Page 52 of Mad About Yule

Now I probably look pathetically smug. “No. I didn’t deny it.”

They make excited sounds, encouraging me to spill my guts. I tell them about last night, to a point. They get a little more serious when they hear about the subdued setting, and I don’t mention how Griffin revealed his soft underbelly to me.

Everything I know of him says sharing his feelings even as much as he did is a huge deal. The trouble is, after one small taste, I’ve already become addicted, and all I can think about is when I can get my next fix.

“It was sweet, but it was really just a comfort thing. I wanted to make him feel better.”

“So?” Wren says, her saucy smile growing wider. “Did you make him feel better?”

My cheeks burst into flame, and I throw my hands in the air. “That’s all you get now. I’m going to zip my lips from now on. Consider yourself cut off.”

“Aw, come on.” She pouts at me. “You know I’m jealous. It’s been months and months since my last kiss.”

“You don’t want to know how long it’s been for me,” Tess says.

That puts things into perspective. Single mom dating is a whole different realm from just regular small-town dating.

“But seriously,” Wren says. “I like this for you. I approve.”

My heart shimmies in my chest, as though her approval has any actual weight to it. But then I remember who else voiced—ortexted—her eager approval, and my heart settles back down.

“Mom beat you to it. Somebody saw us in town and reported back to her. She’s halfway to a frenzy already.” Her dinner invite hints don’t bode well for the next time shejust happensto see Griffin and me in town together.

“So don’t let anybody in town see what you do next.” Wren winks just in case her lascivious tone didn’t get her point across.

“If you really like him,” Tess says, “you can find a way to make it work and avoid the gossips.”

“Does anybody ever truly avoid the gossips in this town?” I ask.

Wren leans forward, her elbows on the counter, her chin in her hands, grinning away. “All I’m hearing is you didn’t argue about really liking him.”

I narrow my eyes on her. “You’re giving strong Helena Parrish vibes right now. We’re just reluctant co-volunteers who have kind of become friends.”

“Kissing friends,” she helpfully reminds me.

My stomach tumbles with eager butterflies. I really,reallyliked that part of our new friendship. But I’m not sure how we can pursue something without being the talk of the town.

I know already how quickly gossip can destroy a promising relationship. I’m not looking for a repeat of that humiliation.

SEVENTEEN

HOPE

Is thereanything more satisfying than rows and rows of paint swatches? All that bright color and untapped potential just calls to me. I run my fingers over the paper strips, imagining hues and textures laid out on canvas or wood. I didn’t drop by the hardware store for my own projects, but I’m tempted to get a custom color anyway. Just in case.

“Why am I not surprised?” a voice says behind me.

I jump, but my stomach tumbles because that’s not just any voice. I spin to face Griffin’s wide smile.

“Makes sense to find you surrounded by color.”

He’s looking at me like I’m the prettiest painting he’s ever seen. It’s hard to believe we acted so chilly to each other just a few days ago. Because right now? He’s got enough heat in his eyes to melt snowmen in a twenty-mile radius.

“I want another accent color for the bookshop. Just trying to decide which one.”

He nods, his eyes skimming the paint chips over my shoulder before landing back on me. My heart glitters like it’s full of sugar plum fairies dancing away. The hardware store isn’t usually this warm, right?

He lifts the small plastic bucket he’s holding. It’s full of metal pieces like he went trick or treating at a scrapyard. “I needed more fasteners. Are you headed to the warehouse after?”

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