by Jana Aston
"Um, that wasn't creepy at all."
"Making my point. Don't sidetrack." She holds her finger back up in the air, ready to start her finger checklist. "He took you to a Christmas market. He walked around with you while you went shopping." She pauses here to wave a hand at the pile of gingerbread items scattered across her kitchen table and give me a pointed look. Then she holds up a third finger. "Then he walked you up the steps of an old church to show you the view and kissed you." Ginger drops her hand to her heart and makes a dramatic swooning motion in her chair, slumping over until I'm afraid she'll hit the floor.
"Okay, enough," I grumble. She sits up immediately, waving four fingers in my face.
"Then instead of saying ‘thank you for the kiss, sir,’ you asked him why he kissed you."
"‘Thank you for the kiss, sir?’ Are you serious?" I laugh. "Who talks like that? Does your oven have a gas leak or something? Are you okay in the head?"
Ginger ignores me. "And then he said because he wanted to. Because he wanted to kiss you, Holly Mistletoe Winter."
It's true. My middle name is Mistletoe. Even I have to admit my mom may have taken her Christmas fetish a bit far with that one.
"Five." The fingers are aggressively wiggling now. "You had sex. And it was good."
"Thank you for not belaboring that point."
"Six, the next day you reminded him he's your boss."
"He is my boss!"
"You made him feel like a creepy douchebag."
Hmm. Maybe she has a point?
"Was he? Did he step over the line? Make you uncomfortable?"
"No. Not at all."
"Seven." Ginger is starting to look far too smug for my big-sister liking. "You told him to forget the entire thing. You told him it never even happened. Eight, you cock-blocked him at dinner because you supposedly don't want him but you don't want anyone else to have him either."
Well. That's horribly accurate.
"Ten."
"Wait, what about nine?"
"Whatever." Ginger shrugs. "I'm sure you messed up another dozen ways you're not even telling me about."
I sigh loudly and roll my eyes.
"Ten." She opens and closes her hands in little bursts as if she needs to further emphasize my failures. "You accused him of being a slut."
"I did not!"
Except. Except I did, didn't I?
"Fine. But technically I apologized for that," I offer.
Ginger is not impressed. "Why are you like this? We were raised by nice people. You do not have a tragic backstory, Holly. Nick is not a villain. So he's your boss. So what? You have similar goals. You both love the Flying Reindeer Toy Company more than any two adults should. You're making this more difficult than it needs to be."
"I'm not like anything! I'm not being difficult! Falling in love is confusing, dagnabbit!"
Ginger gasps.
I gasp.
"You said it." She points at me, victory clear on her face.
"Dagnabbit? Yeah. Your weird way of swearing is rubbing off on me."
Ginger grunts and hits her forehead with an open palm. "No, not that. You said ‘love.’ You said you were falling in love with Nick. No takebacks!"
I want to laugh at her use of ‘no takebacks,’ but my heart is beating too fast to make fun of her. "Yeah, I guess I did."
"So. What are you going to do about it?" Ginger relaxes into her chair, unwrapping another of the gingerbread treats I brought her from Nuremberg. Clearly she feels her intervention with me is nearly over.
"I have no idea." Then another memory comes back to me, slapping me upside the head. Actually no, it's more of a punch to the gut. "He wanted me to admit I liked him. During… you know. While we were…"
Ginger stares at me as if I'm some special kind of idiot.
"You're kind of an idiot," she confirms.
"Yeah."
"Fix it, Holly. Fix it now, before it's too late. Don't make this the memory that haunts you for the rest of your life. Because it will. If you leave it like it is now the question of what could have been will haunt you like the Ghost of Christmas Past until the day you die. Not only that, but I bet an angel dies every day you're not together. Nice glass ones. Vintage. Falling from the tops of Christmas trees in heartbroken despair."
"That wasn't dramatic at all."
She shrugs. "I'm just trying to speak to you in a language you understand."
I nod. She's not wrong. I've heard her loud and clear and I think I know what I need to do.
