Page 19 of A Holly Jilly Christmas

This question feels … different. Case has been teasing me, but this feels more like interest than simple curiosity.

But that can’t be right.

“I don’t really have a height requirement for men I date. I mean, taller than me, but I don’t need some NBA star or anything.”

“Noted. So, you didn’t dump the bowl on his head, but I feel like you’re holding back.”

Sighing, I duck my chin back into my coat. Case tsks and immediately reaches over. This time, instead of pulling down my scarf and coat, his fingers rest lightly on my chin.

I almost stop breathing. He applies the lightest touch, urging me to lift my face and meet his gaze.

I swear, I feel that touch all the way in my toes.

Slowly, I let him direct me until I’m turned toward him, facing those intense eyes again. When he drops his fingers from my chin, I have to hold back a sound of protest.

“Tell me,” he says again, this time lightly. “This is quickly becoming one of my very favorite stories.”

Why this statement makes my stomach flip and my heart pound, I don’t know. He just likes your funny story, Jilly. It’s not like he likes YOU.

“I, uh, threw the bowl at him.”

His lips twitch, a tiny smirk emerging from the hard line of his mouth. “Was it glass?”

“Thankfully, no. Also thankfully, it didn’t hit him. Because he was already yelling about me assaulting him.”

One eyebrow raises slowly. “This giant of a man said you were assaulting him—with mints?”

“He did.”

“What happened next?”

“Next, the manager threatened to call the police. I dropped a twenty on the hostess stand and bolted. Then I deleted my Tinder app and ordered a pizza. I think … I think part of the problem was I got hangry.”

“I don’t think you were the problem in this situation,” Case says.

“No?”

“No.” His voice is firm. “But you realize that Tinder is an app mostly used for hookups, not for serious dating, right?”

“I know that now. I mean, no one I knew had used it, but it’s the one you hear about with all the swiping, so I just thought … yeah. No more app dating.”

“Good,” Case says.

Good? I swallow. Is it good because those dating apps are trash and Case cares about my safety and well-being? Or good because of … another reason? One maybe more personal?

I can’t even let myself THINK the possibility in specific terms. But I’d be lying if I said my little crush isn’t alive and well, overthinking and reading into this whole conversation.

Then Case leans away, pulling out his phone. Again.

He frowns. “I need to make a call.”

He stands abruptly and leaves me alone on the bench, hope wilting like a flower in a weeks’ old bouquet.

Case already has the phone up to his ear as he takes long strides away from the gazebo. Maybe the man is unattached—aka single to all the regular people out there—but he isn’t available. His mind is clearly somewhere else.

And he certainly isn't going to fall for the kind of woman who throws dinner mints in a fit of hangry indignation.

Tank appears a moment later, jogging up the gazebo steps and blowing on his hands. His broad smile cheers me up the smallest bit. He just has that way about him, like some kind of giant, warm teddy bear.

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