15. Aspen
15
ASPEN
T he kitchen is covered in everything imaginable as “Riot” by Three Days Grace blasts through the speakers. I wasn’t feeling very Christmasy this morning, and despite trying to clean up as I went, I’d missed a few spots.
Or more than a few.
But it couldn’t be helped when I’d given up tossing and turning at four this morning and started the prep for the event. The Women’s Auxiliary had been specific in their menu, insisting on a mix of crab cakes, pulled pork, and roasted vegetable sliders, fried zucchini lasagna bites, and an array of salads. The mini dishes had been a pain in the ass to assemble, but once I got into the groove, the time had flown by.
The music is so loud I almost don’t hear the knock at the door. I want to ignore it.
I should ignore it.
But the Southern in me won’t let it go.
Growling, I dry my hands on the dish towel and pause the song. My face is devoid of makeup, I’m wearing my pajamas under the flour-covered apron, and my hair is in its usual messy knot on the top of my head.
All in all, the person on the other side of this door better have a damn good reason for being here or a sense of humor.
Preferably both.
Turning the knob, I don’t bother checking to see who it is, but the moment our eyes meet, I wish I had.
“Mornin’,” Phoenix says, looking not at all like the hot mess I know I am. He’s handsome and showered and even from here he smells good, his cologne mixing with the scent of coffee wafting up from the cup he’s holding in one hand.
But none of that even matters when my eyes lock on what he’s holding in his other hand.
“How did you get those?” I ask, without acknowledging his greeting as I focus on the stunning bouquet of black irises, wrapped in tissue paper and tied with a burlap bow. They’re out of season—like really out of season—and there’s only one person I know who has them this time of the year.
“I had some help,” he confesses as he hands them to me along with the cup. They’re my favorite, the color dark and rich like velvet, and dammit, the coffee is good too.
“From Clementine Creek?”
He nods and rocks back on his heels. “Your sister knows a guy—Case Thayer—I guess he’s designing a greenhouse for her? Anyway, he brought them and is now in Love Beach.” He hands me a small gift bag and adds, “He said this wasn’t on the list but to remind you that you’ll never get better coffee anywhere else.”
I snort as I pull out a mug from The Poppy Seed. It’s been ages since I’ve been there, but it’s still one of my favorite bakeries. Looking up to thank him, I can’t stop the burst of laughter that leaves my lips.
“What are you wearing?”
Shrugging, Phoenix puffs out his chest, giving me an even more delicious view of the cut muscles under the green shirt that reads My Favorite Color is Aspen Greene.
“Who blackmailed you into wearing that?” I laugh again and his lips turn up on one side.
“I think it’s festive.”
“Festive…” I hedge, not quite believing him.
“Besides, your sister already locked me into designing and printing every possible logo for sports and birthdays and school functions for the little girl she nannies—Haven, I think—until she’s in college.”
“She did not.” I snort but Phoenix’s eyes widen.
“She most certainly did. Your sister is ruthless.”
“She can be,” I agree because I have no doubt Vienna tried to see just how far Phoenix was willing to go.
Taking a hesitant step toward me, he murmurs, “And you were worth every second.”
My heart beats faster in my chest, and I want desperately to go to him—lean into his touch and let him make me forget all the hard stuff in between.
But I can’t.
Not yet.
“Thank you for the flowers,” I start slowly.
“I’m still wearing the shirt today,” he says, his smile only growing despite my wavering tone. “I’m already decked out in green.”
“It’s stupid but I’m still upset,” I admit after a moment’s hesitation.
“I know and I deserve it—if not for my brother being a jackass, then I’m sure there’s a million other things we can come up with.”
It’s self-deprecating but very much appreciated. The vulnerability in his words makes it a little easier to breathe, and I find myself moving to find a vase to put the flowers in.
I expect him to take a seat at the counter, but instead, he continues the task I’d been doing when he arrived and inventories the items we’ll need later.
The part I absolutely hate because my creative brain gets distracted, and I lose count and have to do it again.
I hate that he’s being so damn helpful; it makes it that much harder to stay mad at him.
But do you want to stay mad?
The little voice in my head is definitely getting on my nerves with all the back-and-forth over Phoenix. On the other hand, the cliché part of my love for holiday romance has my heart beating faster at the idea that it could finally be happening for me.
“Aspen?”
“Huh?” I startle as I realize he’s managed to sneak up on me while I got caught up in our potential happily ever after.
“I asked if you wanted to get ready while I cleaned the rest up.” He drags his thumb across my cheek and smiles as it comes off with a streak of flour.
“I’ll be quick,” I stammer as I take a step back.
“Take all the time you need; I’m not goin’ anywhere,” he says with conviction, the double meaning not lost on me.
But any overanalyzing will have to wait because I have things to do for me before I can give even a second to him.