Unwrapped: A Holiday Romance

by Amelia Wilde

  “We’ll figure something out.”

  “I hope you can,” she says, her hand fluttering to her chest. “I hope you can.”

  By the afternoon, things have taken a turn for the crazy. The regulars are stopping downtown to see the banner, but they’re not just looking. Oh, no. They’re standing in front of the shop, calling things across the summertime traffic toward Dash’s place.

  I hope he’s not in there. As pissed as I might be that he chose that building, he did do me a favor. I feel bad that people don’t at least look excited when they walk by. Most of them are scowling, then turn around at the end of the block to walk by and scowl some more.

  At four, when I close up shop, I lean against the counter and look across the street. Three tourists are standing outside his shop, checking it out. The facade has been repainted. It looks good. Medium Roast could use a face lift, too.

  There’s a flash of movement in the dark store, a black t-shirt behind the reflection in the window.

  I owe him.

  That’s the bottom line.

  He did something for me, and all he asked in return was that I stop by. I want to talk, he’d said, standing in the middle of my store after he’d told me he was about to become my arch nemesis.

  Fine. I’ll talk.

  The alley door seems like the best idea. Who wants to answer questions from the tourists about The Coffee Spot? Not me.

  Because I’m a coward, I walk down the block and cross at the crosswalk, buying some time. If he’s gone by the time I get there, he’s gone. Nothing I can do about that.

  In the alley, I raise my hand and knock on the bright blue door set into the white bricks. It’s confident when my hand makes contact the first time but weak and nervous by the third. God, I am the worst. Aside from Dash. He’s the ultimate worst.

  I’m about to lose my nerve when I hear the lock turn behind the knob.

  The door swings open.

  He stands inside, one hand in the pocket of his jeans, a surprised half-grin on his face. All of my indignant anger—what was left underneath the vague pity, anyway—melts away into something gooey and nice.

  “You stopped by,” he says, gaze searing my skin everywhere it touches. For an instant I’m right back behind the counter of Medium Roast, daring to brush up against him, my nipples hard and barely hidden by my teal shirt.

  I raise one shoulder, the hint of a shrug. “You asked. Plus, I owe you for working that shift.”

  He looks like he’s about to argue, but changes his mind. “Consider your debt paid,” he says, and something in my chest falls. Do I hate it when I owe people? Yes. Yes, I do. But there was a kind of electric pull when I was in debt to Dash. It meant that I’d have to see him again. “I don’t know about that.” There’s a quiver of uncertainty in my voice. “You also said you wanted to talk.”

  His eyes light up. “I’ve got an empty store if you want to take a load off. Nobody will ask you to make coffee in there, I promise.”

  I try my best not to sound too eager, but I’m filling up with a kind of morbid curiosity. I want to see the place that’s going to do Aunt Lisa’s shop in.

  And I want to see more of him.

  “Okay.”

  He steps back, beckoning me forward. “Hurry up,” he says, a laugh underneath his words. “Don’t want them to see you with the competition.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Dash

  Ellie has the scent of coffee clinging to her clothes, to her skin, to her hair, and it moves into my own shop with her. I’m into it.

  “You smell like success,” I tell her while I shut the side door and lock it.

  She makes a face. “Not even a little.” Ellie takes a deep breath in. “This place, on the other hand...” There’s a flicker of worry in her eyes. Is it about me, or the store, or both? I only half believe she’s standing here right now when people have been booing my banner all day. “So clean. So fresh.”

  She looks clean and fresh, despite having worked a whole shift at Medium Roast. “Are you telling me you like this better?”

  “Than a coffee shop that’s been drowning in grounds all day? Yeah,” she says, raising her eyebrows. “Yeah, I really do.”

  This is interesting. Ellie has been working her ass off at Medium Roast for...I don’t know how long, but long enough. She attacks each day with a ferocity normally reserved for things like heated sporting events. But she’s standing in front of me right now, giving a little shudder at the thought of the shop.

