Page 35 of A Holly Jilly Christmas

You know it’s a sad day when I can’t enjoy my coffee. Case is on the couch, frowning down at his phone. It totally takes me back two days to the grumpy man who couldn’t stop staring at his phone long enough to carry on a conversation.

See? This is normal Case. The last day or so was just a weird, escapist slice of time. A flash in the pan, as they say. It’s time to settle back into our respective places. And those places are not next to each other.

“My car is fixed,” I say by way of greeting.

“Good old Tina’s back in action?” He sets down his phone and turns my way. His smile fades quickly at whatever he sees in my expression. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. I think I’m just preparing myself for things to reset.”

It would be nice if Case made this easy and nodded like he understood. And yet a huge part of me is screaming for him to drag me away from the big red button before I slam my hand down on it.

He frowns. “Reset?”

“You know—where we shake hands and part ways as colleagues, just like we were two days ago.”

“I didn’t think—that’s not what I—”

“Don’t worry about it. I had a good time. But you know what they say about good times.”

Case stands and walks slowly toward me like he thinks I’m in danger of bolting. But he’s too late. I’ve already emotionally packed my bags and hopped on the first train.

He stops just a few feet away. I ache at the distance, even as I cross my arms protectively over my chest.

“Did something happen between last night and this morning? Did I do something?”

I glance away toward the big windows facing the street. The sky is a brilliant, cloudless blue, painfully bright. “No.”

Before I can dodge away, Case closes the distance between us and wraps me up in his arms. Mine are still crossed over my chest so I can’t escape, but I find I don’t want to. Within seconds, I’m melting into him, smelling that deep, masculine scent. He strokes my back, then my hair, and I take a shuddery breath.

“Talk to me,” he pleads.

“I don’t know how.”

“Oh, you’re very good at talking, Jillian.”

I laugh a little at this, amazed by how easily Case can disarm me. “I’m scared about work.”

“You don’t need to worry about work.”

“Why?”

Case kisses my temple. “Trust me. But for now, let’s table the work conversation.”

Alarm bells try to ring in the self-destructive part of my brain, but I tell them in a less than polite way to shut up.

“What else?” he demands.

“I mean, there’s the fact that I’m twenty-six, and you’re …” I search for the right way to say this. “You’re, uh, not twenty-six.”

He goes still, and I start to panic a little.

“Did you just call me old?”

“No, I didn’t mean—”

“Are you discriminating against me because of age? Because I will consider legal action, and I bet my dentures, I’ll win any lawsuit.”

Now, I’m giggling. “You’re ridiculous.” I pause. “But you don’t wear dentures, right?”

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