A Very Merry Mess (Cider Cove Sweet Southern RomComs #3)

Ryanne

RYANNE

I’m working the registers on Wednesday when Elliott enters the store. He carries a lunchbox, a backpack, and a smile to go with his khaki pants and the usual blue Paper Trail polo.

He raises his eyebrows, but I just reach for the five-pack of scissors the customer I’m helping just put on the conveyor belt. We’ve had a rush of lunchtime buyers in the store today, which is a bit odd for a Wednesday, but the closer we get to Christmas, the more random the gift-buying becomes.

People are desperate to have something for all the people they forgot to buy for, and they think a new desk chair or a printer, or apparently a thirty-pack of gel pens in every color under the sun, will convince the recipient that they’re valuable. Thought about. Cared for.

“You okay up here?” Elliott asks, and I nod to Mindy across the aisle.

“Check with her. She’s running the checkout team today.”

Elliott nods, holds my gaze for another moment that sears the air between us, and then turns to talk to our coworker. Flames blaze through my bloodstream, and I realize now how stupid I’d been to think that everything would be the same at work when so much has changed between us outside of these walls.

I have five thousand things to do in the office we share, but I can’t leave my people out to dry up here. So I keep scanning items, bagging them up, and taking payments until the dressed up and suited men and women rush back to their day jobs, lame office supply Christmas gifts in tow.

The store goes dormant then, and Mindy comes around with a spray bottle to clean the counters and belts, and I step out from behind the cash computer. “I locked it down.”

“Thanks, Ry,” she says. “I’ll make sure I get the extra stations closed down, and I’ll talk to Moose when he gets here for tonight.”

I grin at her, the gesture falling from my face the moment I step by her. My goal is singular: get to the office in the back, so I can talk to Elliott.

The black door beckons to me, and I manage to make it through it without getting intercepted by another problem. Of course, one of those can come through my headset at any time. That’s how I got notified of the frantic business-lunch-shopping, and I’d left my own midday meal half-eaten on my desk, along with my polar water bottle.

I left the office door propped open, and Elliott hasn’t closed it. He’s put away his lunchbox, and he sits in front of his computer, a forty-four-ounce cup beside his mouse. That’ll have Diet Mountain Dew with mango syrup in it, and he reaches for it and takes a sip as I walk behind him to my desk in the opposite corner.

“Mad lunch rush?” he asks.

“Total chaos.” I sink into my chair and look at my peanut butter and honey sandwich. The bread’ll be dry now, and I don’t really want the rest of it. I reach for my bag of Doritos, because it’s always a good time for those.

“Have you checked your email?”

He looks past the fridge that stands between our desks. “Just opened it up. Why?”

“I got approved for my holiday vacation,” I say, deciding not to make a game out of this. It is my job, after all, and even if Elliott and I don’t make it, I need to keep my job. “Carmen said she’d do her best to approve you too, but she has to send down a regional manager, and…” I trail off, because I don’t have to say it all out loud for Elliott to get it.

“Maybe I won’t be able to come with you.” He turns back to his computer. “I’ll appeal.”

“She’ll get Barry House to come,” I say, though it hasn’t been confirmed yet. “We might not get to go for as long, which, honestly, is just fine. But Barry will come.”

Elliott sighs as he leans back in his chair. It squeals, but I’ve heard it so much, I’m almost immune to it. I’m totally not immune to the way my pulse picks up speed when he grins over to me.

Last week, I’d have ducked my head and buried myself in my work, determined not to let him see my crush on him. Now, I simply smile back.

“Barry will come, huh?”

“Barry is fifty-seven, single, and his sister lives in Sugar Creek,” I say. “So yes, he’ll come manage the store for us while we’re gone, because he’ll get a homecooked meal and major store points.”

“But maybe not the whole time,” he says.

“Right,” I say. “So we’ll just go whenever we can get the time off.”

“Hasn’t your mom already bought tickets?”

“I told her to wait, but you know how she is.” He actually doesn’t, as Elliott’s never met my parents. But he’s listened to me talk about them plenty, especially my mom.

“This should be fun,” Elliott says. “Changing flights at the holidays.” He focuses on his computer again, sliding into his desk, leaning forward, and squinting through his glasses. He’s got the font size set so big, I can read his email from across the room. So I see the email almost before he clicks on it.

He does that, bringing my attention to it, and he says, “I got it—no, wait. I have to be back on the twenty-seventh.” He keeps reading, and I’m scanning his screen too, a sentence or two behind him.

“They are sending Barry.” He throws me a look. “I don’t know how you knew that.”

I grin, because stuff like this irritates Elliott. “Now, all we have to do is pray everyone here will forgive us for inflicting Barry upon them.”

“We’ll have a staff meeting,” he says.

“Yeah,” I say. “Yep.” Because I can’t even imagine running a staff meeting with him, though we’ve done it loads of times. But we’ve never done it while we’re holding hands and kissing, and I honestly feel like someone has tossed me out of a plane, and I’m desperately trying to pull my parachute before I hit the ground.

Before he can tease me about using his nervous language, a loud beep comes from Elliott’s desktop, and I startle forward in my chair.

Then, the very familiar strains of Happy Birthday fill the office. It’s just instrumental, but I smile as Ell gets up and closes the office door. He pulls the cord that flips the blinds closed—and that ignites my pulse in a way it never has before.

The song continues wordlessly all the way through, and then, as it starts again, a high-pitched, robotic voice joins in with the words of the song.

I grin and grin, Elliott’s expression matching mine. He extends his hand toward me, as if asking me to dance to a really romantic song, and I gladly put my hand in his.

I laugh as he pulls me to my feet and spins me around. Then, in that expertly graceful way Ell has always possessed, he pulls me right against his chest, our smiles in perfect alignment. He lowers his hand on my back until it rests right on my hip, keeping me flush against him.

