Page 18 of Not In The Christmas Plan
Ms. Thomas sends me an anything-but-subtle nod. “Well done, Eve. He’smuchmore of an upgrade from your ex.”
“You can say that again,” Grant mutters in a similar, anything-but-subtle manner.
“Actually,” I cut in. “This is Grant. He’s Braxton’s brother, so Ivy’s brother-in-law. He’s helping me at the house.” I add quickly, “We’re not together.”
Ms. Thomas squints one eye like she doesn’t believe me before her gaze drops to the flour Grant’s holding. “So…are you two baking?”
“I’m the one baking,” I tell her. A light bulb goes off, and I remember the years’ old cookie exchange between her and Dad. “And don’t worry, I’ll make sure to bring you your Christmas Eve dozen this year. It’ll be the same shortbread cookies Dad and Ivy always made.”
Her smile freezes while her eyes tell it all. “Okay, sweetie. You… do that.”
Her living across the street has meant she’s been witness to the smokey aftermath of my many failed baking and cooking attempts. But God bless her, she’s never turned down a lopsided cake or burnt casserole, though I’m pretty sure her tastebuds have suffered.
“Well, I’ll let you two get on with your shopping,” she says.
She scans the flour section, her lips tugging down at the now entirely empty shelves. Then her gaze slides to the bag Grant’s holding.
Now I’m not one to tussle, especially physically and outside of the court room, but Iwillthrow down if it means making Ivy and Dad’s cookies. Christmas won’t be perfect for her without them.
Grant casually slides the flour behind his back. “Well, it was nice meeting you, ma’am,” he says, all polite Southerncharm. “And don’t worry, I’ll make sure Eve here doesn’t forget your cookies.”
Looks like I didn’t need to worry about Ms. Thomas coming for the flour. Grant’s clearly recognized her true feelings about my kitchen skills and decided to weaponize it. I’d be insulted if it wasn’t so effective.
Ms. Thomas startles, then recovers with a strained smile. “Thank you. How wonderful of you.”
She snatches a bottle of molasses and scurries off faster than I’ve ever seen her move, though I’m pretty sure I hear her mutter, “Eve is making shortbread. Lord have mercy.”
As she turns the corner, I elbow Grant in his side at his snicker, hiding a smile of my own.
Chapter eight
Two hours later we’re back in the kitchen surrounded by grocery bags. They cover every counter space plus the kitchen table.
“Hey, what’s all that moanin’ and groanin’ for?” Grant asks as he finds room for the last bag.
I lean against the sink and let my shoulders fall. “Moaning and groaning? I am exhausted. How is getting groceries with you somehow worse than Ivy dragging me to Ulta all 21 days of their 21 Days of Beauty? And who is supposed to eat all this food?”
Grant shakes his head and calls me alightweightbefore tugging me away toward the table.
“Hey!” I say, but quiet down as he steers me to a chair.
“Rest up, Princess. You still got some baking to do.”
I shake my head. “Nope. Not today. The butter has to be at room temperature, and thanks tosomeonetrying to buy out the whole store, it won’t be soft for at least another hour. I fear I’ll be too tired by then and I needto be alert when I bake. I don’t have forever to nail these before Ivy gets back, and they need to come out perfect.”
He twists his lips to the side, considering. “Did you soften the butter earlier?”
“Yes.”
“And did the cookies come out perfect?”
Grant’s lucky looks can’t kill. I give him my best death glare anyway. “I swear, it’s like every day you wake up and choose trouble.”
“Consider me guilty as charged,” he says before looking me up and down, slow and appreciative. “Good thing I know a smart and sexy lawyer who can get me off the hook.”
Straight to jail!I want to shout, but then he’ll know that heated look and smooth baritone is getting to me.
“I don’t know why I even bother with you.” I grab my phone from my pocket so I have something else to focus on.