"What about you?" I ask with a pointed stare.
"What about me?” Ginger asks with her mouthful of gingerbread, her nose scrunched up in confusion.
"How are things with your sexy chef?"
"He's not mine." Ginger huffs. "He's only in town for the filming of The Great Gingerbread Bake-Off and then he's out of here. Besides, he's a gingerbread-stealing jerk."
"Maybe you should give him a reason to stay," I suggest, ignoring her comment about Keller being a jerk. I don't think he's nearly the jerk Ginger seems to think he is.
"As if. He's not Reindeer Falls material. He's British. And famous. He has a show on the Food Network!"
"So?"
"So? He's not going to give all that up for me."
"Why does it have to be one or the other? He can still be British in Michigan."
"Cute. But that kind of guy doesn't end up in a small town in Michigan. And my life is here. My bakery is here. He's going to bounce the moment the show is over."
"Hmm. Maybe. Maybe not. Anyway, I've gotta go."
"To Nick's?" Ginger looks excited, dusting her hands off and standing up with me.
"No, not yet. I have to stop at the craft store first."
"Sure…" Ginger drawls the word out, looking at me as if I'm insane. "That sounds right."
Chapter 13
After a quick run to the craft store I spend the rest of the evening crafting. And thinking. And dreaming. Making a vision board of sorts.
Then I throw away the Countdown-to-Dickmas calendar.
Okay, yes, I removed all the chocolates first, but still. It's the thought that counts.
I get to work early, with my new Advent calendar tucked in my bag as I will myself to be brave. And then I wait for Nick. He's due back in the office today, which is a good thing because I have to see him. Now, today. I can't wait another moment. Because Ginger is right. Angels are surely crashing and breaking every day I continue to act like a coward.
I'm nearly vibrating with nerves, but it's okay. I bet Rudolph was nervous when he was called on to lead Santa's sleigh. I bet the Grinch was terrified when his heart finally grew to its proper size. I bet Scrooge was downright alarmed when he realized he needed to make some big changes.
I'm ready. Ready to embrace the true meaning of Christmas.
Love, however it presents itself. Even if it is in the form of your slightly grumpy, too-attractive-for-his-own-good boss. Even if a relationship with said boss isn't the smartest idea in the world. Even if dating your boss has the potential to be messy. I'm going to put myself out there and take a chance. With Nick.
And fine, maybe I'm not taking the world's biggest chance. Maybe it's clear to everyone but me that Nick is interested. Or was interested. He might have changed his mind by now. He might have decided I'm not worth the trouble. Or he might not be interested in the kind of things I'm interested in. Things like going out to dinner. Watching Christmas movies in July. Kissing things.
Dating things. Love things.
All the things. I want all the things with Nick.
The light in his office flickers on. I didn't see him come in, which means he didn't bother to pass my desk on the way to his office. He usually does. It's always annoyed me. Until today, of course. Today it feels like a bad omen. Or rejection. Then again, it probably doesn't feel as bad as having someone tell you they're just going to pretend they never slept with you the morning after sleeping with you.
Like I did to Nick.
>
I take a deep breath, then I gather up my new Advent calendar and straighten the hem on my dress, a white winter wool paired with a sky-high pair of red heels. Maybe I don't need the heels to go toe to toe with Nick, but they do amazing things for my legs. And they don't hurt my confidence any, that's for sure. Besides, if this goes badly, I can always trip on my way out of his office and have an excuse other than my broken heart for taking the rest of the week off.
"I brought you a Christmas present." I manage to walk into his office without tripping but I nearly stumble over the words once I'm there. I'm not even sure I spoke in a coherent manner, until Nick finally responds.
He glanced up from his computer as I strode into his office with my announcement, a flicker of surprise in his guarded expression. He likely expected me to avoid him. Or perhaps he thinks I'm here to tell him again that I'm not interested in a repeat.
I've been such a jerk.
I want a repeat. Of course I want a repeat.
"Is it a Christmas tie?" he finally asks, computer abandoned as he leans back in his chair to watch me. "Are you continuing the tradition started with my uncle?"
