How He Got the Girl (Sweeter Than Fiction #2)

Chapter 1

I love the holiday season as much as the next person, but this pushes the limits of my affection.

“And a happy new year.” I draw out the song’s final word with Christmas-spirited jazz hands that my friend, Daisy, insisted were part of her family’s caroling routine.

The elderly couple in the doorway applauds our mediocre—and cringe—efforts.

“Wait just a minute, dears.” The woman disappears inside her home. Her husband awkwardly waves before shutting the door.

Even though I think it’s over-the-top, I’m willing to oblige Daisy’s family holiday traditions because I need a distraction from the fact that I’m not home with my own family for Christmas.

I planned on returning to my parents’ house in Louisville, Kentucky, once the college semester ended, but the day I was supposed to travel home after my finals, a giant blizzard hit eastern Tennessee, leaving me trapped in my apartment.

Daisy’s family saved me from a lonely, blue Christmas.

They live in a suburb of Knoxville and graciously invited me to spend the holidays with them.

I should’ve known to expect the unexpected when her older brothers picked us up from our apartments on four-wheelers since our cars were snowed in, but I was simply happy to partake in the holiday spirit.

I just didn’t realize how spirited caroling with Daisy’s family would be.

Apparently, it means embarrassing myself by singing in full Mrs. Claus attire with choreographed routines. But hey, at least the velvet dress I’m wearing is my favorite color: pink.

The front door opens again with the man holding a tray of to-go cups. The woman hands them to us.

“It’s much too cold for y’all to be outside without something to warm your bones. I thought some homemade hot chocolate oughta do. It’s an old family recipe.” She hands Daisy a cup. “Sorry, I’m out of lids.”

“It smells divine.” Daisy smiles warmly.

The woman extends a cup to me, and I inhale the mouthwatering scent of the sweet, rich chocolate mixed with creamy milk.

“It does,” I hum in agreement. “Thank you.”

Once Daisy’s parents and brothers have received their cups, we wave goodbye to the couple and head down the driveway to the next house.

My friend spins on her heels, holding her free hand out at her side to balance on the snow and ice covering the ground. “That was good, Mallory, but we need a little more gusto in the next song.”

I’m not the kind of girl who holds back her punches. I’m the friend my besties call when they need blunt honesty. A fierce protector. The ride or die to help them bury a body.

Okay, maybe I wouldn’t go that far, but I would totally egg someone’s house or something a little less criminally involved than burying a body.

But, in this case, I feel like my opinions on providing more gusto in my caroling performance wouldn’t be helpful or necessary, so I bite my tongue and swallow my pride. Well, as much pride as one can have while wearing a pink velvet Mrs. Claus dress.

“Gusto.” I purse my lips and nod slowly. “Got it.”

“We sing from the diaphragm,” Daisy’s younger brother says, striking a muscular pose.

“From the gut.” Her other brother clutches his stomach for emphasis.

“From the heart.” Daisy’s mother shoots all her children a look. Her father looks like he’d rather be at home doing anything but this. “Just have fun.” She squeezes my arm as we walk up the next neighbor’s driveway.

“Y’all really do this every year?” I ask Daisy.

She nods. “We drive to a different town around Knoxville every winter to spread the holiday cheer around eastern Tennessee.”

Daisy steps forward and knocks on the door while I take one glorious sip of the hot cocoa. It’s the perfect mix of creamy and sweet—I can taste that it’s homemade with love rather than a basic store mix. My eyes flutter shut as I hum in delight.

An older woman answers the door and clutches her hands to her chest. “Come quick, honey,” she yells behind her, before looking back expectantly. “There are carolers.”

Daisy turns and counts us into the next carol like a choir conductor.

“A five, six, seven, eight.” She gets back into position beside me, immediately serious and in character.

I mirror my friend’s motions, raising my arms and lowering them as I wiggle my fingers—mimicking snow falling—while we sing the opening lines of “Deck the Halls.” My level of enthusiasm doesn’t match that of Daisy and her brothers, but I’m giving it my best attempt.

I’m singing my third fa-la-la when a man steps into the entryway.

