprising me at every turn.
“That’s cool. Anything I’d know?”
Her brows jump to her hairline. “Do you often read children’s mystery books?”
“Often might be a stretch, but sometimes. At least when Shania was little. She loved the alphabet ones when she was in early elementary. And Nancy Drew. I’m not ashamed to admit that one night after she went to bed, I finished reading the book to find out how Nancy solved the mystery.”
“You continue to astonish me. I’m sorry I ever pegged you as a serial killer.”
“Stop it with the serial killer nonsense. Though now that I know what you do, it makes a little more sense.”
“Does it though? I write mystery books. Forchildren.” She stresses the last word.
