“First things first, we stave off pneumonia,” he says. “We’re getting you out of this sweater and Miss Hales can grab a hoodie or something from your room.”
“Whoa, wait, Gray—”
But he’s already tugging up the thick knit fabric. When it catches at my armpits because I haven’t cooperated with lifting my arms, Miss Hales squeaks from behind the counter.
“Oh my God.” Gray quickly lets my sweater drop, exposing my burning cheeks as well as his own bright red ones.
“Yeah,” I squeak. “I definitely just had the sweater on, no undershirt.”
“So I noticed.” He’s got his eyes trained on his hands now, his face pale as he steps back.
Dear Lord, I can’t remember what bra I was wearing under this sweater. I got dressed in the dark early this morning before heading out to meet Miss Harbaugh. I could be in the stained nude thing I haven’t washed nearly enough. Worse, I could be in the faded gray sports bra that makes me look like I have one massive boob.
At least Iputa bra on this morning. It’s sweater season. Sue me, I’ve got tiny enough tits that I sometimes like to free ball it under a heavy knit. Maybe I should thank my lucky stars.
“Your cocoa, dear.” Miss Hales rushes over, placing the mug in my hands and wrapping my fingers around the ceramic. “Take a drink and tell us everything.”
I sigh and knock back my first too-hot swig of the drink. I shake my head, the forlornness from before replacing the ridiculous embarrassment from a moment earlier… at least, for as long as Gray continues to not make eye contact with me.
“The rec center roof gave way under the snow,” I explain. “And for the life of me, I can’t think of any other venue in Little Haven big enough to hold my party. I don’t really consider myself either an optimist or a pessimist, but this moment feels pretty bleak.”
“Is that a joke?”
I blink. Gray is looking at me again, sending the butterflies in my stomach into a frenzy. I cross my arms over my chest on instinct.
“What?”
“You can’t think ofanyvenue in Little Haven big enough to hold your party? What about your hotel? The place we’re literally standing in right now?”
I look around the tiny lobby, like it’s my first time really taking in my place of work.
“It’s not exactly party ready,” I argue. “I only inherited a few years back, and all of my grandmother’s stuff is still packed into every nook and cranny.”
“That’s nothing.” Gray waves off my objections and turns to Miss Hales and Mr. Bates. “You two are staying for at least a few weeks, right?”
“I’m staying until I find a house in town,” Mr. Bates says with a shrug.
“And I’m—” Miss Hales gulps, thirsty eyes drinking in every inch of the towering, aging high school basketball coach. “Well, I wouldn’t mind extending my stay for a bit in this sexy little town.”
She blinks, seeming to only just realize what has slipped out. “Er,speciallittle town.”
Gray turns back to me, crossing his arms. “It’s settled then. You’ve got the help you need to clear this place out, fix anything up that needs fixing, and throw your big Christmas shindig. Bonus, you’ll save on facility rental costs so you can pocket the cash and put it back into the inn.”
“She’s got a barn out back, too,” Mr. Bates chimes in. “I suspect you’ll have some overflow from the lobby. You could decorate out there and host a Santa.”
“Charge for pictures!” Miss Hales chimes in. “And a bar—”
“It’s coming together, Moore. Can’t say no to us now.” Gray winks down at me.
My heart gives the most cliched double beat as I look up at Gray and his dark eyes narrow in determination. I clear my throat and sit up on the couch.
“Is this where I’m supposed to break down in tears and thank you for all the help? Because it feels pretty damn overwhelming.”
He waves me off, one corner of his mouth quirking up into a smirk. “Of course not. This is the Polite South, Molly; I’ll expect the standard thank-you note, notarized and Christmas-themed.”
He holds my gaze for a moment, both of us just kind of smiling. My stupid heart won’t stop with the quick beats, and between it and the heat finally warming up my frozen fingers and toes, I’m getting a bit of a head rush.
“If we’re asking things of one another now,” Mr. Bates steps up, slapping a hand on Gray’s shoulder. “Maybe I could impose by asking you to swing by basketball practice? We’ll all be around for a while, and surely we can’t get much cleaning and renovating done during the day when Ms. Moore is going about her work. I might not know them well yet, but I can only imagine any high school players would be thrilled to get a real, professional coach on the sidelines of their home court. It would only take two hours or so a day, tops. What do you think?”