The Mechanic’s Secret Santa (Christmas in Alpine Valley #8)

Chapter 2

Chapter Two

AARON

“Don’t touch my cocks!” It’s the last thing I hear before my future wife darts from the bakery via the back door, as though she’s outrunning an avalanche.

I don’t even bother hiding my grin as I catch Becky Sue’s gaze through the open doorway pointed right at me. She offers up an amused shrug before returning her attention to the ovens. A subtle reassurance that she’s still rooting for me to win over the bakery owner’s heart, even if today is not that day.

“What would you like to try this time?” The teenage girl behind the register asks as I step up to the counter.

Until now, I haven’t even glanced at the display case. It’s been the same since the first day I stepped foot in the bakery almost four months ago. It’s a subconscious decision, for my gaze to seek out Meg Bernard the moment I cross the threshold. “I’ll try a Rudolph cupcake,” I decide.

“Good choice.”

There really is no wrong answer here. I’ve yet to try a cupcake, cookie, or pastry from Meg’s bakery that’s disappointed me. The woman is fucking talented.

I wait until I’m halfway down the block before taking a bite. The mixture of chocolate and strawberry is nearly orgasmic. My moan might be imagined, but my eyes fall shut as I let the rich flavor dance across my taste buds. Fuck, this cupcake just might be better than sex. Though I bet if I tasted Meg’s cookie, I’d have to refute that ? —

Distracted by the rush of incredible flavor mingling with thoughts of my tongue exploring Meg’s tastiest dessert, my boot catches a patch of ice.

In my hectic attempt to stay upright that involves flailing arms, a whoosh of chilly wind, and all out chaos, I catch a whiff of cinnamon right before I hear a startled scream and feel a hard tug on my coat.

When my boots finally find traction, I discover two bare hands clutching my open coat. A red and gold gift bag dangles off one wrist. Meg’s dark chocolate hair is struggling to stay in its messy bun, curls caressing her neck in a way that I envy. A stray lock nearly tickles my beard. If I leaned down just a bit, I could press my lips to her forehead.

“Are you okay?” I notice I’m gripping her forearms as if the connection is the only thing keeping either of us from drowning. Reluctantly, I loosen my hold now that she’s safe. My fingers itch to grab her hips. To bring that delicate cookie of hers closer to a part of me that suddenly isn’t so cold at all. Down, fucker. Not the time .

“You nearly ran me over,” she pants, staring straight at my chest.

“It’s your fault, really.”

“Excuse me?”

I bend to retrieve a cupcake wrapper and offer it up as evidence. “Your cupcakes are so damn good they’re hazardous. I forgot where I was.”

Her tense expression softens, a gentle smile replacing her straight-lipped scowl. “Sorry not sorry?”

“What’s in the bag?” I nod at her wrist.

“Nothing,” she says, hiding it behind her back.

“Is that for me?” I tease, pretending as though I’m trying to steal it from her.

“Aren’t you two cute?” Mrs. Wilkerson, a sweet elderly lady who brings her car to the shop at least once a week so I can check out a noise, coos as she passes by us on the street, causing Meg’s cheeks to darken from pink to red.

“Maybe you can convince her to go out with me?” I say to Mrs. Wilkerson, effectively stopping her in her tracks. The woman is a sucker for a good romance. Apparently, Alpine Valley has its share of happily ever after stories, and Mrs. Wilkerson knows them all. I’d never admit how much I enjoy hearing them. Even if she gets a bit carried away on some of the…steamier details.

“Aaron Montgomery asked you out, and you turned him down?” she scoffs at Meg.

“Why is that so hard to believe?” Meg asks.

“Because I have eyes .”

“I don’t have time for dating,” Meg insists. “It’s the bakery’s busiest time of year.”

“I think your mother would be a little disappointed to hear that,” Mrs. Wilkerson says, sounding disappointed herself.

“Don’t remind me,” Meg mumbles.

“What’s that dear?”

“Nothing.”

“A boyfriend might be a good distraction for you.” Mrs. Wilkerson eyes me up and down—it’s not the first time. “Especially this one.”

“Maybe,” Meg mumbles, her expression distant. As though Mrs. Wilkerson’s comment has triggered something. I can’t quite get a read on whether it’s good or bad, but she definitely looks as though she’s contemplating something weightier than dinner and a movie.

“How’s Earl?” I ask Mrs. Wilkerson about her 1992 Buick Regal, remembering she hasn’t been by the shop this week.

“He’s making a funny sound whenever I turn left,” she says. “Maybe I should bring him in?”

