Charming Co-Worker: Holiday RomCom Standalone

by Lauren Runow

  I want to laugh because, from that whole speech, that’s what he took away. Instead, I shrug, feeling shy, and admit, “I’ve never been kissed like that before.” I want to bury myself and never see him again.

  “I do enjoy kissing a beautiful woman.”

  Wait, what?

  I turn to him and notice he’s nothing but happy right now. Perhaps he’s used to women throwing themselves at him; in which case, he’ll just dismiss it and not let me die from embarrassment.

  “Well, you’re an excellent teacher. When I kiss Branson for the first time, I’ll have a higher expectation.” I take a seat and look over at Hunter. His grin is now gone, and his eyes are searching the floor. “So, what do I do with all this? I can’t just walk up to Branson tomorrow and lay my hands on him, tell him his blue eyes are mesmerizing, and make out with him.”

  His brows curve as he turns his head to me. With a pursed mouth, he seems to be considering something as he puts his focus back on the bar and plays with his glass. “No, you can’t do that.”

  “I need another drink.” I raise my hand to get the bartender’s attention, but Hunter puts his on my wrist, pulling it back.

  “I’m not in the business of telling women what they can and cannot do, but you had a few glasses of champagne at the party and two whiskey doubles. I think you should leave on a good note.”

  I lower my shoulders in surrender. “You’re right.”

  As I slide off the stool, I have to catch my balance for a second.

  Hunter holds my elbow, steadying me. “Okay, kid, looks like you need a chaperone.”

  “You can’t call me sexy and beautiful one minute and then kid the next.”

  He laughs. “Of course I can.”

  “It makes me feel like a child. I’m not that much younger than you,” I state, knowing he’s thirty-two. Sure, it’s a fair amount older, but after that kiss, that nickname suddenly feels childish.

  “What if I told you it was a Casablanca thing?” he asks, and I stare at him, puzzled. He kisses the top of my head and then helps me get my coat on before sliding his on as well. “Let’s get you home.”

  Chapter Three

  We weave through the crowd and out of the pub.

  There aren’t any available taxis on the street, so I hitch my thumb down the road. “I’m not too far. I can walk.”

  “Where’s home?” he asks, closing the buttons on his overcoat.

  “Only a few blocks that way.” I point in the uptown direction.

  With his hands in his pockets, he starts heading toward where I just motioned. “If you think I’m letting you walk home by yourself, you’re out of your mind.”

  I scurry next to him, keeping up with his long strides. “You don’t have to do that.”

  He ignores my comment and keeps moving.

  While the city is filled with holiday joy of all religions, there is definitely the warmth of Christmas overpowering every corner. We pass wreaths on doors and giant lights strung over the picture windows on storefronts. Men in Santa suits ring bells for charity while a woman on a corner plays a classic carol on a violin for money.

  “I love the city during Christmastime,” I sing out happily. “Have you ever gone ice-skating at Rockefeller Center?”

  Hunter scoffs, “No. That’s a tourist trap.”

  “What about Macy’s to see Santa? Or the lights at Saks? Oh, you have to have seen the nativity at St. Patrick’s Cathedral,” I assume.

  He shakes his head as he walks casually through the chill. “Never.”

  I want to question him more, but my other favorite thing about the holidays in New York comes into view. “Chestnuts!” I beam as I see a cart with nuts roasting.

  The scent alone is enough to lure me closer and open my purse to get money for a bag. Hunter puts a hand over mine in a way that tells me he doesn’t want me to pay and then orders caramelized peanuts for himself. We’re each handed a small bag, and he gives cash to the vendor, telling him to keep the change as a tip.

  The heat from the bag feels good on my cold fingertips. Sliding off my glove, I unpeel one of the nuts, pop it in my mouth, and let out a moan.

  “I take it, you’re enjoying that?” There’s a jovial tone to his question.

  “Heavenly,” I sigh before reaching in, grabbing another, and starting to unpeel it. “Try this.”

  He holds up his hand in refusal. “No, thank you.”

  “Come on. It’s a New York Christmas tradition.”

