Chapter 6 Peek-A-Boo
Six
Peek-A-Boo
Brie
I stir awake and crack an eyelid. A sliver of blinding sunlight cuts through a narrow gap in the curtains.
I groan and bury my face in the pillow. Sleep evaded me for most of the night.
I was hoping the bottomless cocktails Willa and Sloane fed me after my second encounter with Logan would make me forget yesterday ever happened.
Unfortunately, all it provided was a throbbing in my temples reminding me that yesterday happened, and Logan’s back in town.
Since he was pretty adamant about the carnival, my chances of convincing him to leave Mount Holly altogether are slim.
Avoiding him is not an option unless I lock myself in my house and never leave.
Sadly, Mount Holly is sorely lacking when it comes to keeping up with grocery delivery trends.
Pretending Logan doesn’t exist might be my only option, at least until after the holidays.
The festival needs my full attention. Logan’s only a distraction.
Also, when did he get so attractive? If I threw a piece of duct tape over his mouth to keep him from talking, I could probably—nope.
Abort. A flush creeps up my neck, prickling my skin with shame.
What the hell is wrong with me? It’s been way too long since I’ve had sex.
After a quick shower and mascara that promises to “conquer the world,” I stroll into Sip and Sleigh.
The fresh aroma of coffee beans and pastries already brighten my day.
I queue behind an older couple and scroll my favorite Christmas blog.
Emma St. Claire always offers the best tips and tricks for decorating for the holidays.
She even travels to various Christmas festivals around the world.
A vibrant warmth blossoms in my chest with each new pin on the map, charting her adventures.
Her travels have included Vienna, France, Germany, and Toronto.
She’s even blogged about Oglebay’s Winter Festival of Lights in Wheeling, West Virginia.
Along with the blog, she also publishes a yearly magazine, Home for the Holidays.
The magazine has a Best Hometown Christmas contest where Emma travels to the top three choices to pick the winner herself.
Each year, I apply, describing the tradition and excitement of the Holly Jolly Festival, and every year I get the same thank-you-but-not-this-year response.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Sloane greets me. It’s nice to see you’re alive and well. Your usual?”
“For good measure, make it a double.”
“You got it.”
As Sloane goes about making my drink order, I claim a small table near the window.
I shrug out of my coat and set it over the back of the chair.
I return to the counter just as she sets down my latte.
Even though it’s piping hot, I take a small sip anyway.
The caramel, milk, and espresso dance over my tastebuds.
“Instantly, my day is already better.” I grip the cup with both hands and take another sip.
“Have I told you I’m taking the high road regarding Logan?
I can’t do anything about him being here or his carnival, so I’m going to ignore him. ”
“That’s great, but I’ll warn you, maybe it’s best you not be here right now.”
“Why? Coming here every morning is my routine. Are you trying to ruin my routine?”
“No, but—”
“I bet it has something to do with me.”
My stomach sours at the sound of his voice.
Where’s the duct tape when a girl needs it?
He may be ruining my Christmas, but he will not fuck with my morning routine.
I square my shoulders and spin around, ready to face my problem.
Instead, my hand smacks against his bicep, sending my cup soaring through the air.
The latte arcs like a caffeinated comet and splashes across the floor.
Logan drops his gaze to the mess and deadpans, “You spilled your coffee.”
I glare at him. Which has become my permanent expression whenever he’s nearby. Fuck nice. He doesn’t deserve nice. He deserves a punch in the jugular. I’m not a violent person, but Logan certainly knows how to bring that to the surface. “I wanted to be nice—”
He huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, you’ve been very welcoming since I came to town.”
“Um. Brie?” Sloane calls.
Without turning around, I hold up a finger. “Not now, Sloane.”
“No, really—”
“It’ll have to wait. I need to give Logan a piece of my mind.”
“Fine. Do it while you clean up the mess before someone slips and falls.” She slides a stack of napkins across the counter.
I snag them, but Logan plucks the napkins from my hands like a thief. “Hey! Those are mine.” Heat pricks my cheeks.
“I’m not trying to steal your napkins. I’m just helping clean up the mess.” With a frustrated huff, he squats and tosses a couple of the napkins onto the floor. The once-white napkins deepen to a brown hue as they soak up the liquid.
“I don’t need your help.” I reach for the napkins, but he puts them in his other hand and stretches it out of reach. “You are such a five-year-old.”
With each passing second, the crowd in Sip and Sleigh grows more interested in our interaction like a live-stream fight night. I’m waiting for them to take bets.
“Thankfully, I have plenty of napkins for the both of you.” I turn around, and Sloane tosses a stack of napkins over the counter that rain down on us like confetti. “Now you can both clean it up.”
With a stack of napkins in hand, I crouch and blot furiously. “Pack up your carnival yet?”
“Nope.” He continues to dab at the coffee spill.
“Mount Holly isn’t big enough for two festivals.”
“Yours is a festival and mine is a carnival. Two different things.”
“It’s a moot point. They both serve the same purpose—to entertain the townsfolk of Mount Holly. As the future head coordinator of the Holly Jolly Festival, I need this year to be the best festival anyone in Mount Holly has ever seen, and there can’t be another festival ten minutes away.”
He pauses, looks at me, and arches a brow. “What you’re saying is you’re afraid of a little competition.”
“I am not afraid.”
“Sounds like you’re scared.”
