Page 2 of The Grim Reaper's Girlfriend

Weird. He knows my name.

Compelled not to overthink it, I move closer, filled with a sudden confidence left over from earlier. All the mental pep talks I gave myself about taking charge of my love life pay off with a grand slam. Stopping toe to toe with him, I glance up, only now just realizing how tall he is.

Something breaks open inside me and I just…

I just have to…

I stand on my tiptoes, grab his shoulders, and press my lips to his. Joy and heat and that weird heavy doomsday feeling all collide inside me. But he doesn’t pull away and I don’t stop.

Not immediately, at least.

His cold lips are mostly unmoving, but he grabs my shoulders gently with two large hands, steps a little closer, and then…

Does nothing?

He must be out of practice, I tell myself.

I pull away first, mostly because I don’t want to scare the poor guy.

The man draws back as well and looks down at me. I still can’t fully see his face thanks to the sides of his hood sinking in, but those eyes—

He clears his throat.

I point up at the mistletoe with a bright, cheery smile. “Got ya.”

He doesn’t return my smile, but it doesn’t stop me from noticing how perfect his lips are. They were cold on mine. Significantly cold. Probably from being outside on the stage.

“Are youMorgan Nichols?”

How does he know me? Someone probably mentioned my name when they recommended my shop or something. It’s a small town, and pretty much everyone knows everyone else by name. Still, I’m not worried about how he knows me. I’ve got something else on my mind.

“I am,” I say, touching my lips with my fingers. “Are you looking for me?”

He nods.

I mentally kick myself again. Of course, he’s looking for me. What a silly question to ask.

“You know,” I say, looking at the clock on the wall, “it’s almost lunchtime. I’ve been smelling those donuts next door all morning. Care to join me?”

I don’t wait for him to back down. It’s the holidays. What’s wrong with an innocent little kiss and a lunch date? Absolutely nothing. So there’s no reason why the both of us can’t keep each other company. Resolved to do this, I slip the apron over my head, toss it on the counter, and grab my coat, hat, and keys.

His brow furrows as if he’s confused, but he doesn’t say no, which means he might be thinking the same thing but is just too shy to say so. I can dig shy. It’s cute.

Taking his hand, which is also remarkably cold, I lead him to the door and he follows along easily. He doesn’t resist. Maybe he needs this too. I can’t be the only one lonely at Christmas time.

I squeal a little on the inside. Definitely shy then.

“How long until you have to be back on stage?”

“I don’t understand,” he rumbles.

His voice is deep and gravelly, and it’s doing something to me. I feel warm all over.

Gauging his reaction as I take him outside and lock my door, I waste no time walking the five steps to the bakery, because from the sound of it he doesn’t have any time constraints at all.

Maybe his shift is over then.

The other patrons look at him as we enter, but must ascertain he’s an actor and go back to their coffee. I grab some donuts from the clerk behind the counter, and we pick a spot to sit near the window. The scythe on his back clanks against the booth, but we both settle into our seats like it’s normal.

---