I was expecting it to be an older man after she called out “honey,” but the guy watching us sing is definitely not elderly.

He looks to be around my age, maybe a few years older.

His dark hair is styled messily in a way that looks intentional, and scruff covers his jawline.

When his eyes find mine, I’m immediately drawn in by the striking blue pools staring back at me like waves pulling me deeper into the ocean.

But his smile is the real star of the show.

He smiles with his whole face, beaming brighter than the Christmas lights strung across the city.

It’s official.

He’s the most handsome man I’ve ever seen—and I’m not exaggerating in the slightest. His face should live in a “Most Handsome Men of Our Generation” Hall of Fame alongside Henry Cavill, Glen Powell, and Zac Efron.

I don’t realize I’ve stopped singing until Daisy elbows me. Hopefully, I haven’t been staring at him too long. Maybe he didn’t notice. I glance back to find him looking at me with a knowing smirk. Mr. Hottie totally knows I was staring. Wonderful.

Heat floods my cheeks. He probably thinks I’m decking my brain’s halls with images of him…and he wouldn’t be wrong. I think his face will forever be ingrained in the forefront of my memory. One doesn’t easily forget a face like his.

Daisy nudges me for a second time and shoots me a sideways glance.

Oops, I did it again.

I jump back into the song. At least I have this elaborate routine to focus on rather than the handsome face in front of me.

I’m laser-focused for the rest of the song. Cool as a cucumber. No more tomato-faced Mallory here.

“Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-laaa.” I hold the last note, throwing in extra pizazz so that Daisy and her brothers can’t say I wasn’t singing with gusto or from the diaphragm or gut—whatever that means.

The older woman claps before turning and grasping Mr. Hottie’s arm. “Wasn’t that wonderful, Griffin? We’ve never had carolers at our door before.”

I slowly drag my eyes back to Mr. Hottie—er, Griffin—taking deep breaths to calm my stupid racing heart.

He nods and leans against the doorway, making his arm muscles flex against his long-sleeved shirt. The cotton material goes taut around his biceps.

There’s no hope for my racing heart now.

If I die, at least my final view was this fine specimen of a man.

Griffin blows out a low whistle. “You’re right, Granny. And if caroling brings women as beautiful as these ladies to the door, obviously I’ve been missing out.” His smirk is downright criminal—straight to jail for his ability to make women swoon.

“The men aren’t hard on the eyes either.” The older woman grins.

One of Daisy’s brothers covers a laugh with a cough.

Griffin reaches into his pocket. “It’s not much, but here’s what I have on hand.”

I have no idea what he’s talking about until he approaches me with a handful of change. Before I can tell him we’re not collecting donations, Griffin steps forward and plops the coins straight into my lidless, half-full cup of hot chocolate.

The pennies, quarters, dimes, and nickels falling into the cup send the liquid sloshing over the side onto my mittens.

I hiss as the hot chocolate quickly soaks through the material and burns my fingers.

Instinctively, I drop the cup. It hits the shoveled sidewalk, spilling the rest of my drink and sending change rolling everywhere.

He stares at my mittens, his eyes wide in abject horror. Without saying a word, Griffin steps into the front yard, bends down, and scoops up a handful of snow before pressing it to my hands.

The snow is freezing, but my body shivers for an entirely different reason.

“Are you all right?” he asks, his eyes full of concern.

“I am now,” I breathe.

Daisy covers her mouth beside me, and her brothers snicker behind me.

I purse my lips. “I just said that out loud, didn’t I?”

His mouth tilts up into a grin that sends my heart on another high-speed chase. I’m not sure what the destination is, but I think Griffin’s muscular arms are a good guess.

“I’m happy to help you be all right any time, beautiful.”

I’d usually be creeped out by any man calling me beautiful, but there’s a genuine presence about him that makes his words sound endearing. And his slight Southern drawl doesn’t hurt anything either.

“I’m sorry about your”—Griffin looks at the spilled drink on the ground—“hot chocolate?” The higher inflection in his tone makes it sound like a question.

“Only the best cup of hot chocolate in the world,” I say, trying not to sound overcome by his nearness.