“I’m not scared of you.”
“I think you are. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be pushing so hard.”
I inhale a sharp breath, my nostrils flaring. “You know what? Fine.” I jump to my feet, and Logan does the same. “You continue with your little carnival, but I will give this town a Christmas festival they’ll never forget.”
“That’s the spirit.” He reaches up and plucks something off my shoulder. “Also… I believe these are yours.”
My cheeks blaze the same exact shade of red as the cotton panties with lace side embellishments he’s dangling in front of me. “So you’ve come here to steal not only the attention away from my festival but also my underwear.” I rip them from his grasp and ball them into my fist.
The sexy dimple on his left cheek plays peek-a-boo. “No, I’m trying to help you so the rest of Mount Holly doesn’t also see your underwear. You’re welcome. I never expected someone as icy as you would wear something with lace. You seem like you’d take comfort over sexy.”
“I’ll have you know they’re both stylish and comfortable.
” Fantastic. This morning’s bingo card didn’t include “discuss my panties with Logan Crawford.” And yet the heat in his gaze says he’ll be thinking about them—and, ugh, me—for the rest of the day.
Do not picture what he’d do while thinking about them. Do not—
He slowly lifts his chin until his gaze drifts over my shoulder and points to the display case. “I’ll have one of those red velvet cupcakes too. Suddenly, it’s my new favorite color.” He glances down at me and winks before sauntering to the counter.
All the words fail me. I shove the underwear into my pocket like this is my normal life and not a waking fever dream.
A quarter of the town has now seen my underwear and by noon, the other three-quarters will have heard about my underwear.
I’m rooted in place. What the fuck just happened?
What was his comment about red being his favorite color and the wink?
Or the dimpled smirk. My thighs press together without permission.
The picture is permanently etched in my brain.
Son of a bitch. I spent all of last night rehashing my confrontation with him on the side of the road.
Now I have this encounter. Suddenly, my head and vagina are at war with each other.
There can only be one winner. And it can’t be the latter.
“Add another of whatever Brie’s drinking to my tab,” he tells Sloane. “She looks like she needs it. Also, can I hang a poster for my carnival?”
My ears perk up. Posters. Already? Yesterday, he had an empty field. How in the hell did he get posters made?
“Yeah, of course. There’s a bulletin board by the front door. There should be some tacks over there as well.”
“Thanks, Sloane.” He grabs his coffee, the to-go bag and turns. “Good to see you again, Brie.”
“I hope Santa brings you everything you deserve.” I plaster a fake smile on my face.
He chuckles before brushing past me. Goosebumps sprint up my arm as his captivating, clean, manly scent wafts past me.
He crouches at the bulletin board to set his coffee and bag on the floor.
My traitorous gaze drops and lingers on the way his tight jeans perfectly mold to his ass and cling to his muscular thighs.
“Ahem.” Sloane’s cough snaps my eyes back where they belong.
A cold dread washes over me. I’ve been caught. A beaming smile covers her face. Instead of confessing my sins, I divert. “Why didn’t you tell me about the underwear clinging to my sweater?”
“I believe I tried, but someone shushed me.”
…Right. That happened.
“You know the entire town is going to know about their breakfast and a show in about five seconds.” She nods to a group of Gigis ten feet away already vibrating with the thrill of public underthings.
My shoulders slump. “Yep, they sure will. Also—his poster?” I raise my brows.
She rests her hands on the counter. “Oh no, you don’t get to be mad at me. This is business. I’m a business owner supporting another business. You’re more than welcome to put yours next to his.”
“You know what? I will do exactly that.”
She holds out my coffee for me. “A gift. From Logan.”
My lips curl as I glare at the cup in her hand. I hate the idea of taking it, but it’s coffee that I desperately need right now. At least he didn’t make it, so I know it’s not poisoned.
After grabbing my breakfast sandwich from the Jolly Biscuit, I head to the town hall.
Since I’m already behind on marketing, I spend the afternoon designing posters for the Holly Jolly Festival.
Sadly, each design is worse than the last. By the end of the day, I was over it and added “hire a graphic designer” to my to-do list along with adjusting the budget to pay for said graphic designer.
I’m better at planning events than creating marketing materials for them.
In years past, we never had to do much print advertising, mostly because we were the only festival in town.
Once again, Logan’s return not only ruins my day but also throws my festival budget off kilter.
The next morning, I one-boot hop through the entryway, wrestling my peacoat and cursing the treacherous alliance between the Snooze and Off buttons.
Someone really needs to rethink that design flaw.
Now, if I want coffee and a breakfast sandwich, I’m going to be late-late.
I yank open the door mid-button and kick something with a papery thwack.
A red gift bag sits on my “Merry AF” mat, dusted with snow.
My brows pinch together as I bend down and pick it up.
I follow the large boot prints that trail off down the sidewalk.
I glance up and down the street but it’s empty.
Cautiously, I peel back the white tissue paper and peek inside.
I roll my eyes, but bite back my smile. Reaching in the bag, I pull out a reddish orange box.
Dryer sheets. Taped to the top is a note with short, straight-line handwriting.
Thought these would come in handy.
I shove the box back into the bag and curl my fingers around the handle. Instantly, my mind goes to Logan. This has his name written all over it. As much as I want to be annoyed if it was him, it’s oddly kind of sweet, and I hate I enjoy he was thinking about me.