“I’m happy to check it out.”

While Mrs. Wilkerson and I finish up our conversation, Meg stays silent. She offers forced smiles and a couple of nods, but there’s a distant look in those green eyes. Her thoughts are elsewhere. I’d kill to know what’s going on in that head of hers.

I wait until we’re alone again to ask.

“Mrs. Wilkerson was my third grade teacher. My mom’s too,” she says, as though that explains everything.

“Retired now?”

“Oh, yeah. For well over a decade.” Meg lets out a heavy exhale and flickers her gaze to mine. She parts her lips to speak, but shakes her head instead.

“What?”

“Never mind.”

“You’ve been thinking pretty hard about something. You can’t hold out on me now.”

“It’s ridiculous. I shouldn’t have let her get to me.”

“Try me. I love ridiculous.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

Meg shakes her head. “Okay, you asked for it.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

“My mom’s coming to town tomorrow,” she blurts, as though she was holding the thought in like a breath under water.

“That’s a bad thing?” I guess.

“It’s a disaster.”

“You don’t get along with your mom?”

“No, I love her. She’s great.” Meg fiddles with the gift bag that dangles from her wrist, drawing my attention to her fingers. The tips are turning a light shade of red. It’s not the coldest day Alpine Valley has experienced this winter, but with prolonged exposure, frostbite could be a concern.

I slip off my gloves and offer them to her.

She stares at them for three seconds before shoving both hands in her coat pockets. “My mom thinks I live at the bakery.”

“You don’t?” I’m only half teasing. I drive by enough to notice how often Meg can be spotted through the storefront windows.

“I really need her to believe I have a life outside the bakery.” The desperation in her voice keeps me from prying. I stay silent, anticipating some kind of favor I can’t quite pin. Or maybe she’s just after advice. Though I’d be the last person she’d come to for that considering how quickly she ran out of the bakery when I showed up earlier.

“Meg?” I finally prompt when she seems no closer to letting the truth out.

“Maybe you’d be willing to be my boyfriend for a few days?”

“Boyfriend?”

“Fake!” she practically shouts, drawing the attention of a couple across the street. She sends them a friendly wave until they return to their own conversation. “Forget it. It’s stupid. Why would you want to do that anyway, right? I mean, I could offer you free baked goods for life.” She lets out a tiny, hopeless laugh and I can see the insecurity in her eyes. I want to stop her right there, but she’s still rambling at top speeds. “But why would you want to fake date me? It’s not your mom you have to convince you have a life. Not as if your mom can end all your dreams. It’s nothing. You know what? Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

Already the wheels are turning. This fake relationship, however brief, might just be the opportunity I need to get close to Meg. My dick twitches, the damn thing still stuck on thoughts of Meg’s most precious cookie, demanding I agree to this blindfolded. But as tempting as this sounds, I’m admittedly a little stunned by this unexpected turn of events. “Why is this so important?”

Meg bites down on her bottom lip. “Can you keep this between us?”

“Consider it our first official relationship secret.”

“ Fake relationship,” she adds, dropping her gaze to the gift bag once more. With the way she’s guarding the contents, I’m dying to know what the hell’s in there. Something naughty, perhaps?

“My mom still owns the bakery. If she believes I’ve found a good work-life balance, she’ll sign the deed over to me. I thought it was going to be this summer, but she apparently decided to come home for Christmas and might consider signing it over sooner.”

I can’t believe my luck. “So you’ll need to actually go out on dates with me?”

“What? Why?”

“To convince your mom that you have a work-life balance,” I insist.

“Dammit, you’re right,” she grumbles.

“You don’t have to sound so upset about spending a little time with me,” I tease.

“It’s a busy time of year,” she adds.

“For cocks?”

“They’re for a bachelorette party,” she hisses, but try as she might to fight the smile, it spreads across her kissable lips anyway. “Fine, we’ll go on a pretend date or two. For show. My Mom will probably be all over town anyway. I supposed it would be easy to be caught together.” She shakes her head. “Why would you even agree to this?”

Because the truth would likely scare her off, I settle for, “It’s Christmas, right?”

“So?”

“Are you some kind of secret Scrooge? Because I don’t think I can fake date a real Scrooge.”

“Of course not! I’m just…what’s in it for you?”

“Free sweets for life.” It’s the least important reason, but I’m not about to risk scaring off what might be my best chance at convincing my future wife that we belong together. I’ll be the best damn fake boyfriend she’s ever had.

If all goes according to my newly devised plan, there’ll be nothing fake about our relationship come Christmas Day.