"No." I shake my head and blush a Yuletide of reds. "Not a tie. And definitely not a gift I'd ever have given to your uncle."
Nick is wearing a green tie today. It's a mossy color and looks like it might be wool. It's festive but fashionable and I'm fascinated with the way it makes his eyes even more impossibly green. Like the perfect Christmas tree or a four-leaf clover.
Sucking in a deep breath, I turn around and close his office door, my hand resting against the wood for a moment after it clicks into place. It's early and there are only a handful of employees at their desks, but still. I need all the privacy I can get for this next bit.
When I turn around his eyes flicker from the closed door to my flushed face, one elbow bent on the chair arm, his forefinger tapping against his bottom lip. He's watching me with more interest than he did a moment earlier, if that's possible. Then again, it's not like I've ever shut the door to his office before. Not with me inside it.
"I'm just going to say something," I announce. Then I promptly say nothing. I exhale and twist my neck back and forth as if I'm stretching for some kind of workout.
"Did you want to give that to me?" He nods toward the package in my hand, clearly trying to prod me into some kind of action. His manner is encouraging, not impatient. It bolsters my confidence.
"Um, not yet." I stand a little straighter. Be brave like Rudolph, I remind myself.
"Okay." He relaxes in his chair and watches me. "Did you want to sit?" He nods toward one of the chairs in front of his desk
"No. It's better that I stand for this."
"Oh." He looks wary again, sitting up a little straighter and resting his forearms on the desk, a flash of resignation crossing his face.
"No, it's not like that.” I shake my head. "Last week you asked me to admit that I liked you." He looks a bit wary again, but he doesn't say anything, simply watching me, waiting for me to elaborate. "So that's what I'm doing. I'm admitting it. I like you. I like you a lot."
A hint of a smile plays at his lips and his expression softens enough to bolster my confidence into continuing.
"It's not really practical, liking you. Or logical. It's probably not smart, either. And you're still kind of a jerk at times. And maybe you've changed your mind about liking me, even though you kissed me first and are an amazingly attentive lover." I'm rambling now. Who the hell says words like ‘lover’ to their lover? Gross.
"Holly," Nick interrupts me gently, a definite smile on his face now.
"Yes?" My heart is thumping so loudly I'm sure he can hear it.
"I'm certain you've prepared a speech and I'd really like to hear the rest of it, but I suspect the part where you try to talk yourself out of this is off script."
Err, right. Focus, Holly.
"I wanted you to kiss me too," I continue. "The very first day. Before the first day even, because I'd already seen photos of you on your sister’s social media accounts and I was attracted to you. I started imagining sexy things about you. Kissing you and—" I cut myself off here. He doesn't really need to hear what my other thoughts were. His smile just got bigger though so I think he got the drift. "Then you showed up and I realized my little crush was dangerously out of control because it was like all the air was sucked out of the room when you walked in." Like a punch to the gut. He was more attractive and magnetic in person than I'd been prepared for.
"Huh."
"Huh what?" I place one hand on my hip, cocked to the side in defiance. ‘Huh’ isn't really the response I was going for here. I raise my chin and square my shoulders.
"I thought you hated my guts that first day. I had no idea you were thinking naughty things about me, Miss Winter."
My eyes widen. Oh, Lord. Normally I only get flustered when he calls me Holly. But now it sounds like sex to me when he says Miss Winter too. This is going to complicate my life considerably. Deliciously.
"Well, you made fun of my cupcakes," I reply mulishly. “Also, you're a bit of a jerk. In my fantasies you were nice all of the time."
He barks out a laugh, leaning back in his chair and eyeing me with amusement. "Was I?"
"You were."
"I had fantasies about you too, you know." His eyes darken when he says it and his gaze moves lazily up and down my form, lingering on the straps of my red heels, wrapped around my ankles.
"You did?" I like the sound of this. I like it very much.
"In my fantasies you were never nice. You were very, very naughty."
