Page 74 of Mad About Yule

Pretty sure she wouldn’t have kept her joy to herself if she’d witnessed an actual kiss, but that doesn’t bring a lot of comfort.

“Mom,” I say, dusting off my jeans for no good reason. “What are you doing here?”

“I was meeting with Carl Perez on Oak. They’re looking to lease the Kerr building. I thought I’d stop in to see how you’re getting on.”

Her pushy little eyebrow bob says she’s not here to find out anything about the festival. She’s here to snoop. Of course. She glances around the warehouse she secured for me, but she’s barely looking at the buildings. Her eyes keep skating over Griffin like she’s trying and failing not to peek at Christmas presents.

“We’re doing great. There’s not a lot to see yet, though, so—” I sweep my arm to escort her back out, but she just walks farther into the building, zooming closer to my helpful handyman.

“Oh, don’t be modest, these are impressive.”

She skirts close by the little bakery and then the bookshop. Although they can technically be broken down, we’re keeping everything set up so the paint doesn’t get damaged. Eventually, Griffin’s going to add a coat ofsomethingto make them ready to withstand the elements.

“These will be a prime spot for photos. I can tell already.”

“That’s the hope.” I want to see kids gathered around the Winter Wonderland, parents snapping pictures, and whole families laughing away. Isn’t that usually the point of making art—to spread a little joy?

She finally wanders over to my handyman, where I know she’s been dying to go since the second she walked in. “Griffin, I’m glad to see your injury’s doing better.”

He runs his fingers over the mark on his forehead. “It was never very serious.”

He cuts his eyes to me in a silentI told you so. I would stick my tongue out at him if my mother weren’t standing right here. A sarcastic smile will have to do.

“You’ve done so much work for Hope already.” Mom waves around at the buildings like she’s standing in front of the Taj Mahal. Theyareadorable and beautifully made, but she’s still laying her enthusiasm on thick. Although, I’m not sure Mom has athinenthusiasm setting. “I hope she’s treating you right.”

She gives me a blatant look of disapproval. I know what she’s hinting at—I haven’t given her any details in response to her never-ending texts about Griffin. Unfortunately, she’s not above going straight to him for her info.

“Hope’s a good boss,” he says, eyes on me. “Very hands-on.”

I might have to murder my new handyman. How can his smile look this boyish and innocent when his eyes are radiating pure sexiness?

“Is she?” Mom looks positively thrilled by this.

“Oh, yeah.” He drops the smirk, thank goodness. “She’s helped me with some of the construction, and her painting is beautiful. I’m impressed byallof her work.”

Aw. Maybe I’ll hold off on the murder.

“Since you’re doing so much, you should be treated to a good meal. What do you say to dinner with our family one night this week?”

Okay, so murder’s still on the table.

“Mom.” I exhale a breezy laugh even though nothing about me feels breezy right now. More like hurricane-force gusts of irritation. “Tomorrow’s Thanksgiving.”

“Right.” She seems to come back down to reality. I must be a clown, because I actually believe she’s going to drop it, right until she smiles even wider. “Do you have plans for the holiday, Griffin?”

His eyes flick to me, but I amnotgoing to let him answer that. It’s way too much. She can’t just spring an invite to a major holiday function on a guy with one day’s notice. Also, I don’t want to hear Griffin turn her down.

“Of course he does, Mom. He’s spending the day with his family.”

His mouth twitches the tiniest bit, and my heart sinks right down into the sawdust on the floor. Is he going to accept her invite? If nothing else, he’d do it to be contrary, solely because I’m against it. That would be a very Griffin thing to do.

He has no idea what that dinner would be like. I’ve endured a few family dinner-dates she’s arranged, and they all go the same way—Mom pushes us together like she’s playing with dolls, flirts by proxy until things get seriously uncomfortable for everyone, and I eventually go home to Google how many people die of embarrassment in a typical year. Then, I never hear from the man again.

I can’t let that happen with Griffin.

I’m begging him to read my mind with his secret telepathic powers and understand how deeply I do not want him to accept this invitation. His ESP must be working, because he manages to look disappointed.

“I do have plans with my family, Mrs. Parrish. But I appreciate the gesture.”

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