Beards and Holly (Magnolia Point)

Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE

Holly

M y impromptu dance party with Gizmo comes to a halt when my phone rings.

“Be right back, big guy. Save the last dance for me, would ya?”

Caller ID reads Santa Steve, and my stomach forms knots. The poor mall Santa has been a nose-dripping mess, and we still have two more days before we close for the season.

“Hello, Santa,” I say in greeting.

“Hey, Holly. Listen, I hate to do this to you, but I wanted you to hear it from me first since you’ll be stuck with the fallout.”

“You’re too sick,” I state. It’s not a question. He spent the last few days sneezing on everyone.

“I am, dear. I’m sorry to put you out like this, but I just can’t seem to get any better.”

“Oh, Steve, don’t feel bad for me. I’ll figure it out. I just want you to get better.”

“Well, thank you, sweetheart. I’m sure Mr. Darrel will be calling you soon with a replacement or to close it down early. I hope it all works out.”

The owner of the mall is a greedy man and will have me in that suit before he closes down. I honestly need the money, so I can’t even complain.

“Thanks. Don’t worry about anything but yourself now, and let me know if I can bring you that tea I promised. Or maybe some soup.”

“Thank you, Holly. Have a good night.”

“You, too.”

We both say our goodbyes and hang up. My mood is no longer cheerful, and I sink onto the couch in worry. I need this weekend’s pay to make my mortgage. I went overboard on Christmas presents, as I always do, and I need to make up the difference.

Gizmo, being the best dog ever, comes to rest his big face in my lap.

“I’ll be okay. Somehow, I’ll figure it out.”

Just then, there’s a knock on my door. I should have expected it, but when I answer and it’s my grumpy neighbor, I’m still taken back. His scowl draws my stare. It can’t have anything to do with his rugged good looks or piercing blue eyes. Nope can’t be.

“Hey,” I mutter since he says nothing. Instead, his brows sink farther as if he doesn’t like something on my face. Uncomfortable from the intense look, I pull my sweater up my bare shoulder. It’s cold outside, but not nearly as frigid as his look of disdain. What’s his problem, anyway?

Oh shit, I kidnapped his dog.

“It’s not what it looks like,” I try to explain as Gizmo plows out the front and starts jumping on his stoic owner.

Jenson gives the mutt a few friendly pets before the dog gets back on all fours.

“He was already here when I got home. The only thing I could think of is, he used the old doggy door I thought was boarded up.”

Still, he only scowls at me as if I’m a crazy person. “I swear I didn’t kidnap your dog. He just loves me more,” I add with a smile, attempting to lighten the mood.

To my utter surprise, the Grinch actually cracks a smile and laughs. It’s not a belly-shaking laugh, but I’ll take it.

“Must be all the holiday spirit and homemade treats. The poor guy didn’t stand a chance.”

His words are such a contrast to what I’d expected I smile like a loon. It’s not as if the man has declared he suddenly doesn’t hate me, but I feel like it.

“Anyway, I’m just glad he was here and not lying under a car somewhere. So thanks. Have a good night, Holly.”

He knows my name. I watch speechless for a while as the two descend my porch steps then realize I didn’t say anything.

“Good night, Jenson.”

Something about the way he falters the last step makes me think he’s just as surprised by my words, but of course, he doesn’t say anything. The pair continues into the dark, and I assume back home. I turn inside my now quiet house and wish they’d stayed. I mean, I wish Gizmo had stayed. The awesome pup made my night more fun. I’m not thinking about his owner. That would be a terrible idea, a real crash-and-be-badly-brokenhearted situation.

Even telling myself this doesn’t help me to stop thinking about the plaid-wearing hottie next door. I sip my tea and turn on A Christmas Story to relax. My comfort holiday movie usually distracts me from my problems, but tonight, my mind swirls with work drama and sexy, unwanted fantasies of someone I don’t want a crush on.

There’s no doubt in my mind there’s more to Jenson than the cold exterior he presents. I bet he’s a big cinnamon roll inside. All warm and mushy. The thought of food has my mind thinking about his taste and what he sounds like in bed, torturing myself for hours. I telling myself to stop, but then think about it all over again.

Finally, I head to bed, and without thinking twice, I look out my window to his. The blinds are still open, and his lights are still on. Gizmo is sleeping soundly on Jenson’s big, king-size bed. The master bathroom door is open, and before I can turn away, out walks my neighbor in just a towel.

He deserves privacy, and I need to turn away to give it to him. So why am I still stuck, staring at his defined abs and the light layer of dark chest hair that runs down.

“Fuck.”

As my eyes descend, I don’t notice he’s walked to the window and is staring at me. I’ve never felt such instant embarrassment, and as the true coward I am, I duck to my floor. My face is so hot I hold both hands to my cheeks, hoping time will rewind and I can handle this a lot differently.

I wait for what seems a crazy long time before I crawl on my hands and knees over to my bed, to make sure he doesn’t see me. I don’t bother to close the blinds, just flip off my lamp and curl into my oversized comforter.

Maybe, he’ll stick to his grumpy persona and never talk to me again. That way, I’ll never have to face the embarrassment of being a peeping tom. Shame follows me to sleep, and my dreams are anything but healthy. Different scenarios of what could have followed that moment spin in my head until morning when I wake up exhausted and restless. Luckily, I don’t have to be at work until later. It’ll be chaos until I find a Santa, but at least, it’ll be distracting.