Meet Me Under the Mistletoe (Holiday Romance Collection #3)

6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Noelle

“ I ’m sorry, I’m sorry! But I come bearing Christmas coffees— with sprinkles —and chocolate biscotti!”

I plunk the drink carrier down in the center of the stainless-steel work table in the back room of Three Blossom Haven , between Val and Willow. Val is glaring daggers at me, but Willow is just grinning as she plucks her coffee out of the carrier and snags a biscotti.

“Told you the Krampus thing would work,” she mumbles to Val out of the corner of her mouth as she unwraps the biscotti, and Val rolls her eyes.

Val points the heavy-duty floral shears in her hand at me, waggling them ominously. “You’re lucky it’s Christmas and I’m feeling generous today. And that Theo is always saving your ass.”

“Hey! He is not always saving my ass—”

“What about last week when he went out of his way to go over to your house to pick up and bring you your shoes because your dumb ass came into work in your slippers ? And then went out and bought you a brand-new pair of slippers because you ruined the pair you were wearing in the snow—”

“Or what about three days ago when you locked yourself out of your house and he came over with his key to let you in at two in the morning? You never did tell us why you were out that late on a Wednesday, by the way—”

“And how about last summer when your car broke down on your way to Traverse City to pick up Mom from the airport and he dropped everything he was doing to come get you, fixed your car, and picked up Mom?” Willow lifts her coffee to her lips to take a sip, raising her eyebrows high and staring at her over the lid of the cup. “He’s like your own personal Knight in Cozy Flannel.”

“He doesn’t wear flannels all the time—”

“He and Beau should buy stock in some flannel shirt company. They’re always in flannels,” Val mutters and rolls her eyes again. “It’s like the man doesn’t know that other shirts exist. Half of his closet is different colored flannel shirts, the other half is plain black or white t-shirts, and he’s got a handful of dark or black jeans. That’s all the man wears!”

“But that’s Beau, Theo doesn’t wear them that often—” I protest, but honestly, they’re both right.

“Theo always has on some kind of off the wall or inappropriate graphic tee under his,” Willow laughs, taking a bite of the biscotti. She hums in approval, doing a little shimmy of appreciation of the deliciousness. “Last week he had on a t-shirt that said ‘Deez Nuts Roasting Co’. I thought Beau was going to have an aneurysm when he saw it. But yes, he always has one on. Or that gray quilted vest.”

“That he does wear all the time during the winter,” I admit with a chuckle.

“No, he starts wearing that in September and wears it through to April,” Val laughs, shaking her head. “Pretty sure Marnie buys him a new one every Christmas.”

“So he knows what he likes, and he knows he looks good in it,” I mumble around a gulp of my coffee. I lick the sugary sprinkles off my top lip.

“Oh, he looks good in it, huh?” Willow asks, raising her eyebrows again.

“Oh, come on, just because we’ve known them forever and they’re practically family doesn’t mean we can’t admit that they’re both stupidly hot—” I turn to Val, gesturing wildly with my hands, something I do when I’m nervous and can’t stop the word vomit. “I mean seriously, Val, you shacked up with Beau, not that I blame you one bit, that man is fine with a capital F—”

“Do you want to shack up with Theo?” Willow asks, bracing her hands on the work table, leaning forward excitedly. “I knew it!”

“ No! ” I practically shout, my face heating. I mean, I never thought about it until last night , but ever since then it’s all that I’ve been able to think about. Not that they need to know that. “I do however, have eyeballs and a healthy sexual appetite. I’m comfortable enough to admit that Theo’s hot as shit.”

Willow’s face scrunches up in disgust and I can’t help but laugh. She gags theatrically. “I don’t want to hear about your sexual appetite. We might be close but that’s TMI. And no, it’s not because I’m a prude. I just don’t want to hear about my sisters and their sex lives.”

“Is that why you never share details about you and Luck—”

“You sure you don’t want to hear about that thing that Beau does with his tongue—”

Val and I start talking at the same time, and Willow claps her hands over her ears, singing a loud chorus of, “ Lalalalalala! ” which makes us both double over with laughter. She drags her hands down and glares at us both. “No, I don’t want to talk about what Reeve and I do, nor do I want to hear anything about Beau or what he does with his tongue !”

Val and I share a look, grinning widely. “You sure? You could have Luck try it—"

Willow bristles angrily, glaring at first myself, then Val, crossing her arms over her chest. “For your information, you nosy asses, Reeve does amazing things with his tongue, not that it’s any of your business!”

Val, having just taken a drink of her coffee, chokes, spitting it out all over the tabletop. I thump her on the back as I shake my head. “Well, that’s good.”

Val reaches for a handful of paper towels, cleaning up her mess as Willow throws me an aggravated look. “You guys are the worst.”

“Yes, but you love us anyway,” I tease, winking.

“Can we just get back to work, please?” Willow snaps, throwing her hands up. “Last I checked, my sex life is the least interesting topic today—”

Panicking, my instinct is to throw out an elbow, connecting hard with Willow’s ribs and she grunts, but at least the words tumbling out of her mouth stop. Thank God Val’s back is to us as she takes out a bundle of deep red Dahlias and pearly white Lilies from the commercial cooler across from us. She turns back to the table and spreads them out in front of her. She blows out a breath and tosses her shoulder length brown hair away from her face as she looks up at us. I lunge for my coffee and take a huge gulp, coughing as it goes down the wrong tube.

“Alright, Willow’s right, we need to get these orders out so we can close early. Mom is probably losing her mind at the house trying to get everything done without us there to help,” Val says, picking up the floral shears again and snapping them twice—her version of a cook clicking tongs—and blows out another heavy exhale. “Let’s focus, girls. Only a few more hours and then we’re off for four days!”

“Halleluiah!” Crisis averted.