  I lift the nut to his mouth, and he begrudgingly opens wide for me. His lips wrap around my fingers as he takes a bite. I let out a shiver from his closeness.

  “Good?” I ask, trying to hide my reaction.

  “It’s horrible,” he says with a mouthful. I wait for him to swallow. “Chestnuts roasting on an open fire is some romantic idea from a song. No one said you should eat them. They taste like cardboard.”

  I let out a harrumph. “It’s the sensation they give you, all warm and comforting. They make you feel like you’re swallowing love.”

  “I’m going to ignore that opening to make a really inappropriate comment and jump on the fact that you don’t even like the way they taste. You just like the way they remind you of the holidays.”

  “I never said that.”

  “You did when you mentioned sensation right before you mentioned swallowing love.” A laugh threatens to escape him, but his grin is evident.

  “You’re hopeless.”

  “I’m fun,” he corrects.

  “Childish,” I say with a smile.

  He doesn’t disagree as he opens his bag and holds up a cluster of peanuts. “Are you ready to have something truly delicious in your mouth?”

  When I nod, he slips the nuts through my lips, and damn, the sweet and salty goodness puts my chestnuts to shame.

  My tongue is still salivating from how yummy his nuts are, but I keep my lips pursed and shrug in indifference. “They’re fine.”

  “You’re the worst liar.”

  The dimples that appear on his cheek makes me lose my cool, and I end up letting out a huge laugh. “Gosh, fine. Your nuts are delicious.”

  Yes, I realize how dirty that sounded, and I lean up and put a hand over Hunter’s mouth before he can say anything crude. I can feel his smile widening against my palm, so I snatch his bag of nuts out of his hand and replace it with mine.

  “Glad you’re enjoying those,” he croons as he scrunches the bag and slides them into his coat pocket.

  “I would enjoy them even more if we swung by Saks Fifth Avenue and watched the lights dance on the sides of the building.”

  “You really are trying to get me to like your commercialized Christmas, aren’t you?”

  “What, are you the Grinch?”

  “The merriest I get is a mulled wine and a cigar by the fire.”

  Just the thought of a fire has me wrapping my arms around myself. “A cozy snuggle by the fire sounds awesome. We’d have cocoa and lie on a large fur blanket with no lights, except for those coming from the embers and the Christmas tree lit in the corner.”

  After a moment, I realize he’s not walking anymore. I turn to see him looking at me with a twinkle in his eye and a small smile tugging at the side of his mouth.

  “How do you always manage to be this wistful?”

  I shrug at his curious stare. “A happy heart, I guess. Is that a bad thing?”

  He lifts his chin and gives a closed-mouth grin. “Not at all. I’m just surprised.”

  “By what?”

  He takes three purposeful steps toward me and stops just close enough that the front of his coat brushes up against mine. Even in heels, I have to tilt my head up to see his face. The snowflakes sticking to his hair make it seem like we’re standing in the middle of a snow globe, not New York City.

  I lean up and pop the collar of his coat, providing extra warmth to his neck. The action makes the corners of his mouth rise up.

  “What does a romantic girl like you see i
n a guy like Branson?” he asks.

  I have to look away from his smoldering stare as I think of all the reasons I adore Branson. “He has a way about him. A sophisticated grace. He’s kind, charitable, a true gentleman. Even when he’s dismissive of someone, he does it in a way that makes them think it was their idea. And he’s beautiful. I could get lost in his grin for days.”

  “You know, if he does return your affection, you could lose your job. You can’t date your boss.”

  “Then, that’s the risk I’m willing to take.” When I glance back to Hunter, I notice he’s no longer smiling. “Have you ever had a crush on someone like that?”

  “Yes,” he breathes.

  A chill runs up my spine. I tug my coat closer to protect myself from the cold.

  I tilt my head to the side, wondering aloud, “Has someone broken your heart?”

  “You’d have to let someone in first to give them your heart,” he says without hesitation.

  “And you’ve never done that?” I ask.

  Hunter places a hand on my cheek and pulls me in. The steam of his heated breath pours from his mouth as he draws me near.

