Page 9 of A Holly Jilly Christmas

I manage to pull my phone out of my purse. “Let me call Tank.”

Case grumbles, staring back at his phone again. I swear, by the end of this little trip, I’m going to “accidentally” run his phone over with my car. Assuming Tina makes it out of the garage. She’s old, and according to all of Case’s complaining, I’m not taking very good care of my girl. I don’t have the money to buy a new vehicle anytime soon, and I definitely don’t want to be stuck in Sheet Cake any longer than necessary with Scrooge McCell Phone, so she better be okay.

“You must be Jilly!” A door opens and a man I recognize from the Internet as Tank Graham steps out with a welcoming smile. “Mo just messaged me about your car. I’m so sorry. But I sure am glad to meet you.”

The former football player is bigger than he looks in online photos. When he envelops me in a hug, my feet come off the ground. He sets me down, and I find myself grinning like a fool at the handsome man, who looks younger than however old he is. Late forties? Fifties? I can’t remember exactly other than knowing his kids are all in their mid- to late- twenties. A daughter and three very hot sons whom I’m secretly hoping to meet.

Other than Tank’s laugh lines and some light gray hair at his temples, he could be just a little older than Case.

Who I forgot existed until this instant.

“Tank, this is Case Winchester.” I’m not sure why I don’t explain who Case is. Maybe because I’m slightly starstruck.

Tank reaches out his hand and the two shake. “Good to meet you. Are you a boyfriend or …”

“Colleague,” Case says decisively, and there is NO reason for me to feel disappointed with the reality. But strangely, I am. “I’m with Brightmark Studios as well.”

“Let’s get y’all out of the cold.” Tank starts off down the sidewalk, taking my bag with him, but I stop, a thought suddenly spearing me with panic.

“Wait,” I say. “There are two rooms, right? And two beds?”

Case shoots me a look, but I refuse to meet his gaze. Because if there’s one trope I’m all too familiar with in my line of work it’s the one where there are two people stuck in a tiny town with only one bed.

“Two rooms, two beds, two bathrooms, and even a pull-out couch,” Tank assures me.

“Good.”

Case falls into step beside me, which is a challenge considering I’m basically doing a lurch-waddle in all my clothes.

“So, you’re willing to get close to me but only to share body heat for survival?”

Is he seriously asking? He can’t be. But the only alternative I can think of is that he’s teasing or even—GASP—flirting with me.

The idea is so … shocking that I get distracted, stumble over my own feet, and pitch forward. Case drops his bag and catches me with an arm around my waist.

At least, I THINK that’s my waist. These layers are really hindering my ability to enjoy all these touches from Case.

He rights me, then immediately steps back to retrieve his bag.

“Thanks,” I say, a little too breathlessly.

“I’m here to catch you anytime,” Case says, a phrase which seems so alien coming from him, I can’t manage a reply. For a moment, his brown eyes hold mine, and then he speeds off—aka, walks at a normal, not lurching pace like me—to catch up with Tank.

Of course I think of the perfect response once he’s out of earshot. “I’d only let you catch me in case of emergency,” I mutter to myself, knowing even as I say the words that they’re wholly untrue.

CHAPTER 4

“Well, would you look at that— the diner has more than just deep fried items,” I say, slapping the laminated menu down on the table. “The Tex-Mex Cobb salad sounds delicious. And it’s a salad.”

“I don’t just eat salads,” Case says, not looking up from his menu. At least he’s not staring at his phone screen, though it is on the table next to his rolled-up silverware. The phone is almost like another appendage for how attached to it he is—a phone phalange.

“So, you don’t eat fried foods, and you don’t just eat salads. Let’s see …” I peruse the menu again even though I knew what I wanted the moment I walked in and smelled waffles.

“There are lots of foods on the continuum between salads and a fried Twinkie, Jillian.”

“Oooh, do they have fried Twinkies?”

“No,” a voice says, and a beaming woman with gray hair approaches our table. She has a sprig of fake holly behind one ear. “But we do have churros.”

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