She reached up onto her tiptoes and held the offending piece of mistletoe up as high as she could. “Christmas spirit, see?”
Nicholas looked at me. His eyes were full of amusement, and he didn’t even bother hiding his grin. “She’s not wrong.”
I could not believe she was making money off tricking people to kiss. “I only have to kiss you if we’re under the mistletoe.” I pointed to the sprig that was barely shoulder-high on me smugly. I was not under the mistletoe. I did not have to kiss him.
Those were the rules.
“Do you mind?” Nicholas asked, reaching for the mistletoe.
“Sure, mister. Go ahead.”
He took the sprig from her and held it above our heads.
Now who was the smug one?
Let me tell you—it wasn’t me.
Ugh.
“No,” I said, shaking my head.
“Yes,” he shot back. “It’s over your head. That’s the rules.”
The little girl nodded. “That’s the rules, miss.”
She was irritatingly polite.
Still didn’t like her.
“Nicholas—”
“Oh, come on, Quinn. Is one little peck going to kill you? Are you really going to upset an entrepreneur like this little girl? I, for one, think she’s very smart.”
She puffed up all proud. “I am.”
He glanced at her, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Quinn…”
“Fine,” I ground out. “But I’m never doing this again, and it’s just a peck, understand? No funny business.”
“Understood.” His smirk said otherwise.
Not that I had an option.
Nicholas cupped the side of my face and drew me in, leaning forward to close the distance between us. His lips brushed over mine in the softest, most gentle way, yet every single one of my nerve endings lit up like the Christmas lights that surrounded us.
It was nothing more than a fleeting moment. A little sweep. The barest of touches.
A peck, just like I’d insisted.
Yet it felt like so much more than that.
He pulled back with a smile tugging at his lips and I looked down, hoping my blanket scarf would hide the worst of the burning that was happening in my cheeks now.
The little girl grinned as she took back her dreadful mistletoe and tucked it into her purse. “Merry Christmas, and thank you for your business, mister!”
“Merry Christmas.” Nicholas fought a laugh, and I peered over in time to see her hop off her little plastic stepping stool, tuck it under her arm, and run off to see if she could snag another victim.
“I can’t believe I was just manipulated into kissing you by a child,” I muttered, hunching my shoulders.
“I know. This is the best day ever.”
“Shut up.”
“Don’t act like you didn’t like it.”
“I didn’t like it,” I mumbled. “It was dreadful.”
He wrapped one arm around my shoulders and leaned in. “Yeah, really looks like you hated it. Can I warm my hands on your cheeks, or are they your own personal heater?”
“Oh, piss off!”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“You can’t do that,” I said to Gramps, watching as he tipped half a bottle of some unidentifiable liquor into the bowl of eggnog.
“Why not?”
“It’s eight-thirty in the morning!”
“And? That’s the perfect time to start drinking.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Gramps, please. Mom is really stressed right now, and she doesn’t need you singing Christmas carols with your ukulele before noon.”
“Can I drink it if I promise not to do that?”
“I’m not bargaining with you. You’re eighty. Why are you spiking eggnog anyway?”
“Because Jazzy keeps singing and narrating her entire life, your dad thinks he’s dying, your mom is yelling at everyone, and your sister keeps ringing some little fucking bell she’s bought like she’s some kind of old British aristocrat and has an army of servants to wait on her hand and foot.”
Well.
It was a little hard to argue with that.
As far as reasoning went, he had a pretty solid little monologue.
He should have been a lawyer.
“I can’t argue with it,” I replied after a second, sighing.
“Look, Quinn,” Gramps said quietly. “I know she’s struggling a lot this year, but I can’t really help her. I mind Jazzy as much as I can, but she’s so full of energy, and I can’t move as fast as I used to. And there’s only so many times you can watch The Grinch before you start to hate the fact he became good again.”
My lips twitched. “I know, Gramps. I wish I could be here more for her, but the grotto is opening early now. I think today is our last afternoon opening until the grotto closes on Christmas Eve. Just… please don’t upset Mom.”
“Who needs to not upset Mom?” Verity hobbled into the living room, the very bell Gramps had mentioned in her hand. “What’s going on in here?”
“I’m taking that.” I plucked the bell from her hand before she could react. “This is mine now.”
“What? I need that!”
“No, you don’t.” I stared at her. “Mom is trying to run the house and look after everyone, plus do the photos for the grotto, and you sitting up there like you’re on your deathbed ringing this bell isn’t going to help her. There’s no reason why you can’t open your laptop and print those photos for her while you’re lying there in bed doing nothing, expecting everyone to look after you when you are perfectly capable of fetching your own water or snacks or books or whatever it is you want.”