  We’re close—not as close as in the bar, but from this angle, I feel that mesmerizing pull, the one he has with women. It makes my chest rise and my lips part. My once-cold body is suddenly blistering with heat.

  I blink, breaking our trance, needing the space to breathe for a second. I can’t tell if Hunter is trying to teach me something or what. He has this way with many women, I know. Maybe with some practice, I’ll have the same effect on men.

  “This is me,” I say, clearing my throat and pointing toward my apartment that’s just a few buildings away.

  Hunter nods his head and walks with me to the building. When we get to the front door, he waits as I get my key ring out and slide the lock.

  Stepping inside, I turn to him. “Thank you for walking me home.”

  He searches inside the narrow foyer, as if assessing whether it’s safe or not. “Text me when you get upstairs.”

  “I’ve managed to make it safely up the stairs on my own for two years.”

  “Now, I’m here, so I’ll hang out until you let me know you’re okay.”

  I stare up at him with an incorrigible gaze. My defiance has him lowering his head to mine.

  “Good night, kid,” he says, leaning forward and placing a kiss low on my cheek, close to my jaw.

  “A Casablanca thing, huh?” I muse.

  He grins and steps onto the sidewalk, slowly backing away. I enter my hallway and climb up the stairs to my five-floor walk-up.

  When I get inside, I’m careful not to wake my roommate, Sofia, who is sleeping on the couch. She looks so peaceful, curled up under the red-and-white throw blanket I put out for the holidays. The television is on, showing a Netflix what to watch next screen, which means she fell asleep while watching a movie.

  I lift the remote off the coffee table and turn the TV off. The only light in the room now comes from the Christmas tree in the corner, lit beautifully.

  I step over to the window and peek through the curtain. True to his word, Hunter is standing on the sidewalk, looking up. His coat collar is still perked up the way I placed it before, and he’s absolutely handsome, standing in the snow glistening under the streetlight.

  I take out my phone, flick the lamp on, and send him a text.

  I’m home. Thank you for waiting.

  He slides his phone out of his pocket and reads the message. When he glances up, his eyes collide with mine as he lifts a hand to his lips before raising his fingers in the air.

  I catch the kiss and bring it to my lips.

  “You’re amazing at the hunt, Mr. Johnstone,” I say against the pads of my fingers, and then I let my hand fall with a sigh. “Too bad you don’t believe in long-term romance. I have a feeling you’d be really good at it.”

  With a soft smile lifting my cheeks, I close the curtain and step back from the window.

  “You’re home early,” Sofia grumbles from the couch as she lets out a yawn.

  “Shoot. I was trying not to wake you. It’s actually pretty late.” I walk toward her and motion to the television. “I noticed you had a Netflix binge tonight.”

  She runs a hand through her thick brown hair as she sits up. She’s wearing an oversize sweatshirt that reads I Heart NY. “Yeah, well, since I had the place to myself, I figured I’d take over the living room, eat jalapeños, and cram in all the sci-fi I could handle.”

  I laugh at her nightly description. Since we moved in together, we’ve agreed on almost everything, except for her love of supernatural shows and spicy foods. Judging from the takeout box from La Contenta, I know she’s had her fill of hot sauce for the month. As they say, when the cat’s away, the mice will play.

  Speaking of cats, my fancy feline walks out of my bedroom toward the sound of my voice. With his paws covered in white, my boy sashays into the room and lets out a long stretch, like he just woke up from a yearlong nap.

  “Was Mittens in my room all night?” I ask as I swoop my kitty into my arms. He’s actually not a kitty, as he’s seven and rather fat.

  “That there is the snobbiest cat in all of Manhattan,” she says as she gathers her containers of food into a pile but not bothering to get up and throw them away.

  I look down at Mittens, who is purring in my arms with closed eyes and a smile. “He’s an angel,” I baby-talk to him.

  “He’s the devil in black-and-white fur.”

  Mittens gives Sofia the side-eye before leaping out of my arms and sauntering back to my room. “He’s a rescue. You have to earn his trust.”

