The Broody Brit for Christmas (Holiday Springs #1) - M.J. Fields Page 0,62
wrap my arms around his neck, wanting to cry and jump for joy all at the same time. “We may as well just go downstairs and get it over with, right?”
He gives me a wink. “Let’s do this.”
He takes my hand, and I know we’re in this together. There are details to be discussed, but I have faith we’ll figure them out.
Faith I’d not realized until this moment that I’d lost twice before and thought I’d never get back again.
He grabs my weekender that slid down his arm when he dropped to his knees, and we move to his bedroom quickly.
He slides on a pair of light wash jeans and a white long sleeve T-shirt that hugs his lean muscular physique, making his body look almost as sexy as it does naked.
Almost.
I have to turn around to try to focus on getting dressed. I grab a pair of boyfriend-style L’Agence jeans and a cropped black T-shirt out of my bag, and his large, strong, and very capable hands grip my hips. I pause briefly, hoping maybe he’s changed his mind and would rather get naked and sweaty with me again, or rather, he gets sweaty. The truth is, I have yet to do much besides lie there and enjoy every damn thing he does to my body.
Muttering something of a string of curses under his breath, he releases me and steps back.
Walking out the door, still grumbling to himself, I can’t help but laugh inside as he heads down the stairs so I can get dressed.
Once finished, I make my way down and see him drinking a large glass of water. Another glass gets pushed toward me.
After we both drink our fill, he takes my hand. “Ready?”
I exhale. “Let’s do it.”
When we walk out of his office and into the bar, it only takes a minute for the patrons to go silent. It feels as though all of Holiday Springs is staring at us, almost hesitantly. Even Dana, the bartender freezes, two overflowing beer mugs in her hands. That’s when Raff lifts my arm. “Finally got the girl!” he jokes loudly, and the whole place erupts in laughter, claps, and whistles.
And that’s that!
Awkwardness now broken, we sit together at one of the round booths, the bartender brings over two bottles of Blue Moon, and we tap them together, both smiling.
“To us.” He winks.
My mind is fighting less with wonder of where this will go, but my heart, well, the heart wants what the heart wants. “To us.”
Before heading back to my family’s home to talk to my aunt and uncle, Nellie and I meet at Maybell’s restaurant to discuss the finances of the Sweet Spot.
“I’m impressed.”
She pushes the blue binder across the corner table. “Don’t be impressed. It’s not good.”
Although Nellie and I have gotten off on the wrong foot, and the ground is still a bit shaky, I hate the defeated tone in her voice.
Opening the file, I assure her, “Together, we can work through whatever it.” I pause when I see just how tight the profit and loss is for just this month. Every penny that comes in is going out and the only person on the books right now that’s being paid minimum wage is me. My aunt, uncle, and Nellie all draw a salary that doesn’t even equal that.
“Told you,” she says before taking a sip of her coffee.
“We’re in the red, obviously.” I flip back, looking at the previous months until I get to a year ago, November. “But the good news is, you’ve profited enough from October to January, allowing the shop to stay afloat.”
“We’re not staying afloat, Nikki. I’m treading water. So, for the love of God, stop smiling.”
“I know you’re tired.” I don’t add that it’s obviously got something to do with her shitty attitude and behavior since I’ve been back. I can almost see why now. Almost. “And you’re going to be even more so over the holidays and for the next few months while we come up with a plan to make each red month turn black.” I close the book. “So, tell me, if you could do anything you wanted to do, Nellie Winterfield, what would you be doing?”
“If I didn’t love what I was doing, love the shop, I wouldn’t be doing it. I just wish I could be doing it with more help.”
I hold up my cup and blow the steam off of it, then take a sip. “Then we bust our asses to make it happen,