Chapter 7 Ginger #2
Jordan smirks. “Hold still.” He steps closer, unlooping a section. As he lifts the strand up over my head, I move in the opposite direction, making things worse.
He laughs. “Okay, stop moving.”
“I was trying to help.”
“You were absolutely not helping.” His eyes are bright with amusement. “You’re making this harder.”
“You’re the one who suggested looping it and didn’t specify which direction.”
“I didn’t think directional coaching was needed for Christmas light hanging.”
“Well, now you know.”
He ducks under one of the loops, and before I can blink, we’re nose to nose, both of us half tangled in strands of multicolored bulbs. We freeze in place. I feel his breath against my cheek. His hands are on my waist, presumably for the purpose of untangling, but they haven’t moved.
“I think we’re officially a safety hazard,” he says, his voice dropping lower.
I swallow. “Guess we’re not as good at this as we thought.”
He smiles softly. “No, I think we’re doing just fine.”
My heart races wildly behind my ribcage, and I have to remind myself to breathe. Then the lights between us start to blink, and an awkward giggle escapes me. “We should probably finish before we short circuit the entire block.”
“We should,” he agrees, though he doesn’t move right away.
After a few more seconds, we start untangling ourselves, moving slowly and carefully. Once we’re free, I take a step backward, hoping the cool air will do something to combat the warm flush that’s settled over me. He finishes draping the lights on the boxwoods and then we move to the front porch.
I hand him the next strand of lights. “You should handle the higher areas,” I suggest.
He nods. “I can do that.” He climbs onto the porch railing to reach the roofline, and moves with the confidence of a gymnast on a balance beam.
He gets the hooks in place and then feeds the lights through each one.
His sweatshirt rides up just enough to show a sliver of skin above his waistband, and I force my gaze to lower, but not before the image is embedded in my mind.
Don’t make this any harder than it already is.
We move on to the railing and the bushes below, the two of us working well as a team. We figured out our system—he handles the lights placement and I feed the strands to him. Our hands brush once or twice, and each time it happens I feel a zap, like Jordan plugged me into the outlet.
When we’re finally finished, the porch glows with white lights, and the bushes and boxwoods twinkle colorfully. It looks like something you’d see on a Christmas card or in a Hallmark movie.
I open the front door and call out for Pops and Roger to come take a look. They slowly shuffle out to the driveway, surveying our work.
Pops smiles and nods approvingly. “Now, that looks like a house that’s filled with Christmas spirit.”
“I agree,” Roger says.
Jordan glances over at me. “Nice teamwork.” He smiles crookedly, making my stomach flip.
I nod. “Not bad for a couple of newbies.” The wind picks up, rustling the lights slightly. I touch Pops’ arm. “You should get back inside where it’s warm.”
He shivers. “Good idea. Come on, Roger.”
We watch them walk back to the porch and enter the house, then Jordan turns to me. “I’ll put the bin away for you.”
“Thank you. That would be great.” I follow him to the garage. He sets the tub on top of the others, then wipes his hands on his jeans.
“Thanks for letting me help.”
“Thanks for showing up. It would’ve taken me much longer without you.”
“I haven’t had a chance to tell you, your pumpkin bars were a massive hit. They sold out in record time.”
My eyebrows lift. “Really?”
He nods. “Yes, and we’ve been inundated with requests for them since.”
“That’s amazing.”
“Anytime ‘Baked with Ginger’ wants to make some more, let me know.”
“I’ll see when I can fit them in.”
“I’ve got more flexibility than you. If you pick a time, I’ll be there.”
“If you drop off some cannabis oil, I’ll make them and you can pick them up.”
“Hey, what’s this? Are you trying to squeeze me out of the biz already?”
No, I’m trying to avoid more alone time with you.
Smiling, I brush a lock of hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear. “I figured you have better things to do.”
“Better than spending time with you, G? Not a chance.”
Why does the smallest nicety from him make my stomach flutter?
“We could bake some next Sunday after closing.”
He pulls his phone from his pocket. “Let me check the Patriots game schedule.”
I laugh. “So much for not having better things to do.”
“Come on. Give me a break. You know my whole family loves football.”
“I do, but I like to give you a hard time when I can.”
“I know you do.” He smirks. “Okay, Sunday after closing works. We have a one o’clock game.”
“Will you be grumpy if they lose?” I ask.
He places his index finger on my closed lips. “Hush, woman. Never speak of such things.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize you’re superstitious.”
“I’m not.”
“You don’t have a game shirt you wear?”
“Of course I do. I also have game boxers, socks, and a cap, but that doesn’t mean I’m superstitious.”
“Oh, no, not at all,” I say dryly.
“I’m not. It’s called supporting my team.”
I glance sideways at him. “If you say so.”
Roger comes onto the porch, putting an end to my teasing. “Ready?” he asks Jordan.
“Yep. I was waiting on you.” Jordan turns to me, looking like he might say something, but then he just smiles. He walks next to Roger and helps him climb into his truck.
I stand there long after Jordan’s taillights have disappeared.
It’s the numbing bite of the cold air that finally snaps me from dangerous thoughts like what it would be like kissing him.
The shield I’ve kept between us is starting to disintegrate, and I’m not sure if I can stop it from happening. Or if I want to.