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

Chapter 3

Chapter Three

MEG

“You might want to slow down. Unless you want your mom to see you frantically working your ass off,” Becky Sue warns in the most loving way possible as I rush around the kitchen like a chicken with its head cut off. As well-intentioned as her advice is, I can’t afford to slow down. Mom will be here any minute, and there’s still evidence of cock cookies to be destroyed.

“At the very least, take a breath before you shove that cock all the way in,” Piper, my marketing guru, says with a laugh.

Because my mouth is full of one of the cock cookies that looks like it got murdered, I can’t defend myself without choking. That would only give the ladies more ammunition. So I force myself to stop, chew, and swallow.

“The practice can’t hurt anything,” Becky Sue says, wriggling her eyebrows. “It might come in handy on your date later.”

“ Fake date.”

“You really think your mom will buy that you have a boyfriend you’ve never mentioned?” Piper asks, her tone more serious now. She’s been off from her usual bubbly self, but I haven’t had a chance to ask her what’s up. If I’m being honest, I’m afraid to ask. Piper has this deceiving, sweet-girl innocence that masks her fiery, unexpected temper well. Sometimes she can be a little scary.

“I’ll tell her it’s new. Plus, Aaron promised he’ll be convincing.” I leave out the part that this whole fake dating thing helps me spend more time with Aaron, per the Secret Santa requirements. Rule number one: You must not tell anyone whose name you drew. Not a soul .

“I’m not worried about Aaron. What about you?” Becky Sue chimes in. “Can you be convincing?”

“It’ll be fine. He’ll win her over and she won’t be paying any attention to me.” It’s not like I haven’t thought about putting my hands all over that man. I’d never admit that just last night, I had a very naughty dream involving Aaron, a shiny red sports car, and a Santa hat. My pussy tingles at the image of being bent over the hood of that car. Because I’m getting strange looks, I clear my throat, shove away the fantasy, and wipe a bit of frosting from the corner of my mouth. “I just have to follow his lead. And a lifetime supply of baked goods are at stake. He’ll pull through.”

“You really agreed to a lifetime supply?” Piper asks.

“As long as he comes in to get them himself. And trust me. A man like Aaron? He’ll get bored of Alpine Valley within a year and leave us behind the second a more exciting opportunity comes along.” My bitterness has nothing to do with the morning chatter I overheard in the bakery about another racecar driver trying to convince Aaron to be his car chief for the upcoming season. I swear, the little group of old men who come in for black coffee and chocolate croissants every morning love to gossip more than the old ladies who stop in after their jazzercise class.

“Why can’t you entertain the idea that the man might actually want to settle down?” Piper asks.

The question dredges up an unpleasant memory from the past. Aaron wouldn’t be the first man in my life to up and leave this small town when something flashier was dangled in front of him. “Been there, done that.”

“Maybe you should?—”

“Meg!” Mom’s sing songy voice echoes from the front counter.

“Not a word about the cock cookies,” I hiss under my breath. I pull my phone from my apron pocket to shoot a quick warning text to Aaron. By the time I’ve hit send , Mom appears in the open doorway to the kitchen.

“You got a new oven?” Mom’s question is slightly strangled, much like her expression. As though she can’t decide if this is a good thing or a bad thing.

“I didn’t tell you?” Hmm, maybe the secret business credit card was unnecessary. Surely Mom would’ve seen the large charge on the bank statement. Maybe she’s been distracted with all her new friends in Florida and not paying super close attention.

“No, I think you left that out.” She steps closer to give me a hug, but her grip is loose. Distracted. Her focus is on the oven.

“The other one was on its last leg.”

Becky Sue cocks an eyebrow at me.

Okay, so it’s a white lie. The new oven with twice the number of racks was unnecessary, but I did get a good price for the old one. “We can bake eight dozen cookies at once,” I add in my best sales pitch voice. “It’s been such a time saver. You know, so I have time for other things besides baking.”

Mom perks up. “Oh, that is a plus.”

“It bakes like a dream,” Becky Sue adds, her words seemingly alerting my distracted mom to her presence.