“It’s not my birthday,” I say.

“You didn’t finish your lunch,” he murmurs, his eyes drifting closed. There’s something a little antiseptic about him today, like perhaps he had to go visit someone in the hospital, and all that hand sanitizer smell stuck to him. “I could run next door to get you one of those pesto chicken paninis, and you can finish your break with something warm and one of your bags of candy.”

“Mm.” I close my eyes and lean into his strength, his arms around me so delicious and warm and ooey-gooey-wonderful.

“I know you have birthday cake M&Ms in that special cupboard of yours.”

I do, but I usually save those for someone’s birthday. Everyone here at the office gets a bag of them from me on their special day, and last year for Elliott’s birthday, I baked him his favorite cake—vanilla—and frosted it with pure, pure white frosting. Then, I’d taken the pastel happy birthday M&Ms and beaded them around the bottom of each tier of the cake. He’s the only person I’ve ever made a birthday cake for, and two tiers at that.

“I actually want the black forest ones,” I say. “That feels more like what I should have with a pesto chicken panini.”

Elliott’s laugh rumbles in his chest, but he pulls away a moment alter and leans down. “I’m going to kiss you in the office.”

“Scandalous,” I murmur just as his lips catch mine. I so enjoy kissing him, and while he doesn’t go on and on like we have over the weekend, there is a new thrill of something forbidden by doing this here.

He pulls away after only a couple of seconds and says, “I’ll go get your panini, and I’ll take the headset so you can have your lunch.”

“Thank you.” I tuck my hands in my back pockets as he ducks out the door, pulling it closed behind him.

I turn around, like Emma or Claudia will be there, and we can squeal together at the sweetness of my new boyfriend. Of course, there’s just a cream-colored cinderblock wall, but my giddy squeal still comes out. Then I reached up to the cupboard above the fridge to get down my black forest M&Ms. I have to have them shipped from Frankfurt, Germany, and they’re an acquired taste.

But one of my life’s missions is to try all the flavors of M&Ms, from every country I possibly can. I’ve never traveled overseas, but I know big companies like Mars, Incorporated create different products for different markets.

For example, the cookie dough M&Ms aren’t available in the US, but I can get them from Australia. Yes, maybe I spend too much time looking at M&Ms, and way too much money having them shipped to the Big House in small town Cider Cove, South Carolina.

They just bring me so much happiness, the way the Mars rovers do for Elliott. And I have the money for my candy addiction, so it’s not a problem.

“I don’t need to defend myself,” I say to my half-eaten sandwich as I pick it up and stuff it back into the zipper bag. I toss that into the garbage can, because we empty that every day. And by “we,” I mean Elliott. He does closing procedures, and I handle all the opening items.

A knock sounds on the door, and I glance over to it as I call, “Come on in.”

The door opens, revealing James, one of our shelf stockers. “Hey,” he says nervously, and I straighten and face him. He’s in his early twenties and has some pretty severe learning disabilities. But he works hard, and he’s meticulous in his accuracy with shelving and stocking. An ideal employee, really.

“Hey, Jimmy,” I say.

“Miss Luckson.” He smooths his hands down the front of his shirt. “I have to talk to you about the schedule over Christmas.”

I turn toward the whiteboard where the next two weeks—including over Christmas—sits. “I didn’t see a time-off request from you,” I say. “What’s the problem?”

“I know,” he says darkly. “My mom thought I had until today to submit the time-off form, though I told her seventeen times it needed to be in last week.”

I give him a smile, not doubting the seventeen times he told his mom. “If I can move things around, I will.” I nod to the wall with all the employee names, all the jobs they do, and when they’re scheduled to work. This is my Monday project every other week, and then I have to deal with employees when stuff like this comes up, family emergencies, personal sickness, and countless other things.

“We’re going to my grandparents’ house for the holidays, and I can’t work Christmas Eve.”

“Just Christmas Eve?” I focus in on that day. Elliott and I will fly out the day before that, and I sincerely hope no one comes down with anything—like a sudden invitation to dinner—for the days we’re gone.

Thankfully, the store closes at three p.m. on Christmas Eve. Elliott wouldn’t have worked that day anyway, and he asked for the day off after Christmas, which he usually handles, as I bear the responsibility before the holiday.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says. “I know you’ve got me scheduled for a few hours after we close, to get things ready for our Boxing Day sales.”

“Yeah,” I say. “But I can probably get Miles to come in, or maybe the holiday manager…” I’m musing now, and Jimmy doesn’t need to hear any of this.

I turn to him as I pluck his name from the whiteboard. “I’ll work it out. Don’t worry about it. You can have that day off.” I smile and tuck the slip of plastic in my pocket. “Do you need the day off after Christmas?”

“No, we’re going on the twenty-second, and I didn’t get scheduled except for Christmas Eve. We’re coming home on Christmas Day, so I’m good for the day after.”

“Great.” I smile at him. “Thanks for letting me know so early.”

Jimmy nods, his bushy eyebrows pulled down. He’s dark from head to toe, with boxy shoulders that narrow to his skinny frame. “Thank you.” He turns on his toe and leaves the office, pulling the door closed behind him.

“You bet,” I say to the closed door, nothing going to ruin my amazing mood. I pull his name out of my pocket and turn back to the whiteboard. I definitely need a stocker for Christmas Eve, but the solution is easy.

“Joey.” I pull my phone out of my pocket and send him a text. If he can’t do it, I can ask Miles, but he’s already working a lot the week before Christmas.

That done, I settle at my desk and wait for my best-friend-slash-boyfriend to return with my panini. Maybe I can kiss him again, and that thought has me grinning from ear to ear.