Page 45 of The Runaway Bride of Blitzen Bay (Blitzen Bay)

“It’s a date!” she says, peeking around me to get a last look at him. I continue to push her until we get to the booth in the far corner.

She slides in across from me. “Nash, his name is Nicholas!”

“His name is Sam and I’m going to need you to turn down the Christmas cheer by about a hundred percent—at least until I have more coffee.”

“You live in a town named after a reindeer and your neighbor—who looks like Santa—is named Nicholas. This might be the North Pole!”

“It’s not the North Pole.” I laugh as I hand her a menu. “How long do you think we drove from L.A.?”

Gabi comes around the corner. “Look! She’s one of us now,” she says as she tugs on Elle’s new coat. “You look like a native.”

“Thank you!” Elle says without taking her eyes off me. “Gabi, who does Sam look like?”

“Santa Claus. Or Danny Glover. Or Danny Glover playing Santa.”

“See!” Elle smiles at me and turns to Gabi.

“I have Izzy’s clothes,” she says, reaching for the bag she has next to her on the bench, “but I want to wash them first.”

“Just give them to me. I have to throw in a load today anyway.” Gabi takes the bag and throws it over to the door to her apartment.

“Oh wait, Nash, your jacket is in there, too,” Elle says.

“It’s actually Hank’s jacket. I didn’t have one, so I had to borrow it.”

“That’s why it was so small on you!” Elle laughs. “You looked like you were about to bust out the seams.”

“What? No,” I say, slowly. “Claire told me I looked good in it.”

“Nash, you’re like two sizes bigger than Hank and at least a couple of inches taller. Claire was trying to make you feel good,” Gabi says. She turns to Elle. “I’ll get the jacket back to Hank.”

“Will you do me one more favor?” Elle says, trying to sneak her credit card onto Gabi’s order pad. “Will you put this breakfast on there? And any other meals and/or drinks I have with Nash.”

I grab the credit card before Gabi has a chance to take it. “Don’t listen to her, Gabi. I’ll have my usual—scrambled eggs and biscuits and gravy. If you want that, Elle, it’s delicious.”

She puts out her hand to get her card back—her eyebrows raise like a school teacher who’s about to discipline her student.

“I will have that, Gabi,” she says, still staring at me, “with a bowl of fruit, please.”

Gabi looks from Elle to me, shakes her head, and walks away laughing.

“Give me my card back, Nash.” She’s still holding out her hand.

“Nope,” I say, putting it in my wallet. “You don’t get it back until you can be trusted to use it correctly.”

She adjusts her arm, so her elbow is on the table. “Then we arm wrestle. Let’s go.”

“All right,” I say, pulling my sleeve up. “I did agree to that.”

I count us down and let her push my arm about halfway toward the table before I stop it. She’s pushing with everything she’s got. She kneels on the booth’s bench and leans her entire upper body into my arm. It doesn’t budge. She looks at me to see if I’m straining.

“You want to try sitting on it?” I say, shaking my head.

“I’m thinking about it.”

Before she’s tempted to climb on the table, I push with a little more effort. I get us back to even. She has both hands wrapped around mine, trying to resist. I push a little more until I’m leading. She looks at me, frowning.

“Are you going to stop trying to pay for breakfast?” I say as I push her hand so it’s only an inch from the table.

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