  “What’s on your mind, then?”

  She blinks, cocking her head to the side. “What do you mean?”

  “You came over to talk.”

  A smile curls at the corners of her pink, perfect lips. “You asked me to come over and talk. I figured you had something in mind.”

  Ellie gives the tiniest exhale, and in the space of a moment it’s like all the air in my storefront has been lit on fire. She must feel it too, because she bites at her lip, shifting her weight from one foot to the next. It has the effect of making her hips sway in slow motion, and holy fuck do I want my hands on those hips.

  We’re standing in the side room by the alley. It’s more of a long hallway, though the high windows let in plenty of light and the low furniture I’ve had set along the walls make it cozy as hell.

  It’s also inviting as hell for the things I’d like to do with her.

  “I have a few things in mind.”

  I know how it sounds. It sounds like a come-on.

  That’s because it is.

  Ellie blushes a little, turning to look around. “Like what?”

  The words come out of the last remaining working part of my brain. “Shop. The shop.”

  She grins up at me, and I swear to God, she arches her back an inch, putting those glorious breasts on display, even under her standard t-shirt. “What about it?”

  Get your head in the game. “What’s in it for you?”

  Ellie crosses her arms over her chest, which is one of the more significant disappointments of my lifetime. “Let me get this straight. You wanted me to come over here to tell me I should be doing something else?”

  “No. I wanted to ask you if you should be doing something else. You’re…” I can hardly string the words together. “You’re tenacious. Driven. You could have survived the other day without me, even though I’m pretty sure you don’t like coffee.”

  Ellie laughs, a short burst that’s like sunrays coming through the window. “I think about that day a lot.”

  She’s being flirty. Isn’t she? “Me too.”

  “I think about how...” her eyes are alight. “...nice you were behind the counter. You saved the day, and I still don’t get why. Why would you do that when your whole purpose in life is to ruin mine?”

  “That’s not my purpose in life,” I shoot back. “I started this project before I knew you, and I don’t let things go unfinished.” A pain stabs at the center of my chest. “Unless it’s out of my hands.”

  She wrinkles her brow. “What could possibly be out of your hands?” Ellie raises her own hands, gesturing to everything around us. “You’ve got a new store, a slick setup, a daughter who’s so cute it kind of makes me sick...you have everything.”

  I’m all emotion, no thought. I’m so hard my pants feel like a prison. I grit my teeth to keep the words in. They escape anyway. “You’re out of my hands.” I run those empty hands through my hair, taking one step closer. “I came here to finish what I started, and here you are, standing in my way.”

  Ellie lets out a belly laugh, but her eyes have gone dark with some other emotion. “Me? Standing in your way? I don’t think so. Medium Roast is never going to be able to compete with this. Your place will put us right under. You’re the one standing in my way. And the worst thing of all—” She stops, giving a sharp shake of her head.

  “The worst thing is that you’ll be out of a job?”

  “The worst thing is that I can’t stop thinking about you,” she bursts ou
t. “You were so fucking helpful and sexy, and you’ve been driving me crazy, over here in your t-shirts. I felt bad for you because all the regulars think you’re scum and you are scum, but only sometimes.” Her face is getting redder and redder. “Saturday? That was simple. I wanted you to be there, and you were. You saved my ass when nobody else was willing to step up to the plate, and I can’t forget that. I can’t forget you.” She whirls away from me, turning toward the doorway into the main shop, and a frustrated growl bursts free from her. “God, this is so fucking stupid. I want you, and I always want what I can’t have—”

  Two steps.

  That’s all it takes for me to close the distance between us. Touching her is like touching a live wire. I pull her in. She gasps, arching back a little, and I have one fleeting moment to see the surprise—see the heat—in her gray eyes before I’m not looking anymore.

  I cover her mouth with mine, claiming those lips at last.

