Page 59 of Mistletoe Latte

He leaned over and curled his lips around the silver metal, about to swallow it down, when the walls rocked from a great blast. Nick spun around, the lobster tumbling to the counter. Both dashed into the living room to find the source of the explosion and spotted Skylar flying up the stairs in a panic.

“I’m not going!” she shouted.

The front door she’d slammed shut opened again and her little friend walked in more cautiously with a dress bag on her arm.

“Hi, Mr. Iverson,” she said.

“What’s wrong, Abby?”

He was answered by the double slamming of Skylar’s bedroom door. Nick tipped his head back and groaned just as the touchy-feely woman from the cafe walked in.

“Hello, Nick,” she purred. Even for ferrying around two teenagers, she was dressed to the nines in a sharp blouse and trousers with a blowout and modest makeup. Emma wiped her dirty hands on the back of her jeans that hadn’t seen a washer in over a week.

“Hi. Can you give me a minute? I have a major drama incident to deal with. Skylar…?” He shouted into the air while taking the stairs two at a time. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Leave. Me. Alone!” she screamed before cranking her music. Nick banged on the door, but his thumping faded into the bass.

Uncertain of what to do, Emma glanced back to the kitchen, then at the young girl with her hair in an updo standing on the snow mat. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Ah, water would be nice. Thanks.”

Emma smiled and was about to get it when the woman stepped in. “Let me get it for you, dear.”

“The kitchen’s right through…”

“I know,” she said, claiming her territory with claws out.

Abby stared forlornly up the stairs, so Emma followed after the woman. She’d found the old pizza place glasses and had one under the tap.

“Seems you were planning a little dinner.” She slammed the faucet’s handle down and jerked around so fast that a droplet splattered on the stove.

Emma tried to maintain eye contact, but it was a losing battle. “It’s all Nick’s idea…”

“Nick?” The woman left her daughter’s glass in the sink and stepped closer. The clip of her heels caused Emma’s jaw to clench. “I’m afraid we haven’t properly met. I’m Desiree.”

“Emma.” She held out her hand and the woman clasped it tighter than a cobra at an arm-wrestling match.

“You’re the girl who does the donuts.”

The dismissive tone sent a rare ripple of anger through Emma. “Among other things. I’m a trained chef.”

“That so? You’re staying with the Iversons to cook for them?”

“No. Nick was kind enough to give me a place to sleep while I work for him.”

“Ah yes, for, not with. Wouldn’t do you well to forget where you sit, dear.”

On his cock twenty-four hours earlier.

“Mom?”

Emma’s face burned hot at her witty comeback being interrupted by a concerned teenager. Poking her head in, Abby looked at her thirsty mother, then the glass of water in the sink. It was Emma who scooped it up and handed it to the girl while Desiree flexed her talons. No doubt she wanted to impale all ten acrylics into Emma’s liver.

Needing air, Emma said, “Why don’t we wait for Skylar in the living room? I think Jeopardy is on.”

“Uh…sure,” the girl said carefully.

They made it to the couch when Nick shouted, “Fine! Be that way!” and stomped down the stairs. He wrung a hand over the banister, looking ready to snap it off, when he caught the three ladies’ eyes and froze. “I don’t know what her problem is. She’s mad about something…probably stupid and won’t go.”

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