“Which is why you are here,” I say slowly.
“Exactly. Which is why I really want us to be honest with one another, Hartley. I don’t want secrets. I don’t want to be in the dark.”
“Well the hardware store isn’t close to bankruptcy, if that’s what has you worried. Hell, nothing like that.”
“Good,” she says softly. “But if things get worse, you can tell me, okay?”
“You really want to come to work with me?” I ask her.
She nods, rolling on top of me. Looking so damn cute straddling me like we’ve been lovers for years. I squeeze her ass and kiss her deeply.
“I want to go to work with you,” she says. “I want to know everything about you. My husband.”
“Tomorrow,” I promise. “We can go then. But now.” My cock twitches and she feels it growing hard against her belly. “I need you again, wifey. And I need you now.”Chapter EightHattieThe snowstorm has settled by morning, and thankfully Hartley’s truck is capable of navigating down the mountain.
“It’s so beautiful,” I say, taking in Snow Valley as we enter the idyllic small town. “No wonder your parents wanted to protect this place from a giant corporation.” Hartley drives through a coffee stand, and asks for my order. “A peppermint mocha, with an extra shot, please.”
When he pulls up to the window, however, he groans. “I thought Tammy worked Tuesdays.”
The barista frowns. “I can’t believe you really did it. Keri at the airport said she saw you last night but I didn’t believe it. I mean, it’s all so freaking ridiculous.”
“Can we not?” Hartley says, tensing. He places the orders, along with two cranberry muffins. The barista scowls at me and I look down at myself, trying to figure out what I did to turn her off so much.
“Please don’t, Jo-Anne,” Hartley says, stuffing a five-dollar bill in the tip jar. “Play nice. Please.”
Jo-Anne smirks, handing us our breakfast. “What’s her name?”
Hartley sighs. “Hattie. Hattie Mistletoe.”
That upsets Jo-Anne even more. “Well, good luck Hattie. This man is good for a little fun, but he doesn’t tend to stick around.”
Hartley drives away and I bite my lip, wondering what I should say. Clearly we need to address whatever just happened back there.
Hartley, though, just turns up the radio. More Christmas songs, but the mood doesn’t feel festive. It feels tense.
He parks his truck on the street and turns off the ignition. Turning to me, he clears his throat. “That was Jo-Anne.”
“I gathered that much,” I say, wrapping my hands around the to-go cup. “And who is she to you?”
“A local girl.”
“And why does this local girl have such a problem with you… with me?”
“She and I… We went out once.”
“Once?” I lick my lips. “That didn’t seem like a one-date kind of attitude.”
“She wanted more. Won’t let me forget it.”
“It’s okay,” I say, unbuckling. “I don’t need to know your dating history. So long as you only have eyes for me now, I don’t need the details.”
Hartley lets out what sounds like a massive sigh of relief. “Thank you.”
He gets out of the truck and walks around to my side to let me out. His immense relief sounds warning bells in my ear. What did Jo-Anne mean when she said, this man doesn’t stick around?
Inside the hardware store I take the apron Hartley offers me and I walk with him as he shows me around. Organized rows and stocked back room. There’s a Christmas tree in the window, and a sleigh next to it with fake snow.
“Did you decorate?”
He chuckles. “Mom did that.”
“Makes more sense. You didn’t even have a tree at your house.”
He shrugs. “I’ve never gotten one before.” He turns on the register and then flips the sign on the front door to Open. “Would you like to get one tonight after work? We could stop at the tree lot.”
“You’d do that?”
He gives me a sexy grin. “Maybe after we trim the tree we could relax next to the fire.”
I smile, warming up at the thought of doing anything with him. “And when you say relax, you really mean—” But my naughty words are cut off as a couple enters the store, the man looking for lightbulbs.
Hartley flashes me a smile, lifting his eyebrows, as he walks away. The woman who just entered turns to me. “Is that Hartley Mistletoe smiling? Why, I never. Out of all the boys, he is the most cocky, and least friendly.” She clucks her tongue, shaking her head. “I like that change.”
I smile, not offering any details on why he is in a good mood, figuring everyone in town will realize soon enough who I am, and why I am working here.
But the woman can’t pry anymore because the store quickly fills with people needing rock salt and shovels for driveways, Christmas lights for their houses, and kids looking for sleds to take down the snow banks.