  Fuck the consequences.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Ellery

  My entire body turns into a firework of pleasure when Dash’s lips meet mine. Not a single ounce of me wants him to stop. A tiny voice in the back of my head reminds me that he’s the man who’s going to ruin my aunt’s shop for good, but a far louder one smacks that voice across the face.

  His hands are on my waist, on my hips, and he pulls me close like he’s been waiting his entire life to do this.

  On some level, I know that’s not true. He has a daughter, and she didn’t come out of nowhere. God, I’m an asshole. I never asked him what her name was.

  “Wait. Wait…” I push my hands against the muscled expanse of his chest.

  “What?” He’s still bending toward me, inches away.

  “What’s your daughter’s name?”

  His eyes are so green, like high summer in the fields outside Lakewood. “Rosalyn,” he says, his voice heavy with impatience. “But I call her Rosie. So does everyone else. Why?”

  “I never asked,” I breathe against him. “I thought I should ask.”

  “Ellie?”

  “Yeah?” I spread my fingers out against his shirt. I want to take fistfuls of the fabric and yank it over his head.

  “Shut up.”

  He kisses me again, so hard I gasp. When was the last time a man kissed me like this? It wasn’t Sol, the boyfriend I had right after college, the one who ran so fast in the opposite direction after The Incident that I didn’t even get a forwarding address. He was a slow kisser, which is fine. It’s not fine in comparison to kissing Dash. It’s like getting top-shelf alcohol for the first time. Once you’ve had that, the cheap shit only leaves a bad taste in your mouth.

  Dash tastes minty and strong, and my whole body responds to his touch, little tendrils of electricity rushing down from my hips to my toes. I should have known it would be this way. I should have known that kissing him would be like flinging myself right into the center of a thunderstorm and letting that lightning scatter through me like a midnight cloud.

  “God,” he growls, “I’ve wanted to do this since I saw you dancing that day.”

  “Oh, no,” I groan. “Don’t remind me about that.” He plants little kisses down the line of my neck toward my collarbone, each one a tiny explosion all on its own.

  “Why not?” More kisses. “I can’t stop thinking about it. Tell me you can stop, and I’ll stop.”

  “I can’t,” I admit. “Not at night.”

  “Night is the worst time,” he agrees, and then he comes in for another lingering slow burn of a kiss that has me melting right through my shorts. That’s what it feels like. I hope the situation isn’t that dire. Otherwise, it’s going to be an awkward stroll back to my car.

  Dash pins me up against the doorframe, and I get a good look at the inside of the store for the first time. “Shit,” I murmur up against his mouth.

  “What?”

  “This place is nice,” I say.

  “This is nice.” He plays his hands over the curve of my waist and dips lower, only to rise up again underneath my shirt, his palms on my bare skin. Frustration grows in my chest. I want more from Dash Huxley. I’m not the kind of girl who sleeps with a man on the first date. All my life, I’ve been the type who has best friends who turn into boyfriends who turn into lovers, and it’s always a crushing blow when it inevitably falls apart. Dash is none of those things. We’re not best friends, and he’s not my boyfriend, but if he pulled down my shorts right now I wouldn’t stop him.

  I wouldn’t stop him for a second. Right here in this shop. That’s how much he’s taken over my nights, my dreams.

  There’s only one thing between us.

  Two things.

  Two coffee shops.

  He works his hand up under my bra, his tongue finding mine in my mouth, and when I think I’m going to scream he takes one of my nipples between his thumb and forefinger and rolls it in his grasp.

  My head drops back against the doorframe, making contact with a heavy thud, pain spiking through the back of my skull.

  “Shit, that hurts,” I hiss, leaning forward into him, rubbing at my head.

  “Sorry, Ellie,” Dash says, sliding his hand away from my breast as if he’s going to back away.

  I catch it down by my belly button, pinning it with my free hand. “You’ll be sorrier if you move that hand another inch.”

