the meetings scheduled at Bavarian Bear, there's a tour of a toy train factory the company has been talking about collaborating with and meetings with a few parts suppliers.
Nick doesn't interrupt while I rattle on about the schedule, but he doesn't appear to be paying all that much attention either. When I'm confident I've covered the week’s agenda I close my notebook and place it in my lap, fingering the edges of the cardboard cover with the pad of my thumb. Then I sigh, a tiny resigned huff similar to the sound my parents’ dog makes when I attach a Santa hat to her head.
"What'd you do this weekend?"
The question takes me by surprise, coming out of nowhere on the tail end of my recap of the agenda. He seems sincere, honestly curious. Maybe he's bored with the silence too and worried I'll suggest my Christmas playlist again?
"I spent some time with my sisters. Ginger wanted company while she tested yet another batch of gingerbread. Did laundry, packed for this trip. Wrapped a few Christmas presents. And of course I went to the candlelight crowning for this year’s Miss Candy Cane Princess at Heritage Park." The Candy Cane Princess is named early in December so she can complete her duties for the rest of the month. Which are mainly riding on a float in the annual Christmas parade and assisting the Main Street Santa with his line on Saturdays.
"Ah, the Candy Cane Princess crowning," Nick repeats back slowly. "Is attending part of your duties as a past Candy Cane Princess?"
He knows about that? I feel my face flood with heat, suddenly embarrassed or shy, I'm not sure which. He doesn't quite sound like he's making fun of me so I'm not sure what his angle is.
"It's not a requirement, no," I finally manage to say. "Just something fun to do."
"Hmm," Nick murmurs. "Sounds like you could use a little more fun in your life, Holly."
Okay.
Did he just say that in a suggestive way or was it my imagination? His voice sounded like butterscotch caramel being stirred on a stovetop and kisses under the mistletoe. I'm suddenly warm all over and the Vagina Inn is flashing a neon vacancy sign while my overactive brain displays a montage of ways it could be filled. Could my sisters be right? Is it possible Nick has potential as something other than a miserly Scrooge? Maybe he's not horrible outside the office? Maybe—
Then he ruins it.
"I assume Santana was busy since you didn't mention him. Did he have a gig? Must be a busy time of year for a musician."
This jackal.
Ginger was right about one thing at least. Jackal is an oddly satisfying insult.
"Yes. Yes, he did have a gig." I lean forward to shove my notebook back into my bag then sit back in the passenger seat, arms crossed over my chest as I stare straight ahead, watching for the next road sign that will give me a clue about how much farther we are from the airport. "He's unbelievably busy but he took me out for breakfast," I find myself saying.
"This morning?"
"Yup." I pop the ‘p,’ satisfied to have the upper hand again. "At the Honey Jam Café." The Honey Jam Café has been a staple on Main Street since before I was born and their specialty is breakfast. They make waffles that will change your life. Delicately crisp on the outside but buttery and light just beneath that crisp surface. Perfection on a plate. You've never had a waffle unless you've had one from Honey Jam, trust me.
Also, I wish Santana actually existed because my stomach rumbles at the reminder that it hasn't had those waffles in too long. In truth, I had two hard-boiled eggs an hour before Nick picked me up.
"Weird. I was there too. Didn't see you."
"It was early. You were probably still sleeping." He probably sleeps in a cave he had dug out under his house. Caves are the preferred nests of Grinches everywhere.
"I was there early. My overnight guest was an unexpectedly early riser."
Eww.
I refrain from saying it out loud, but my pulse increases in agitation. I roll my neck and adjust my posture in the seat while taking a surreptitious glance at Nick. I bet his overnight guest was his friend Taryn. His naked friend Taryn.
"I thought allowing her to stay up late would guarantee I got to sleep in, but it doesn't work that way."
Oh, my Santa Claus, please stop talking! Now my brain is