The Christmas Grinch - Rebel Hart Page 0,17

baked more seasonings to fill the air with all the seasonal scents. After the potpourri and garlands, we were onto painting ornaments. It was hard to read how Chris was taking it all as he dutifully obeyed my every command, but I couldn’t imagine anyone not loving it all as much as I did.

He barely said anything at all until one point when I was instructing everyone at the table how to shift their bodies or hands, rearranging the supplies in front of them to perfection, in preparation for another slew of photos.

“Are you always so particular?” he grumbled.

“Yes,” my sisters and mom answered in unison.

“Don’t hate me because I know how to take a good photo,” I snipped. “When these are trending on Pinterest, you’ll thank me.”

“Oh yes,” Margo mocked. “Because it’s always been my dream to be trending on Pinterest. And not even for my record of cases won in the courtroom, but for Christmas crafting.”

“Both are important, if you ask me,” I told her.

When it came time for us to leave, Chris and I walked over to the coat rack. Our hands brushed as we both reached for our jackets, and I could have swore the touch lingered longer than it should have. But I blushed and quickly jerked away. He offered to slide my jacket over my arms for me, but I awkwardly refused.

I was slightly surprised and disappointed that he didn’t divulge his change of heart the moment we stepped into the cab home. I was still reeling with adrenaline from how great the night went. I was positive he had to feel the same.

A full seven minutes into the ride, I couldn’t take it anymore. “So? Thoughts? I’m dying to know how you feel about everything now.”

His face was blank for a moment before contorting into the most forced, unnatural smile I had ever seen on anyone in my life. “Oh...I’m...converted. One hundred percent. Just like you thought would happen. You were right all along. Christmas truly is...the greatest holiday in the world and so…so...:”

“Magical?”

“That’s it,” he nodded slowly, pursing his lips. “Totally. Magical.”

I flashed a reluctant grin, studying him carefully. “You’re lying, aren’t you?”

“No, not at all,” he defended weakly.

“Fine,” I swished my hair, trying to hide how offended I was. “Don’t worry. I have more tricks up my sleeve. This was just the beginning.”

He groaned and raked his hands down his face. “Remind me again why you can’t just lie? I really, really don’t have time for building snowmen or iceskating or mall Santas or whatever else it is you have planned to torture me.”

“Ice skating!” I shrieked, whipping out my phone to take a note. “I hadn’t thought of that, but I’m adding it to my list. Great idea!”

He sighed and stared out his window. I knew he was irritated, but there was something darker lurking underneath his expression. Something that made me think of the odd sales and other changes happening at Palmers.

“The stores are in trouble, aren’t they?” I dared to ask.

His eyes met mine with a grave seriousness. “It’s nothing I can’t fix, I hope. But all the more reason why my time is so precious right now.”

I felt bad for him at that moment. I knew how much I loved Palmers, and no matter how cold and calloused he tried to appear...surely a love for his family business was strong. It had to be heartbreaking and scary to see it in jeopardy.

I made a bold move and reached across the seat to squeeze his hand. “I know you think this is a waste of time. But my readers can tell when I’m being disingenuous. A fake puff piece from me wouldn’t help either of us. However, if I’m right...if I can really turn you on to Christmas...it might do more than just be good press. You might just be inspired to do what it takes to save the stores.”

He seemed slightly moved, but also surprised, by my moment of sweetness. I kind of was too. Which was why I jerked my hand back so suddenly and changed tactics.

“Anyway, fake advertising and lies for money are all part of the corruption that has been eating away at the spirit of Christmas for years. It goes against the mission of my publication to contribute to that.”

“If I may make an observation,” he said slowly as the cab pulled up in front of my apartment. “Did you ever think the exaggerated, unrealistic perfectionism that comes out in so many people