  His answering smile is pure sex. I want some of that. “Oh, will I?” He moves his hand back up, teasing me with the pad of his thumb. I’m wriggling under his touch, moving as close as I can get without stopping the movement of his hand. Jesus, it feels so good, it feels so right, and I want to know what he can do between my legs. I have to know.

  “I’ll make you sorry.”

  He grins against my lips, then takes my bottom one between his teeth, a gentle tug. “I’ll make you happy.”

  I’m floating in a sea of pleasure, but those damn coffee shops pull at the last corner of my conscience that’s still above water. I let my hands curl into fists, clutching more of his shirt, and hold him still while I pull back, an inch between us.

  “Don’t open this coffee shop,” I command.

  He looks right back at me. “I’m going to do it. You can’t stop me.”

  I breathe more of him in. “Then we’re sworn enemies.”

  He raises a hand to the side of my face, his thumb against my cheek, and searches my eyes. “How about part-time enemies?”

  The words this isn’t a negotiation are on the tip of my tongue, but he rolls my nipple between his fingers again. I don’t fall to my knees in a puddle of desire, but it’s a near thing. “Fine, but which parts of the day are we going to—”

  “Shh,” he says, and it’s a long time before either of us speaks again.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Dash

  I don’t ever want to leave this moment, but eventually my inner alarm starts sounding the warning. The afternoon light streaming in through the front windows of the shop is my cue to get Rosie from Norma’s.

  It takes a superhuman effort to pull myself away from Ellie.

  “Oh, no,” she says softly, resting her forehead against my chest. “What’d I do wrong?”

  “Nothing. Not a damn thing.” I would never wish for any other life than the one where Rosie exists, but right now—right now—it would be nice if I wasn’t the only person responsible for her. The selfish, raw side of me wants to be with Ellery. That part of me wants to lower her down to the brand-new floors, throw down my t-shirt, and fuck her senseless right here. Everybody on the sidewalk can watch if they want to. I don’t care. “I have to pick up my daughter.”

  Ellie backs down instantly, her hands dropping away from my chest. There’s an emptiness where her palms were. “Right. Right. You should get out of here. I didn’t mean to make you late.”

  I take her hands in mine and put them back where they were, then lean down and kiss her again. I cannot get enough of the taste of her. I cannot get enough of the sweetnes
s. I cannot get enough of the way she wants to go to war, but only when we’re not wrapped around each other.

  That’s a deal I can live with. Maybe not forever, but for now, what other choice do I have?

  “You didn’t make me late. I’m glad you stopped by so we could...talk.”

  She laughs, a shy giggle. “I think we have more to talk about, don’t you?”

  I let go of one hand so I can lift her chin and look into those big gray eyes. “This is going to sound stupid as hell,” I say. “Given what we just did. But...I’d like to ask you for your number.”

  Her smile gets bigger. “You know,” she says, breathing in deep, “for an asshole, you’re astonishingly polite.”

  “For my mortal enemy, you’re astonishingly sexy.” I leave off I like you so much that you almost make me want to back down from this whole fucking project and start something, anything, else.

  Before we leave, Ellie demands my phone, opens the contacts, and types her number in. “Don’t call me,” she says. “I hate talking on the phone.”

  Two minutes after I put Rosie to bed, my phone buzzes in my pocket. A text message. It’s from Ellie. She’s put herself in my phone as Ellery Collins. How fucking delightful is that? Ellery Collins. It’s a name that rolls off the tongue.

  I’d like to be rolling other things off my tongue, but I’ll settle for her last name in the meantime.

  You sure you want to open that shop?

  She doesn’t give up, does she?

  You sure you don’t want to close yours?

  It’s not about what I want.

  The sun is still high above the horizon, and Rosie is out cold, sleeping peacefully. She had a busy day at Norma’s. My girl isn’t quite walking yet—she does this funny scoot with one leg in front of her body and one leg behind—but Norma says she’s trying harder every time she comes over. She always has the scoot for backup.