Page 5 of The Bookworm Who Stole Christmas
He suddenly becomes serious, all joking aside, and his eyes bore into mine with an absolute certainty. “Who hurt you?”
“You got all day?” I quip before turning myback on him and walking through the stack of shelves, arms laden with more books.
I hear Parker follow behind me as he calls out, “For you, I’ve got the rest of my life.”
I burst out laughing. I can’t help it. When I’ve composed myself enough, I wipe the tears from my eyes and pick up the discarded books from the shelf.
Glancing at him, I say, “That’s three times in the space of ten minutes you’ve made me laugh. I think that’s a new record.”
He gives me a shit eating grin in return. “I aim to please.”
I’m sure you could definitely please me.
Shaking my head of my errant thoughts, I keep walking, reminding myself that the men in my life have always hurt me, and I don’t need another one to add to the list.
“Let me change your mind about Christmas and the holidays,” he says, following behind me again.
He’s like a bad smell that won’t leave, except… his cologne is pretty nice.
“Parker, I just met you. Why on earth would I let you change my mind about the holidays? You could be some weird stalker guy for all I know,” I exclaim, rounding on him, my eyes wide.
“Okay, fair point,” he muses, a hand to his lips as he assesses me. “I’ll just have to come back each day and convince you.”
“You do that,” I drawl, trying to give off a nonchalant vibe when, in fact, a thrill of excitement runs through me.
He taps the bookcase he’s leaning against, declaring, “It’s a date.”
“Wh-what—” I stammer, but he’s already halfway out of the shop.
“I’ll see you soon, Maddie,” he calls over his shoulder.
The doorbell chiming tells me he’s left, and I scoff. There’s no way he’ll come back, and even if he does, he won’t change my mind.
Chapter Four
PARKER
“What do you mean she hates Christmas?” Amelia gasps, her bowl of ice cream forgotten.
After leaving Maddison a couple of hours ago, I knew I needed help, and the one person who loves Christmas just as much as I do is my daughter. I drove straight to my mom’s and interrupted their dinner, but Mom always has plenty to spare, so she made me a plate.
“That’s what I said,” I say with a shrug, shoveling the last bit of my own ice cream into my mouth. “Whodoesn’tlike Christmas?” I exclaim, sitting back in my chair, my empty bowl pushed to the side.
How anyone can dislike Christmas is beyond me. There must be some rule against it, right? It’s the season of joy, of giving. Where you eat so much food that it puts you in a coma for the rest of the day. How does anyone hateChristmas?
And how do I get her to change her mind? I’ve got a little over three weeks before the big day, so I’m going to have to pull out all the stops for this one.
As if reading my mind, Amelia asks, “So, what do we do?”
This kid.
She’s my greatest gift and every time I see her, pride blooms in my chest. Not a day goes by that I’m not grateful I get to be her dad.
I run a hand through my hair, sighing. “That’s what I’m struggling with. It’s got to be something small to start off with. If we go in full force, it’ll only freak her out more.” I lean my head in my hands, thinking. Sitting upright, I say, “What about if we decorate her house with Christmas lights? She’s gotta have a house, right?”
“I don’t know…” she says around a mouthful of melted vanilla ice cream. “Does she live in a house?”
“That’s why I’m asking,” I groan, rubbing my eyes.
