Page 31 of A Holly Jilly Christmas

Not as he undoes his belt—why does that sound seem to echo inside me like a sonic boom?—and lets his pants puddle at his feet, leaving him only in a pair of damp boxer shorts.

I’m laughing before I can stop myself, slapping a hand over my mouth.

“This is amusing to you, Jillian?” His voice has the crisp hardness I’m used to hearing in the office, but there’s a playful lilt to it. I can tell he’s smiling, even with his back to me.

“Your boxers!”

“They were a gift,” he says.

The boxers are a cheery, Christmas green and covered in reindeer up on their hind legs, decked out in running gear. The phrase “Run, Rudolph, Run!” is printed all over in gold.

“I thought you were too scandalized to watch me,” Case says, moving toward his bathroom at a good clip, his arms wrapped around himself.

Even from the back, it’s still a mighty fine view. And not anything worse than I’d see at the beach, though it feels far more intimate. I’m actually grateful for the ridiculous boxers for keeping the mood light.

“I had to check for burns!” I yell, and he slams the door.

“Thank you for being so very thorough, Nurse Jillian. I’ll be sure you get a Christmas bonus. And don’t bother with the mess! I’ll take care of it when I get out of the bathtub.”

“When will that be?”

His voice is muffled, and I hear the water starting. “In four to six hours when I’m warm again and sufficiently pruned.”

Chuckling, I shake my head and look at the pile of clothes, the spreading pool of water, and the mud. No way am I leaving this on Tank’s nice hardwood floors. We also never got dinner, and I’m not someone who thinks beer counts.

It’s time for me to make some romantic gestures of my own.

CHAPTER 10

The loft has washer and dryer hookups but no machines. Thankfully, I don’t have to wonder too long what to do with Case’s soaked clothes because there’s a knock on the door just after Case disappears into the bathroom. I look through the peephole, unsure if it’s needed in a town as small as Sheet Cake, and see Tank.

“Did you come to pick up your keys?” I ask.

But he grins, stepping inside with a cardboard box in his arms. “I come bearing gifts.” He tips his head toward the pile of gross clothing I’ve kicked closer to the door. “And to help with that. Heard y’all ran into some trouble at Backwoods Bar. Or, more like trouble rammed into you.”

I open the door wider, and he sets the box on the granite island. He pulls a big trash bag out and gets to work scooping the blanket and wet clothes into it.

“How did you hear about that so fast?”

“Sheet Cake has its own online version of the grapevine by way of a forum called Neighborly. There was even a video. Looked pretty painful. Is Case okay after that?”

“A little banged up, but he didn’t catch fire. A video, you say?”

Thirty minutes later, I’m curled up on the couch, watching Case getting Fabioed for the thirtieth time. It’s an AFV winner for sure. Total viral material.

“What’s got you smiling?” Case asks, startling me into tossing my phone. “And what’s that smell?”

“Nothing.”

His eyes narrow, and before I can grab it, he snatches my phone and turns the volume up.

Is he going to murder me? Or fire me? As much as Case has started to feel like a strange part of my life after so much concentrated time together, I can’t yet predict how he’ll respond to most things.

I definitely wouldn’t have expected him to laugh. I mean, before this weekend, I didn’t think he was capable of laughter at all. Then again, the video is hilarious.

Case leaps over the back of the couch like my brother used to do in high school and plops down beside me, close enough to make me fall into leaning on him. When he wraps an arm around my back, I want to purr like a cat given a big bowl of cream.

“This is … epic,” he says.

---