“Becky Sue!” She embraces the woman who was with her on day one of the bakery opening with an enthusiasm she was most definitely lacking with my hug. “Be honest. Is Meg living here?” Mom looks back at me. “Wait, hold that thought. I’m taking you out for a drink later and you can give me the real scoop.”

“A drink?” I repeat, confused. Since when does my mom drink ?

“We have some things to catch up on,” she admits to me, her smile more relaxed despite her inability to stop scanning the kitchen. I wait for her to mention the new mixer or the new prep table arrangement when my eyes land on one last cock cookie barely hidden by a stack of baking sheets. It would be one that fell victim to the red icing. If Mom moves a couple of feet to the right, it’ll be in her direct line of sight.

My heart lightly pounds in my ears as I discreetly shuffle my way around the prep table. Piper sends me a what gives look. I don’t dare nod in the direction of the single cookie. I must have set it down to grab a rag. Why didn’t I just toss it? Oh yeah, because that particular recipe of gingerbread is to die for.

“You all right, Meg?” Mom asks, her eyebrows drawing together in concern.

“Yep.” My voice is an octave too high. “Yep, just, uh?—”

“Babe, you back in the kitchen?” a deep male voice calls from the front.

“Babe?” Mom repeats, a new twinkle appearing in her eyes.

“Come on back, Aaron. There’s someone I want you to meet.” My palms are sweaty, but it has nothing to do with the stray cookie now. Am I nervous Mom will see right through this? Yeah, a little. But my rapid pulse has a lot more to do with anticipation I have no business being excited about.

Last night, Aaron and I spent two hours texting to line up our dating story and set some ground rules. In order to make this fake relationship convincing not only to Mom but to everyone in town that Mom might run into, I agreed that physical affection was necessary. Though the terms only included PG friendly touches, my mind definitely went rogue into R-rated territory. So I have a crush on my fake boyfriend. It’ll stay where it belongs—firmly in my overactive imagination.

“Hey, beautiful.” He pulls me into his arms, cupping my cheek as he locks his cobalt gaze with mine. His thumb grazes my cheek. Damn the sexy mechanic and his ability to turn my brain to instant mush. He presses his lips to my forehead, and my entire body tingles with electricity. Why am I fighting this again?

“Meg, you didn’t tell me you were seeing someone,” Mom says, breaking the spell. Reminding me that Aaron is nothing but quicksand. The moment I fall for him is the moment he’ll decide something better awaits outside of Alpine Valley. I won’t fall for him. I can’t fall for him.

“You must be Mrs. Bernard.”

“Kendra, please. And you are?”

“Completely smitten with your daughter,” he says, wrapping Mom in a hug. Damn, he’s good. “But my name is Aaron. Aaron Montgomery.”

“When were you going to tell me?” Mom asks.

“It’s new,” I admit, finding the words surprisingly easy since they’re not really a lie. Or maybe it’s because I’m within arm’s reach of the gingerbread cookie and my focus has shifted.

“Are you ready for our date?” Aaron asks, slipping his hand in mine before I can grab the cookie. Our fingers interlock, and my damn heart starts pounding like it’s just run a marathon.

“Date?” Mom repeats.

“I hope you won’t think poorly of me, stealing Meg from the bakery to go ice skating.”

“Oh?” Mom’s tone and expression lifts. Yeah, I made the right call with the fake boyfriend thing. I try to tamp down my excitement. But with the way things are going, Mom might just sign over that deed tomorrow.

“Want to join us?” Aaron offers.

“What?” I blurt.

“I’m not much of an ice skater,” Mom admits.

“There’s a booze cart at the park,” Becky Sue adds, untying her apron. “It’s for the parents.”

“I’m in,” Mom agrees much too easily.

Aaron leans down, his lips brushing the shell of my ear—which causes my pussy to clench. Damn sports car dream—and says, “I slipped your cock cookie in your apron pocket.”

My pulse doubles. Why does it sound so fucking sexy when he says such a dirty word? I pat my apron to confirm his claim. “You’re welcome, babe .”