“You’re cute when you’re jealous.”
TWENTY-NINE
HOPE
When I getto the warehouse Friday morning, Griffin’s truck is already out front. I think it’s a little bit overkill for him to be here so early, but I love that he’s worried about me. It’s not the most modern take, but his jealousy yesterday made me all fizzy inside. I’m not sure I’ve ever had someone care that much about me.
Not that Iknowhe cares about me. I need to keep that clear in my mind. This is Griffin. He’s smart and calculated, and as outgoing as he can be, he’s not an open book. I used to think he didn’t have much of a heart. Now I realize he’s got one, but it’s locked away in the biggest, sternest fortress around. I’ll just have to find my way in, that’s all.
Inside, he walks straight over to me with a coffee. “Caramel something something for the boss.”
I accept his offering. “You are by far the best volunteer I’ve ever had.”
He takes a sip of his coffee, watching me over the rim of his cup. “I aim to please.”
It’s freezing in here this morning, but I need to fan myself from all the heat in his eyes. Something hot and strong and extremely tempting holds there like a silent dare. He cocks an eyebrow, fully convinced I’m going to give in.
Apparently, I have no willpower when it comes to Griffin, because I do give in. I lean up and kiss the side of his mouth. “I like that about you.”
His mouth twists. “You make it real hard to focus on work, boss.”
“I’ll try to be more professional.” I nod once, as if I’m taking him very seriously.
He exhales a laugh. “All right, what’s on the agenda today?”
I take a step back and sip at my macchiato, trying not to be too ridiculous over him remembering my coffee order. “I’m going to get a couple of hours of painting in this morning, thus—” I sweep a hand down my body. I’m in jeans and an old sweatshirt, but I’ll change into something a little nicer in Blackbird’s restroom before I open The Painted Daisy.
His eyes follow my movement, and that flame in them goes back to high. Really? Old jeans and a sweatshirt I’ve had for at least ten years do it for him? Guess I’d better note that for later.But not today, Hope.
“It’s going to be wild in the store for the next two days, so this is it for me until Sunday. But when you have a minute, I thought you might help me figure out how we’re going to string these garlands up.”
We set down our coffees and walk over to the bins of light strings. It’d taken extra time to follow Griffin’s advice and sort the strings by bulb type, but it’s worth it to keep the lights from blowing up. I’ve already got detailed maps in each one so volunteers know where everything goes. They’re for trees in town square, a few of the city buildings downtown, and several lengths will cross over Maple Street.
Truly, it’s a crapton of lights, but what’s Christmas without a jolly glow?
I show him the heavy-duty wire wrapped in fake pine garland in bins I’d set aside. “These secure to the tops of the lamp posts, but whatever hardware used to connect them isn’t here anymore.”
A lot of the generic Christmas festival supplies have gone missing. Nothing obvious, like the light-up snowmen or candy canes that hang from the lamp posts, but smaller things like pulleys, wires, and clamps that no one would notice until the last minute, as I discovered.
“So I’ve got to figure out a way to string a dozen lengths of lighted wire over Maple Street.” He assesses the coils of garlands like he’s up for the challenge. “Any guess what the load weight is on these?”
“Not a clue.”
He chuckles. “Looks like I’ll be paying another visit to Bridger Hardware. Want to meet me in the closet?”
My heart pops and fizzes over his devilish grin. Next time we do that, there’ll be less talking. “I wish.”
“What’s my deadline?”
“I’ve got a crew to work on the smaller lights all week, but we won’t do Maple until Thursday. That’s a special job. I happen to have a contact with a landscaping company that can help us.”
He pulls me straight to him, snuggling me close. “A contact, huh?”
“Just some handyman I know.”
He presses soft kisses up the side of my neck. All the dials in my body go haywire over every gliding touch of his lips. He reaches a spot behind my ear, and I grab a handful of his barn jacket, no longer caring about Black Friday, my store, or the festival. There is only Griffin’s mouth on me, and I needmore.
“I heard he’s skilled with a cherry picker,” I breathe.
