Page 26 of A Holly Jilly Christmas

“Why no labels though?”

Wolf appears, counting out cash and putting it inside a metal cash box. “This is from James’s personal stash,” he says. “No labels. It doesn’t really exist. Legally speaking. Just like this place.”

With a grin aimed my way, he’s gone again, floating from table to table, laughing and talking.

“This feels so … quintessential small town,” Case says, spinning the bottle on the bar.

“It really is. Do you think it has, um, a bathroom?”

I’d love to not explain that I’ve been holding it for a while now, but I guess since Case has talked about his irritable bowels, I can talk about my tiny bladder. Earlier it was just a vague sense of needing to go, but it’s becoming an urgent need by the moment. Beer isn’t helping.

Case stands. “You know what? I’ll look around.”

“Thanks.” It’s not that Wolf’s bar looks unsavory—the mood here seems relaxed and jovial like Wolf himself—but I don’t feel super comfortable walking around any new place searching for the bathroom.

I think he’s already walked away, but Case leans forward, brushing my shoulder as he slides his credit card across the bar. His mouth is right next to my ear, setting off all kinds of internal proximity alarms, when he says, “Order me another, will you? Next round is on me.”

My next round is going to be water, but I can hardly find thoughts, much less form coherent sentences, so I simply nod. Case hesitates a moment longer, so close I feel a tiny scrape of his beard on my jaw. I wonder if he’s thinking about kissing me. Because I am unequivocally thinking about it.

If I just turned my head, our lips would brush. It would be so easy—and noncommittal. An OOPS! kiss. Then later, we could figure out the details. Like, if we wanted to do it again or maybe even if we wanted to right now turn the accidental kiss into something intentional. Something longer and more—

Case backs away in one swift move, and I really hope he doesn’t have the ability to read my thoughts by osmosis.

Wolf appears and laughs when I try to give him Case’s credit card. “Cash only,” he says, grinning. I’m beginning to wonder if the man can frown. “But for you, I’ll happily cover it.”

“It’s for my friend.”

“Friend, huh?” His eyebrows jump, and a light comes on in his eyes.

“We work together. Colleagues. The friend thing is new.”

“You like him.” Wolf is not asking.

“Maybe? I don’t know him well. He’s hard to read.”

I am the cliche of a person coming to a bar to spill their guts to the bartender. Then again, my mouth seems to spill things whenever I open it, so maybe this is just me being me.

“He’s not that hard to read. More of an open book. And the way he’s looking at you isn’t so friendly,” Wolf says. My eyes go wide, and as I start to turn, Wolf grabs my hand and says, “Don’t look. He’s walking over.”

“O-kay.”

“Just look into my eyes.”

I do. Wondering if this is a Twilight kind of bar after all, and I’m about to have my mind wiped. Wolf’s eyes are a rich, dark brown, sparkling with amusement. Case’s eyes, I realize, are, by comparison, flecked with gold, a little more of a milk than dark chocolate. Mm… chocolate.

“You’ve seen my bar now,” Wolf says, as the tiny hairs on the back of my neck rise in a way that tells me Case is near. “How would you like to see my bunker?”

I have SO many questions about this. Wolf has a bunker? Like … the doomsday kind? Maybe I wasn’t so far off thinking of this place like a hotbed for cult activity. But maybe—

“Is that some kind of euphemism?” Case asks, firing off his words like bullets. “Your bunker?”

Wolf lets go of my hand and steps back, crossing his arms over his chest and looking pleased with himself. “Nope.”

“You really have a bunker?” I ask. “Does it have bathrooms?”

In a smooth motion, Case grabs his credit card and then my hand, pulling me to my feet. His hand is warm and solid in mind, firmly urging me to move in a way that’s a little bossy without being controlling. I barely manage to grab my jacket as Case all but drags me—willingly, of course—toward the back corner and a slim door that looks like it’s made of particle board.

“There’s no lock,” he says, taking my coat and dropping my hand. “I’ll stand outside.”

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