“If you wanted to kiss me again, all you had to do was ask.”
I glare at him, but my cheeks warm with the blush that must be crawling across my face. Kissing’s probably the most logical conclusion when a woman pushes a guy into a tiny closet. Seven Minutes in Heaven, right? Not that I ever played that game.
“That’s not what this is about.”
“Are you sure?” He looks down, and I realize I’ve fisted my hands in his barn jacket. “I’m game if you are.”
“Sorry.” I release his coat and step back. Well, I try to step back—there’s nowhere to go, and I just press up against the closet door. Which makes me think abouthimpressing me up against the closet door. Which doesn’t help me stop blushing.
“Okay, so why are we hiding out from your mom?”
It looks like my big scheme only managed to swap one embarrassment for another. “I don’t love having to tell you this.”
“You don’t want to be seen with the former arsonist?” He’s got a smirk on his face, but his eyes aren’t laughing.
“It’s not about you,” I say before he can go on thinking I’m worried about something he did years ago. My issue is a little more recent. “It’s me. Remember how you heard I was engaged?”
He shifts like he’s trying to give me more room, but we’re sharing about two square feet of floor space. “I remember.”
Nerves crawl up my back to settle around my ribs. I hate this story, but I can’t keep it from him forever. Especially when I’ve forced him intothisridiculous scenario.
“I don’t know if you noticed, but my mom is a little bit over the top. She’s like that about everything in my life: work, relationships, you name it. She’s way too enthusiastic about my dating life and goes overboard the second she hears me even say I met someone.”
He nods, probably remembering the way she’d tried so hard to push us together for a date last week.
“Last summer, she got really excited about a guy I was seeing in Bend and told everybody I had foundthe one. And I meaneverybody.”
I’d never had a piece of gossip about me get so much traction. There were probably people in this town who had no idea I’d opened a store on Maple Street, but I doubt you could find one who hasn’t heard something about Mark.
“He turned up in town for our fourth date, and someone called him my fiancé to his face. Nothing I said could convince him I wasn’t the crazy one thinking we were going to get married. No surprise I never heard from him again.”
I shudder thinking about the way he’d gone white as a ghost when Silas—my sweet, well-meaning, busted up handyman—had called him my fiancé. As soon as he’d walked away, Mark’s switch had flipped from horrified to furious.“You seemed like a nice girl, but you’re a psycho.”He’d blocked me before he even got to his car.
“If Mom sees us together, she’s going to draw conclusions no matter what I tell her, and then the whole town will be involved.” I gesture helplessly, accidentally brushing my fingers across his glorious, flannel-covered stomach. This conversation isn’t going right, but it probably all went wrong when I shoved him into the closet. “Whether a relationship is good or bad, everybody knows about it. Everybody has something to say. I just want something to be mine for a change.”
Ever so slowly, his lips tug up into a smirk. “That almost sounds like you wantmeto be yours.”
“That wasn’t exactly what I meant.” I must be the worst liar ever, because that wasexactlywhat I meant.
He puts one hand on the closet door by my head and leans in a touch. It might have only been an inch, but that small shift turns my bones to jelly. I’m pretty sure my legs are too weak to move, but I wouldn’t even if I could.
“I’m thinking we should spend time together outside of the warehouse and this closet,” he says. “What are you doing after your Christmas market thing tonight?”
“Going straight to bed.”
His eyebrows tick up. I laugh and grab his open coat again.
“That wasn’t flirting. I mean, it’s going to be a late night.” But I don’t want to slam the door on his would-be invitation. I’m not sure I even care what he’s inviting meto, I just want him to know he can ask again. “Another time?”
He nods. “Another time.”
But he goes right on staring at my mouth. We’re competing again, but now we’re waiting to see who’ll cave first in the world’s sexiest game of chicken. A shiver ripples across my skin. Maybe I should play to lose.
A knock sounds right behind my head, and we break apart. I bump into the shelves of front counter supplies, and a roll of register tape thumps onto the floor.
“Uh, guys?” a muffled voice says. It’s Luke Bridger, the generous owner of this store who donated all of the lumber and supplies to make the Winter Wonderland possible—and now he knows I was hiding out in his closet with Griffin. “I need something out of there.”
I spin around, my pride shriveling into a pathetic little prune, and open the door. Luke stands on the other side, one hand covering his eyes as he looks toward the store as if he fully expects to find us naked in here.
