Page 18 of Mad About Yule

“Looks like Griffin’s the man for the job,” I confirm.

“Are you sure? I can still call Andre if you want.”

No, not Andre, her favorite contractor who will apparently drop anything just for her.

But ugh, not Griffin and his condescending, handsome face.

“You don’t need to call anyone. It’s only been one day, but he got a lot done.” I have to assume he completed more than what I’d seen when I left this morning. He might be patronizing, but he doesn’t have the attitude of a slacker.

“As long as you think you’ve got it covered. I’m sure Andre wouldn’t mind helping him out.”

“Griffin’s not really a team player.” As he made abundantly clear today.

“Handsome though.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, silencing all my internal organs shimmying around in agreement. My internal organs are dummies.

“He’s okay.”

“This could get interesting for you two, working together on a project like this for a few weeks.”

She sounds like she’s getting ready to roll up on the couch and watch her favorite reality show,I Think You Should Date My Daughter.I hate that show.

“I don’t think it’s going to be all that interesting.” Borderline hostile, maybe.

“He hasn’t dated anyone since he moved back home.”

I like this news against my will, but I’m also appalled by it. “Why would you know that?”

“Everybody knows that. Working together might not be such a bad thing.”

I want to laugh at how casual she’s trying to be, but my Spidey Sense is tingling too hard for me to find it funny.

“It’s for the festival, Mom.”

“Mm hmm.” She’s not listening. She’s probably already dreaming up flannel-themed weddings and big, grouchy babies. “But it doesn’t have to beallwork, does it?”

“Yes. There’s too much to do to get the Winter Wonderland together for anything else.” What does she think we’re going to do, kiss in the warehouse?

I…should absolutely not be thinking about kissing Griffin in the warehouse.

“Well. It’s nice for you to reconnect. You were always close in high school.”

I toss the afghan off of my overly warm legs. “Where did you get that? We weren’tclose. We didn’t get along at all. He was my nemesis.”

Great. NowI’musing that stupid word.

“You’re adults now. Maybe he’s had a glow-up.”

I press my knuckles against my forehead, desperately trying not to think about Griffin’s undeniable glow-up, or that my mother said those words together.

“He still needs a personality transplant.”

She just laughs. “Maybe he’ll grow on you.”

Like mold. Or gangrene. Handsome, handsome gangrene.

“Maybe he can get that door up between your store and the bakery.”

---