  “He should trust I won’t feed him to the rottweiler in 2B,” she says as we watch Mittens’s tail dance as it disappears behind my door. “You should have gotten a dog.”

  Shaking my head, I pull my coat off and sling it around a chair.

  “Your hair looks pretty,” Sofia says with appreciation, and then a confused look crosses her face. “I thought you had it up when you left tonight.”

  I bite my lip as I remember the way Hunter’s hands felt when he pulled the pins out of it. A vibration runs down my back as I rest my cheek to my shoulder, savoring the memory.

  Man, Hunter’s right. I do live in a fairyland.

  “Yeah, I wound up at a bar with a co-worker. My hair just made its way onto my shoulders.”

  “No, no, no.” Sofia sits up straighter, moving her butt to the edge of the couch and peering up from her sleepy position. “You were supposed to talk to Branson tonight. This was the night for you to make your move.”

  I let out a groan. While my crush is very private, I did let it slip to Sofia over the summer that I was smitten beyond reasonable control with Branson Ford. I blame the margaritas for my confession.

  “I’m a walking cliché, Sof.” I fall to the chair beside me and lounge haphazardly, like a distressed old-time movie star.

  “What happened? You left here, looking like a million bucks.”

  My hand falls to the side and dangles like a pendulum. “I mustered the courage. I walked up, looked into those blue eyes, and told him we should get out of there. And we did … just with other people.”

  She rubs her hands together and then holds her pointer finger up, almost like she’s twirling it, as if something doesn’t seem right. “Before we get all melancholy, let me ask you this. Did you actually say, Let’s go out together because I like you? I want to be with you? Branson Ford, you are the most amazing man I’ve ever met, and I want to have wild, crazy, passionate sex with you?”

  I give my best scowl. “No.”

  Her laughter is loud. “You are so … you!”

  “I’ll try not to take that as an insult,” I say sarcastically.

  “You told me this summer that you think he’s attracted to you. That there’s this thing between you guys. Katie, he’s your boss. He is never, ever going to make the first move. The man has a shit-ton on the line. If he were to make the first mo
ve and you didn’t reciprocate, then he’d have a lawsuit and all other nonsense to worry about. But if you want him and you really don’t care what the consequences are, then you’ve got to go for it. You can’t harbor feelings for the man forever. Eventually, you have to seize your chance to make a move or get over him.”

  “Get over Branson? That’s rich. I’ve been idolizing him for so long that it almost feels like it’s part of my personality.”

  “All right, then you have to stop being a doormat and tell the man how you feel. Use that hot body of yours and that gorgeous hair. Flaunt those boobs!”

  “Now, you sound like Hunter.”

  “Who’s Hunter?”

  I lick my lips at the mere mention of his name. “He’s no one. Well, he’s someone.” With a hand on my cheek, I feel my skin warm. I suddenly have a need to take off my clothes. I get up from my seat and walk toward my bedroom. “Hunter is my co-worker. My very charming co-worker. We went out tonight, and he gave me tips on how to be more seductive.”

  “Ohhh.” Her elongated use of the simple word has me stopping in the hallway and peering around the corner, back toward the living room.

  “What do you mean by ohhh?”

  She shakes her head and gives a closed-mouth smile. “Just … oh.”

  Ignoring her cleverness, I go to my room and flick on the light. Mittens is now sitting on my bed, taking over the duvet like it’s his personal full-size mattress. I unzip my dress and hang it in the closet. What a beautiful dress it is. I bite my lip and let my fingers run over the fabric. If only Branson appreciated it the way Hunter did. If only Branson gazed at me as sinful as Hunter did.

  “So, this Hunter person, is he single?” Sofia asks from the hallway, knowing I’m changing.

  “Very,” I say as I slide on my pajama pants.

  “Is he hot?”

  “Very,” I say rather quickly and admonish myself. Sofia is going to be all over that, I’m sure.

  “Is he a good kisser?”

  “Very,” I say even faster and rush out of my room before she can muster another word. My pajama shirt is now on along with a scrunched-up don’t you dare say a word expression on my face. “I know what you’re going to say.”