Page 10 of Mistletoe Bargain with the Billionaire

I find us a diner near a decent looking hotel and we put Mr. Jinglebell on his leash for a quick walk before chow time. Yowling and rolling around like he’s being subjected to the cruelest torture, the cat expresses how little he likes his harness and leash.

Should’ve thought of that before you took off and made Carol cry earlier, buddy. I do not like seeing Carol cry. I never did.

“What in tarnation are you two doing to that poor cat?”

I look up to see who’s asking – and who uses the word tarnation – and find an older lady in a waitress’s uniform watching me, Carol and one very unhappy Himalayan. “We’re walking him,” I answer the woman as the cat lays on his back and sticks his paws straight up in the air as if rigor mortis has begun.

“God bless, poor little thing,” she mumbles and heads back inside.

“I’d better not find a hair in my food,” I mutter to the back of her head before we put Mr. Jinglebell back in the SUV.

Soon enough, we’re cozy in a booth with Hilda, the Cat Advocate, taking care of us. After Carol tells her the tale of Mr. Jinglebell’s grand escape, she’s laughing and as friendly as can be.

“You could always talk to anyone,” I say after the waitress has left to fetch us some hot coffee.

Carol shrugs. “It’s nothing special.”

It is though. Computers were always easier for me than people. It’s why I’m lucky to have Anthony running the business side of things. “I think it’s special,” I mumble, looking over my menu some more.

She nudges my foot with hers under the table in reply. I nudge her back. We don’t make eye contact but I know we’re both grinning. Casual touching? Check. Now, to practice a bit more PDA.

I reach across the table, laying my hand palm up beside hers. “What’re you getting?”As if I don’t know.

She immediately slips her hand into mine while seeming to mull over her answer. Hand holding? Check. Her hand feels soft but strong in mine. “Grilled cheese and fries.”

“I knew it.”

“You did not.”

“Carol, anytime your mom asked, you’d choose a grilled cheese sandwich.”

“What if my tastes have matured since then?”

She bought a can of Easy Cheese and some gummy worms earlier at a gas station. I don’t want to insult her refined palate but…

“We’re in a greasy spoon, the hallowed hall of perfect grilled cheese sandwiches. And some tastes stay with us. I knew you’d get one.”

“Well, fine, Mr. I-Know-Everything, I’ll bet I can guess what you’re having, too.”

“Alright, you order for me then.”

Her eyes widen and she’s no longer looking so smug. “But what if I choose something you don’t like?”

“There’s only one food I won’t touch and I’ll bet you still remember what it is.”

“Liver,” she says at once. I make a face and that makes her giggle. “I guess that rules out the special, huh?”

With my hand still holding hers, I nudge her foot again as Hilda returns with our coffee. “Go on, girlfriend. Order your very tired man some food and I’ll order yours.”

When Hilda pops open her order pad, Carol doesn’t miss a beat. “Two eggs, over easy. Bacon, hashbrowns and whole wheat toast. Ketchup and strawberry jam on the side.”

I raise my eyebrows as if to say,‘See, I knew you’d know,’and place her order. “Grilled cheese, fries, ranch dressing for dipping, extra pickles. And a Coke.”

“Alright, you two lovebirds. This’ll be ready in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

I’m not sure how long that is but Hilda called us lovebirds. “It’s working,” Carol whispers, pleased.

“You bet it is.”

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