The Broody Brit for Christmas (Holiday Springs #1) - M.J. Fields Page 0,8
chat about the date I have set up for you this weekend.”
I’ve avoided the local bar because I have no desire to run into the men Jenny has set me up with.
“Oh, hell no.”
“You’ll do it for me. Once the snow starts really flying, I won’t get a girls’ night out for months.”
“Then no more date talk.”
She says nothing.
“Jenny, I told you no more after the last several catastrophes.”
“I’ve only delivered what you said you wanted...”
“Seriously, Jenny, I said blue-collared and calloused hands, but I don’t think it’s too much to ask that those collars and hands be clean for God’s sake.”
“And none of them thought it was too much to ask that you stayed off your phone.”
“I’m just not ready,” I admit, reaching over and grabbing my phone off the seat.
“Good, then ladies’ night will be just that, us ladies.”
I grumble, “Fine,” putting the Jeep in drive.
“Love you, babe, see you Wednesday!”
“Yahoo.” I try to sound excited, but the word falls flat.
She laughs and ends the call.
Tuesday
By this afternoon, my lonely Monday hangover had subsided. However, I totally binged on social media, watching story after story on Instagram of yet another bro-cation that gave me a worse headache than the bottle of wine.
And now, Nellie, who was supposed to be back over an hour and a half ago, is still not here. I look up at the analog clock framed in red and white candy cane colors and candy cane-shaped clock hands that have been in the shop since I can remember, and it reads two-fifty p.m.
The afterschool rush is coming, and Nellie is late. I cringe, hating the fact that I may have no choice but to face them, alone, in ten minutes. And my stomach? It’s flipping, knowing hot, rich, British daddy and the adorable little thief come in every single day at two fifty-five, presumably right after school closes. It’s been like clockwork over the past two weeks, and I’m here... alone, unable to hide without Nellie coming in on time.
Once I caught onto their schedule, I realized I could easily sneak into the back. Nellie loves taking care of them anyway. And once they leave, I skip out the door. Without Nellie, I’ll be stuck handling them. God, I wish I could run into the back and lock myself up. I guess that tough girl, running on anger fumes, is slowly disappearing.
And yet, hot rich British daddy is another thing messing with my head, regardless of my avoidance. I despise wealthy arrogant assholes, but he’s interrupting my dreams. I’ve never had dirty, no, filthy dreams about a man in my entire life. But in last night’s episode of Nikki the Naughty Christmas Elf, I was bent over his knee, receiving a spanking. I shiver with the thought.
I woke up wondering if it was guilt for being harsh with his son, or maybe the fact that it’s been months since I’ve had any sort of sex, like any, not even with myself.
Face in my hands, I groan. My pity/self-humiliation party is interrupted by the jingling bells hanging from the door.
“My manicure took longer than I expected,” Nellie huffs. “Apparently, no one can find reliable help nowadays.”
Pot, meet Kettle, I think as I slide off the stool. Five minutes until hot rich British daddy comes in.
Dismissively, she waves a hand in the air. “You can go.”
I’m half a breath from finally telling her she can stop being a bitch any day now when the bells ring again. I squat down behind the register, quickly pretending as if I’d clumsily dropped something on the floor. To say I am relieved when I hear female voices would be an understatement.
Standing up, I smile at Nellie. “Well, have a good afternoon.”
She looks at me with borderline disgust. “B, bye.”
Bitch, I think as I look toward the front windows and see them begin to walk in.
I turn and hurry to the back, just in time. “Need the bathroom,” I quickly call out.
Rule Number Four
Adult games are only fun in the bedroom
Raff
“Dad, come on.” Nathaniel tugs on my hand. I love the fact that he occasionally still holds my hand while we walk down the street, making it feel like the six years since Hope passed hasn’t flown by in almost a blur.
“I’m quite certain that the Sweet Spot will not be closing the doors before we get there, Nathaniel. Their hours have been the same since I first visited when you were still in your mum’s belly.”