Meet Me Under the Mistletoe (Kinky Spurs 4)

“Maybe the police department doesn’t, but I do.” Or her father did. He deposited money into her account he set up for her every Christmas, but she never spent the money. It always felt like a terrible apology she never wanted. But if she could help people while also making her cousins look good, that was a total win-win in her books. She hurried to the counter, where a cute-as-a-button elderly lady was working behind the counter with a Christmas apron on and Susan written in calligraphy on the front. “Mornin’,” Penelope said, without missing a beat. “I’ll take it all.”

The women blinked. “Pardon me, dear?”

“All this yumminess.” Penelope waved out at the glass displays. “I’ll take it all.” She reached into her back pocket and grabbed the bank card from her wallet. “Oh, and everything in the back if you’ve got more.”

“Um…” The lady blinked rapidly, her purplish curls bouncing atop her head while she twisted and turned. “My dear, I’m not even sure what this would all cost. Annie?” she called toward the back room.

Annie, appearing to be in her early forties, with the same soft brown eyes as Susan, came out of the backroom with a bright smile and a matching Christmas apron. “Good morning.”

“Hi.” Penelope smiled.

“This kind lady—” The woman looked back at Penelope. “Sorry, dear, what was your name?”

“Penelope Carter.”

Susan smiled then said to Annie, “Penelope would like to buy everything we’ve got. Can you work that out?”

“Really?” Annie asked with wide eyes.

“Really.” Penelope nodded, feeling good about being good, which was a rarity.

“Christmas surprises are all around, then.” Annie laughed, grabbing a notepad and a pen and following Susan to the far side of the glass display where the most delicious muffins waited.

“This isn’t going to be cheap,” Darryl said.

“I know.” Penelope turned around, finding Darryl watching her with a perplexed expression and his hands shoved in the pockets of his Levi’s. “But it’s money that I never touch, so it doesn’t matter.”

One brow winged up. “Let me understand this: You’ve got money sitting around and you choose to spend that money on baked goods?”

Most times she questioned her own sanity. “It’s money that my dad puts into a bank account he created for me,” she explained, fully aware of the tightness filling her throat at that admission. “I like to call it his ‘guilt money’.”

Darryl’s head cocked, emotion filling his gaze.

She looked away, trying not to get too lost in the warmth in their depths. “To be perfectly honest, I don’t even know how much is in there.” To tell the truth, or not tell the truth? The old version of herself would’ve lied through her teeth, not wanting anyone to see the real her. She liked the way Darryl spoke openly about his life. He hid nothing. That had to feel good. Back in control of her emotions, she faced him. “I promised Clara that I wouldn’t do anything stupid while I was here. You know, with them trying to make the brewery a success, and well…”

“The fountain,” he offered with a grin.

“The fountain.” She smiled. “So, this is a good thing, right? Better food for the people of River Rock. I’m a Carter so that will look good on the family.” She paused as Annie finished emptying the first glass cabinet and had moved onto the next, before addressing Darryl again. “I figure the more good I do before Clara finds out I’m on YouTube—because she’s legit going to murder me—the better.”

Darryl cocked his head, studying her intently like she was a curious puzzle.

“What?”

He started at her intently. “I don’t think you realize what this gesture will do.”

Doing good things meant happy people, didn’t it? “What do you mean?”

He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled up against his warmth. He dropped his chin and his mouth came close to hers, his minty breath brushing across her lips. “The people of River Rock are going to fall madly and hopelessly in love with you.”

“Is that a bad thing?” she asked, pressing her arms against his strong chest, lost in those warm eyes.

His mouth twitched. “Depends on how much you like to be loved.”

She pondered. Then the truth fell from her mouth. “You know what, being loved too much has got to be a whole lot better than di

sappointing people all the time.”

“You’re right, it does.” He lifted his hand to her face, then, his fingers gently sliding across her cheek. “You’re a good woman, Penelope. Don’t let anyone make you believe otherwise.”