Page 22 of Screwing With The Scrooge

“No, we’re not there yet. Not even close.”

“I don’t know. Maple said that with the way that he was looking at you this morning, she didn’t think that wedding bells would be far off.”

“Maple needs to have her eyes checked then,” I tell her with a laugh. “He’s just starting to let me in.”

“I’ll tell Maple to make an eye appointment then.”

I laugh and finish wiping down the counters. Everything is ready for tomorrow, and I need to get going if I want to go home and take a shower before my date.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I tell Ginger, and she nods, stuffing the last of her blueberry muffin into her mouth as she jumps off the counter.

We head up to the front door, and I grab the keys out of my pocket, searching for the bakery one. I hear Ginger snort, and she turns to me.

“Are you sure about those wedding bells?” She whispers, and I look past her to where Xavier is standing next to his truck, a bouquet of roses in his hands.

“Maybe not,” I whisper.

She pats my arm as she heads over to the bookstore, and I smile as I take a step towards Xavier.

“For me?” I ask, and he smiles as he passes them to me.

“I had to run to the store and I saw them.”

I smile. He might not be comfortable saying it outright, but it seems that Xavier thinks about me quite a bit.

“There I go, distracting you again,” I sigh, and his eyes meet mine.

“Like I said, Olive. You’ve been distracting me since you got to town.”

“With my pranks,” I guess, and he frowns.

“No. With those eyes that are always so sparkly, like you know a joke and are just dying to let someone in on it. With that body. Fuck that body,” he whispers, his eyes heating as they trail over me. “With this damn bakery and your fuck me pies.”

“They’re not called that,” I interject, and he gives me a look.

“They practically are. Popping Cherries Pie? Fuck me,” he groans, and I swallow hard.

“I’d love to.”

His eyes darken even more with want, and I feel like I’m burning up. With one look this man can completely unravel me. He makes me want to try out every position that I’ve ever read about in my romance books.

“Let’s go,” he says softly, and I blink.

He offers me his hand, and I don’t hesitate as I slide mine into it.

He leads me over to his truck and opens my door for me, his hands landing on my hips as he helps me into it.

“I was going to take you out to dinner,” he says as he climbs behind the wheel, and I swallow as I turn to face him.

“I’m not hungry for food,” I whisper, and he swallows.

“We’re getting a pizza,” he tells me, reversing out of the spot. “If we don’t get food now, then I’ll forget to feed you later.”

“I can make us something,” I argue, and he shakes his head.

“I’m taking care of you today. Even if it is only with pizza.”

I smile to myself,and he grabs my hand as we drive a street over to the Manci’s Pizza Parlor.

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