Page 22 of A Holly Jilly Christmas

Case waits until Tank has lumbered out of sight before he says, “You want to see the brewery, huh? As a potential filming location?”

“Yep.”

I can’t meet his eyes and instead stamp my feet and burrow further down into my scarf.

“And this has nothing to do with the signed posters of James Graham on your wall?”

“He doesn’t have any—” I realize my mistake the moment the words leave my mouth. Of course James has no posters. Unlike Pat and Collin, Tank’s two other sons who played pro, James stopped in college after an injury.

NOT that I’ve spent much time on his Wikipedia page or anything.

Case is laughing, head thrown back, actually cackling, and it’s too distracting for me to make any kind of valid counter argument.

“Shut up. I like his beer.”

“The beer. Not the man behind the beer.”

“Exactly. Purely professional interest.”

“Is he tall?”

Yes. A fact I know thanks to Wikipedia. “How should I know?”

“Oh, you know. Taller than me?”

I squint. “Are you tall? Hadn't noticed.” He is. I noticed.

“Mm-hm.” He clearly doesn’t believe me because I’m clearly lying. “Shall we? Come on,” Case says when I don’t move. “You owe me.”

“I owe you?”

“For all the butter.”

“You’re just giving me your butter because you can’t eat it.”

“Why not both? I like giving you butter because I like seeing you happy. I also like giving you butter because it makes my intestines happy. Come on. How else will you get a thorough look at the town?”

I hesitate, but it’s hard. It feels like overstepping to take Tank’s nice truck, but I’m afraid of another kind of overstepping—a big old leap over the boundaries I’m trying to keep firmly in place with Case. Because when he says things like he likes giving me butter because he likes seeing me happy … well, let’s just say that it’s not helping with the whole crush situation.

Neither will going for a ride with him, spending more time with him. Because every hour seems to bring us closer.

Which could be a good thing … a really good thing.

But out of all the tropes I’ve lived out in my life, the one I’ve absolutely and intentionally avoided is an office romance. When you crash and burn there, you don’t just lose a relationship, you could short-circuit your career. Case isn’t my direct boss, though he is above me. I can’t see how this would help my career or what it might do to how people in the office see me.

You’re overthinking. You’re doing a worst-case scenario of a scenario that hasn’t even happened to worst-case yet!

Okay, that might be the MOST reasonable voice in my head.

“Come on, Butter,” Case says.

“That cannot be my nickname. It’s offensive.”

“What’s offensive about butter?”

“Nothing as a food. As a name? No.”

“Hm.” He rocks back on his heels, playfully rubbing a hand over his trimmed beard. “Let’s see … I need another idea.”

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