Christmas Carol

“I’m sure it was nothing but the wind,” I lie, reaching down to help Carol stand back up.

She looks up at me, confused and still trying to sort it all out in her pretty little head. I can tell all of that from her facial expression and I need to divert her quickly.

“I didn’t think it was that windy,” she says, and she sounds so sad that I’m trying not to feel guilty.

“Hey, are you busy today?”

“Huh?” she asks, looking me in the eyes, clearly surprised. “Well, I have to go into town later. There’s a realtor supposed to meet with me. I’m thinking of buying a small building on Main Street.”

“You’re moving?” I ask, thinking putting up with some old woman’s flowered furniture is going to be a hell of a lot harder to put up with if Carol’s not next door—or in my bed.

“No, I mean not out of my house. My sister and I have a catering business and I’m thinking of opening a place on Main Street. I’m thinking it will help get more clientele,” she explains.

Honestly, I’m trying to pay attention to what she says, but my eyes keep dropping down to the cleavage she has exposed with that tight white shirt she’s wearing. She’s got on red leggings with Christmas trees all over them and a red sweater over her top. Her earrings are Christmas bulbs dangling down for fuck’s sake. Since I hate all things Christmas, she should be making my dick shrink to a size it’s not seen since I was one. That doesn’t happen, however. Instead, my fucking dick seems to get harder.

What in the hell is it about this woman?

“Well, I’ve never owned my on business before, but I’d say it would have to. Where do you run your business at now?”

“Through my sister’s bed and breakfast. She helps with the desserts, but the catering business mostly falls on me. It just doesn’t seem right to take up space she might need—especially since her bed and breakfast is starting to get really popular.”

“Wait? Your sister owns a bed and breakfast?” I question, not quite believing my luck. I’ve heard of a small world, but this is ridiculous.

“Yeah, it’s the only one in town. Kringle’s Bed and Breakfast. Are you okay?”

It might have been the disbelief on my fact that made her wonder if I was okay. It could have been the tint of green that I’m sure invaded my complexion when she gave the name of the bed and breakfast. I’m not sure. What I’m not about to do is to explain that the thought of her having the last name Kringle makes me want to bend her over the porch railing, pull down those ridiculous tree-covered bottoms she’s wearing, pull up her long white shirt, and spank her ass while making her hit every mark on Santa’s naughty list twice.

“Yeah, I have a delivery to take out to the bed and breakfast and it just caught me by surprise is all.”

“You have a delivery for my sister?”

“Yeah, I mean I guess. Shit, Ida Sue told me to take something to her niece that owned a bed and breakfast here, but I kind of spaced on the name and details,” I shrug. “It didn’t matter that much. I just agreed to drop it off. I didn’t figure it’d be that hard to find her with the information I had. I mean, how many bed and breakfasts can a small town like Mistletoe have?” I ask, and although it was purely a rhetorical question, Carol answers.

“We have one. It’s my sister’s though it is in both our names because we wanted it that way. It’s the same way with the catering business, except I’m the main force behind it. Did you say Ida Sue? As in Ida Sue Lucas?”

“Yeah, you know her?”

“I do. My Dad and her talked often. They were distant cousins. After he died, Ida Sue and I swap emails and she always calls me at Christmas. She’s sweet.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is crazy.”

“I don’t think so,” Carol argues.

“Then, you haven’t spent much time with her,” I mutter. “Anyways, maybe the package is for you? Or maybe it’s Krissy. Shit, I don’t know. I’ll have to call and ask her.

“Or you could just look at the presen—”

I hold up my hand so that she doesn’t talk. Her lips smack as she shuts her mouth in surprise. I really want those lips wrapped around my cock…

I’ve already got my phone dialed and hear the ringing in my ear.

“Cyrus? That you? Have you met my pretty little niece yet and gave her my present?”

“Well, Ida Sue, there’s a slight problem,” I tell her, while I wince and rub my forehead in irritation. Ida Sue is going to have my nuts on a barbecue grill when I admit I tuned her out all those times she went on and on about her niece.