Page 53 of Mad About Yule

“Yup. I plan to paint the rest of the day away.” I hitch a shoulder. “Or at least until I have to meet with the Christmas market volunteers tonight.”

His easy smile thins. “It’s Saturday night.”

“It’s the only time everyone had available.”

“When do you get more than a minute to relax?”

I flash a big smile. “Painting relaxes me.”

He narrows his eyes at me, refusing to swallow my lies. To be fair, it’s not a lie—I truly do find painting relaxing. But I can tell he wouldn’t like to hear that the only downtime I get right now is when I’m asleep, and I’m not even getting the recommended daily allowance of that.

I’m about to reassure him I’m totally fine when suddenly, I’m very muchnotfine. My mother’s voice drifts to us from the front of the store. She’s greeting Luke Bridger, who was at the counter when I walked in, and probably anyone else up there. I can’t see her because of the tall shelves back here, but I’d know her voice anywhere.

The warm glow my heart was basking in freezes right up. This is not good.

I grab Griffin’s elbow and steer him deeper into the store. Nobody’s in the moving supplies and tarps, but I can’t expect that luck to hold out.

“What is she doing here?” I whisper. I try to tap into some kind of super-hearing to figure out what she’s after, but I can’t make it out. It’d be just my luck she actually needs a tarp and stumbles right on us.

The judgey looks Griffin sent my way over my busy work schedule have transformed into confusion. “What’s wrong?”

“Shh.” He’s being entirely too loud for sneaking around. No stealth. “My mom’s here.”

“So?”

Kat must be one of those non-meddling moms. If she saw us together back here, she’d probably say hello and move on with her day. No big deal. Ifmymom sees us together, she’ll turn it into something way more than just two volunteers buying supplies for the Christmas festival. It will be romantic and sweet and fill her head with all kinds of gooey scenarios ending with Griffin and I sayingI do.

I don’twant to give her a reason to sink any further into her daydreams than she already is.

“I think she’s getting closer.”

He tilts his head toward me and drops his voice. “Why are we whispering?”

Maybe I could slip into the bathroom until she leaves? But that would leave Griffin wide open. She’d probably double down on her dinner invite, and without me there to run interference, he’d be trapped.

Nope. The only option is for both of us to hide out.

I grab his hand. “Come with me.”

We reach the end of the store aisles. There’s a short hallway with three doors leading off of it. One’s the bathroom, the next I discovered just a few weeks ago opens into the stockroom and lumber portion of the hardware store, and I don’t know what the third is. The first two options are no good, so I open the third door.

A mop handle falls forward, and I catch it. It’s a closet. There’s not much here—some cleaning supplies, a small shelf stacked with things like register tape and pens. It’s tiny, but it’s good enough.

I wave him along. “In here, please.”

His eyebrows are practically at his hairline. I get it. I do. I’m acting like a crazy person, inviting him into a strange closet for reasons unknown, but the alternative is so much worse. If Mom sees us together, she’ll start an avalanche of gossip that will crush us flat. Neither of us needs that.

“Hope, what—”

I clamp my hand over his mouth and look past him into the store. I don’t see anyone yet, but I have no idea what Mom’s in here for, or where she’s headed. She could walk around that corner any second. If she sees us, whatever hope I had of something normal with Griffin will blast apart.

“Please just get inside,” I whisper.

He smiles beneath my hand that’s still covering his mouth. I suck in a breath, my skin warm and tingly everywhere I touch him, but now is not the time. Thankfully, he takes two steps backward into the closet. I follow him inside and pull the door shut. Tilting my head toward the door, I listen for a second, but I can’t hear anything out there. This might be worse than before.

Actually…this is absolutely worse. Griffin and I are practically pressed together in the cramped space. We have nowhere to go, and nothing to look at but each other.

Didn’t I say just a week ago I wanted minimal eye contact with this man? Yet here I am, staring into hazel-green perfection for everything I’m worth.

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