Page 60 of Mad About Yule

“I don’t know if it’s enough.” That question hasn’t stopped hounding me. I wanted it to be this rousing success, something that will spread to all the stores in town, but right now, I can’t be sure of anything. Like Griffin said when he first signed on—maybe I should have aimed lower.

He gently takes my elbow like he needs me to listen. Tilting his head down to capture my gaze, his eyes burn into mine like flames. “Hey. Take a compliment. You’re working hard on this, and it shows.”

His praise blooms through my chest, drowning out the whispering critiques that have followed me around since I started this project.

“I guess if I’m winning over your skeptical heart, it’s high praise.”

His mouth quirks up. “You’re winning over my skeptical heart, all right.”

Unfair of him to burstmyheart into a cloud of pixie dust like that. Wren’s advice to “run with it”swims through my mind. I plan to, just…maybe not in this specific building.

He drops his hand and gestures to the train display. “Is that it for the Window Wonderland for today?”

“I think we’re good.”

We step out into the brisk evening, and I lock up the store. With our trial and error, plus the YouTube videos, it took longer to get everything set up than I expected, and the light has faded to a deepening purple. We spent all day together working on the trains when I hadn’t meant to make him work weekends at all if I could help it.

“Thanks for being my angel of electric trains. I’m sorry I took up your whole day.”

“I’m not.”

Funny how the cocky tilt of his mouth drove me crazy a week ago, and now I want to kiss it.

“Do you want to come over to my place?”

He freezes. My invitation sounded a lot more suggestive than I’d intended it. My husky voice didn’t help, and the words themselves hold any number of meanings. I need to narrow it down a bit.

“Just to hang out. You know, have dinner. Maybe watchA Christmas Story. I kind of owe you for helping me today.”

“You want to hang out?” His voice is low and mock-sultry.

“Don’t make me take it back.” Even though, when he talks to me like this, I’m not likely to deny him much of anything.

“You’re not taking it back. I accept your invitation to hang out.” He steps closer, and his eyes go dark in that freshly-whacked-with-a-two-by-four look. “But not because you owe me anything for today.”

Pretty sure I have the same look in my eyes. “Then just come over because I’m asking.”

“Lead the way.”

TWENTY

GRIFFIN

How much canI think about kissing Hope’s mouth without being obvious about it?

The answer turns out to be—not very much.

I followed her Jeep through side streets until she pulled up in front of a big old Victorian house. We get out and take careful steps up the uneven walk to a big wraparound porch. Up here, I see the Victorian has been partitioned out into multiple apartments, and she leads me to a door with a rust and red wreath hung beneath the window. She glances over her shoulder at me, and I get an odd feeling about being invited into her home, like not just any guy gets to see this side of her.

Or maybe I’m just standing too close to her on the porch.

“This is it.” She pushes the door open and flips on the lights.

I blink at the sudden shock. It looks like a paint set exploded in here. In a good way, but it’s a lot to take in. Bright paintings line every wall, a blanket with rainbow zig-zags splashes over one end of the dark blue sofa, and a wildly colored area rug sits beneath a vivid teal coffee table. The colorful apartment is like a physical manifestation of the cheer Hope spreads everywhere she goes.

“Wow.” I’m at a loss for more.

“I like color.”

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