"I was?" I'm blushing, but I'm not sure why. I'm hardly accountable for what I do in Nick's dirty thoughts. But I could be. I'd like to be. Perhaps we can do some reenacting.
"Permanently banned from Santa's good-girl list," Nick says, rising from his desk and walking around to meet me in front of it.
"That's pretty naughty," I whisper, running his tie between my fingers. Using it to pull him closer.
He obliges and dips his head to mine, one hand cupping the back of my neck and the other brushing softly against my jaw. Then he kisses me. I missed the feel of his lips on mine. Missed the feeling of my body pressed against his. Missed him.
And now he's all mine. Merry Christmas to me.
I smile into the kiss and that makes him smile back, then we're both laughing. And speaking of Christmas…
"Do you want your present now?" I ask him shyly, a small smile on my face as I offer up the slim package.
"Yes. Thank you. What a convenient little dress you're wearing." He bypasses the offered package in my hand and playfully attempts to pull at the tie of my wrap dress.
I sidestep him with what I hope is a stern frown. "No unwrapping me until after work hours, Mr Saint-Croix."
"Mr Saint-Croix?" He smirks, one brow arched. "I could get into that. But I hope this doesn't mean you're going to stop glaring at me and mumbling under your breath about what a Grinch I am. I've come to look forward to it."
"What? I'm always sweet. You're the Grinch!"
"If you say so." He makes a move to get another kiss in, but I slap a palm to his chest to waylay him.
"Open it," I instruct, shoving the present into his hands.
He grins, sitting on the desk edge and fingering the smooth expanse of cheerful holiday gift wrap. We're eye to eye this way and I'm tempted to lean in and kiss him but I know if I do we'll never get to the gift. The skin around his eyes crinkles when he smiles at me and I'm not sure how I resisted him as long as I did.
"Okay, but just for the record, you were the only thing I wanted for Christmas." He says it softly, eyes directly on mine, and my heart nearly stops at the look in his eyes and the earnest tone of his voice.
I'm so done for. I'm in love with my hot boss.
And I couldn't be happier about it.
"Me too," I admit. Then I cave and give him a quick kiss before drawing back before he can distract me. "Open it," I insist,
nearly giddy for him to see my silly gift because it's a gift from the heart, which is the very best kind.
He removes the paper to uncover the Advent calendar I've made him. Except it's a more of a dating calendar. A sexy dating calendar, not a chocolate to be found. It's all dirty notes and filthy suggestions for how we can pass a lazy weekend or ten hidden behind tiny numbered doors.
"It's a calendar of some kind…" He looks it over, rightfully confused. "An Advent calendar. With an odd assortment of dates on it."
"There's a door for Valentine’s Day." I point at the door with the hearts. "And one for your birthday. One for a movie night and one for the eleventh day of any month of your choosing, just because. And one for a Wednesday of your choice, but it'll have to be after work hours." I ramble on, pointing out all the tiny doors with their decorative covers.
"After work hours," he repeats back slowly, a knowing smile covering his face. "Miss Winter, did you buy me a dirty Advent calendar?" He draws me closer and kisses my neck.
"Of course not." I pretend to be outraged. "I made it myself."
The End
If You Give a Jerk a Gingerbread
Chapter 1
"Someone's asking for you," Old Pete tells me, ambling into the kitchen of the Busy Bee Inn, where I work.
"For me?" I dust my hands off on my apron, confused. No one ever asks to see me. Unless it's a bride, but the Inn only has one wedding booked this month and it's all sorted out.
Unless it's a bridezilla. Bridezillas are a job hazard when you're a baker. They make me hate wedding cakes when everyone knows that the cake is best part of any wedding. Unless they have a sweets table, then that's the best part. A sweets table with miniature pecan tarts, cake pops decorated like brides and grooms, plates of artfully stacked macarons and—I cut off my runaway thoughts. The ideal dessert table spread is not important right now. And it's unlikely anyone has stopped by without an appointment to ask me about a dessert table. Especially in early December. It's not really bride season.
