Page 20 of Wrapped with a Beau

“I’m gonna log off my computer real quick and grab an early lunch. Want to join me?” asks Elisha.

“Thanks, but my parents are visiting from Toronto, so I’m going to have lunch at home. No one makes beef noodle soup like my mom.”

Elisha grins. “Make me jealous, why don’t you?”

She heads back to her office—essentially a broom closet small enough to make a cubicle cry—to log out of her computer. With all the confidential data they deal with, it’s office policy, but the machines are so obsolete it takes forever to get back in. Mind already on her own comfort food, she almost misses the notification that she has new mail in her inbox.

When she sees the sender’s name, her heart sinks. Evidently, personal assistants from California do start their workday at eight a.m. on the dot.

From: June, Jessica

To: Rowe, Elisha

Hi Elisha,

Little confused here. As beautiful as your suggestions are, the Christmas House is a non-negotiable. I apologize if it wasn’t clear that Damian chose to film on location in Piney Peaks solely for this reason. Let me know what’s going on. We do hope there aren’t any problems at this stage.

JJ (she/her)

Personal Assistant to Damian Rhys

Nonononono. That last line is so ominous Elisha can practically hear creepy thriller music in the background. She squeezes her eyes shut. That’s it, then. So much for plan B. JJ hasn’t even bothered with her usual kind regards because what she probably wants to say is Unkindly, WTF? And Elisha wouldn’t even blame her. Grabbing her plaid shacket from the back of her chair, she dashes out of her office, ignoring Mia’s worried eyes and Riley’s strangled yelp as she almost collides with him and his steaming Cup Noodles.

Once she’s outside in the fresh alpine air, her heart stops racing. There’s an inch of snow dusting the ground, not a significant amount by any definition of the word, but every single creature on two or four legs is charmed. A scruffy squirrel clutching a nut perches on the little red sleigh outside the Chamber of Commerce like one of Santa’s helpers, beady black eyes beatifically closed as if to soak it all in. Children in puffy jackets shriek and scrape their mittened fingers into the snow, making bitsy snowballs that melt upon contact. A man walking his dog sticks his tongue out to catch a snowflake; his terrier imitates the action, looking adorable in his Pride flag–colored sweater.

It’s hard to stay grouchy when her town is this cute. Even harder when she can already smell her lunch wafting over from down the street: garlicky red wine–braised short ribs. Her mouth waters, imagining the fall-off-the-bone tenderness and all the delicious browned bits. Already, she can feel her mood lifting, like the first ray of sun breaking through clouds. An hour spent people-watching from a corner table at her favorite little bistro, dipping into the new romance ebook she’d borrowed from the library...

Mood lifted, she raises her hand in passing to everyone she meets, chirping Merry Christmas! even though it’s still three weeks away. Even Bentley looks happy coming out of the fancy gourmet grocery store at the end of the street, a big brown bag in either hand.

Wait, Bentley? Elisha blinks. And then blinks again.

It’s snowing, but not hard enough to pretend she didn’t see him. And he’s definitely spotted her.

Bentley’s starting to shift his bags around so he can wave, and even as her heart jackrabbits, everything else slows down. She knew this would happen. The moment he had entered her pub, all smiles and smugness, she knew. That one day, here she would be, running into him like it was normal. Normal. Nothing about seeing her ex-fiancé in her town, on her side of the sidewalk, during her favorite holiday, was normal.

So far from it.

Before he can wave, Elisha ducks out of sight, intending to scurry into the building next door and while away a few minutes until he gets in his car and drives away.

And collides with the person coming out of the bank, cutting off her escape.

Chapter Ten

Elisha

All Elisha sees is a bright-red wool scarf before they stumble backward, and instinctively, she clutches onto the person, crushing their lapel. Hands settle on her waist, bracing her. She looks up into the bluest of eyes, the color of a pond before first frost.

“Ves!” she gasps, not letting go.

He pries her off. “Still haven’t given up on the bodily injury, huh?”

“I—what?”

He shakes his head, twisting his hips to gesture to the door. “Never mind. Are you going in?”

“In? Oh! I don’t need to— No, this isn’t even my bank. Actually, do you think we could maybe walk in the other direction? Quickly, but also, like, casually.”

“Only if I can ask why. Inquisitively, but also, like, fearfully,” he drawls.

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