“Griffie, I can’t believe you ruined that sweet girl’s drink.” The lady steps forward and swats his arm. “It’s freezing out there. And now she has wet gloves to boot.”

“Yeah, Griffie.” I emphasize the cutesy nickname with sass.

He steps back, bashfully rubbing the back of his neck. “I thought you were collecting donations.” When he looks back at me, there’s not a trace of bashfulness remaining, but a cocky smile in its place. “I guess that means you’ll have to let me make it up to you.”

I quirk a brow. “What did you have in mind?”

“I know of a local café with the actual best hot chocolate in the world. Let me buy you a cup tomorrow?”

I force my face to remain impartial. The guy deserves to sweat it out—at least a little—before he knows that my answer is a resounding yes. I would be a fool not to at least see if there could be something here, especially when he seems to make every nerve in my body come alive.

After a few beats of silence, I meet his gaze. “Make it two cups, and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

His smile widens. “I would’ve bought you three. Meet me at The Cozy Bean tomorrow at one.”

“Works for me.”

I’m staring up at him, locked in the blue pools of his eyes again, when Daisy’s head pops between us. “We should get home unless you want your hands to freeze.”

I hear the retreating steps of my friend and her family walking down the driveway. Reluctantly, my eyes leave Griffin to look at my hands. My gloves are soaked through, and my fingers are getting colder by the second. I pull the gloves off, and Griffin reaches out and takes them.

“I’ll get these cleaned for you.”

“Thanks.” I dip my head to hide my blush as I slide my hands into my coat pockets. If only I could transfer the heat on my cheeks to my hands.

I bend down to retrieve my now-empty cup from the ground, but Griffin stops me with a hand to my arm. It’s an innocent touch, but it sends my body buzzing.

“I’ll clean everything up. It’s the least I can do.” He drops his hand as if my velvet dress burned him. I see his hand flex at his side. Maybe I’m not the only one who feels this chemistry between us. “I’ll see you at one.”

I peer up at him through my lashes, offering him a soft smile. “See you then.” I offer a quick wave to his grandma before shoving my hand back in my pocket and walking as fast as my short legs will take me down the driveway.

When I reach my friend’s family, they burst into a fit of laughter. Daisy doubles over and clutches my arm. “That was hilarious.”

“I can’t believe he dropped coins into your hot chocolate,” her younger brother says.

Daisy’s older brother holds his arms out wide, getting everyone to settle down. Then he holds his arm bent at the elbow and pretends like he’s sprinkling salt on a dish before saying, “Plop.”

Everyone breaks into laughter again, and I join them this time. When I’m not getting my hand burned by hot liquid, it’s actually pretty funny to think about what just happened. And if I got a date with a handsome man out of it…even better.

“Okay, but seriously. Did anyone else feel like a third wheel back there?” Daisy’s younger brother asks.

“Yeah,” the older brother drawls.

Her mother sighs. “I thought it was sweet.”

“Me too.” Daisy smiles at me. “Please tell me you’re going tomorrow. That man was smitten with you.”

I shrug. “I’m sure he’s smitten with all the girls.”

“He wasn’t looking at me like he wanted to press me up against a wall and kiss me until I forgot my name.”

“You read too many romance books.” I shake my head.

She scoffs. “There’s no such thing as too many romance books. But you have to go. He could be your soulmate. Plus, that was the cutest meet-cute ever.”

“Relax. I don’t understand any of the words coming out of your mouth, but I know that I would be an idiot if I didn’t meet him tomorrow.”

She blows out a breath, the puff of air lingering between us in the cold like a cloud. “Good. I expect you to thank me at your wedding.”

“Don’t you think that’s jumping the gun?”

“No,” her family responds in unison.

I purse my lips. Well, okay then. “I’ll be sure to thank you if we get married.”

Daisy smiles, as if satisfied with my response.

Although I’d never admit it out loud, hope swells inside of me for what could be—which is crazy, because I’m not the kind of girl who believes in love at first sight or soulmates.

But what I do know for certain is this: tomorrow can’t come soon enough.