Page 25 of Mistletoe Latte

“Mmm-hmm,” was all the girl said. Skylar transformed from a fresh-faced teenager into a fifty-year-old pack-a-day gossip hound with just two syllables. So maybe Emma enjoyed the touch of his hand on hers, and she had leaned a bit closer when they’d washed dishes. But that didn’t mean Nick thought anything of her beyond an extra pair of hands for the breakfast rush.

Right?

Skylar looked up from sweeping the dirt into a dustpan, her eyes twinkling with mischief when the bell jangled. A bright flush stampeded across her face. The dustpan clanged to the floor and the broom slipped. Emma caught it before it smacked the window while the girl raced to hide behind her hands. She risked a quick peek between her fingers at a young man standing in line.

With wavy hair daringly grown past his swooping jawline, those fine glass features that didn’t threaten a teenage girl, and a full set of pouty lips it was no wonder poor Skylar was melting. Emma always preferred the more silver fox grizzled type, but even she could sense the golden charisma radiating off of the boy.

“Buongiorno.”

Oh no, he had an accent. Skylar was screwed.

“Yeah, what do you want?” Nick asked the young man, incapable of being swayed by the Italian charm.

“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh.” Skylar faced the window, only risking the occasional glance over her shoulder to make certain the boy hadn’t vanished.

Emma chuckled at the painfully familiar feeling. Leaning closer while watching Nick take down the precise order—his sneer growing—Emma whispered, “What’s his name?”

“Antonio.” She practically sang her response, Skylar mid-sigh when the boy shifted his head towards her. “Crap. He can’t see me here. Not in this!”

That must have been who the midriff shirt was for. Emma gave a little wave to Antonio who seemed curious about the young girl crumpled on her shoulder. “Why don’t you say hi?”

“Because he’s a junior…from Italy.”

“None of those are reasons you can’t greet him,” Emma said.

All Skylar could do was eep and yank her cap down. She shook her head and turned her back on the boy who listened intently to Sam explaining the police scanner.

“He seems like a nice young man.”

“Skylar.”

At her uncle’s bellow, the girl gripped tight to Emma’s shoulder, her body shaking.

“We’re out of lids. Get some more.”

“No!” she shouted, her voice pitched high and ending in a squeal.

Nick slapped a hand to the counter and glared at her, drawing everyone to see what caught his wrath. “Why the hell not?”

The poor girl chattered her teeth while staring in a dreamy terror at her crush. Emma patted her hand. “I’ll get them,” she said, walking crisply to the storage room door.

“That isn’t your…” Nick began, but she already stepped into the back. It didn’t take her long to find the lids.

Carrying a stack of the lids as long as her arm, Emma emerged into the coffee shop to find Nick glaring, Skylar shaking, and Antonio completely unaware. Nick pointed to the line of steaming cups, and she quickly capped them off, calling out the orders. But for Antonio’s, Emma took the cup in both hands and walked it to him.

“Are you Antonio?” she asked.

He smiled the kind of blinding grin that’d give girls heart attacks in algebra. As she handed him the cup, he said, “Grazie.”

“Do you know Skylar Iverson? She ground these beans special just for you.” Emma turned to face the girl whose entire face was redder than Saint Nick’s suit. But when Antonio looked, she melted and gave a little wiggle of her fingers.

“Thank you, Skylar,” he said then took a quick sip. He smiled brighter at her after the drink, wrapped his thin scarf around his neck, and vanished out the door.

Barreling over, Skylar nearly head-butted Emma. First, she watched Antonio in his tight jeans and fashionable coat waltz down the street. Then she glared. “What did you say to him? Why did he thank me?”

Emma shrugged. “It should be a lot easier to say hi now that he knows your name.”

“Oh my god. Antonio knows my name.” She squealed and shook her hands back and forth as if a dance was about to break out. “Addy!”

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