He backs me toward the leather sofa, and I glance up to see we’re positioned directly under one of the strategically placed sprigs.
“Mistletoe?” I ask against his lips.
“Holiday tradition,” he murmurs.
“That’s some thorough holiday decorating on your part.”
“I believe in being prepared.”
Oh, not this again,Cricket mewls from next to the fire, her tail twitching with feline displeasure.Can’t Hattie and Killion engage in mating rituals in private? Some of us are trying to enjoy the warmth in peace.
I love Dad’s cookies!Rookie barks with glee after discovering the plate on the coffee table.These are even better than the ones at the country club! Can I have another one? Can I? Can I?
“The pets are protesting,” I point out, though I’m not making any effort to move away from him.
“The pets have terrible timing,” he replies, his lips finding that spot just below my ear that makes my heart go boom. “Rookie, I baked you a batch without chocolate chips and they’re next to your dog dish.”
COOKIES!he barks with glee.
Killion and I get right back to the important business of joining our lips together once again. And this time, we have no intention of parting.
This is highly inappropriate behavior in a shared living space,Cricket continues her commentary.I don’t understandwhy Hattie and Killion can’t simply announce their intentions and proceed with efficiency.
More cookies!Rookie adds, apparently having decided that if the humans are going to be distracted, he might as well take advantage.Dad makes the best cookies in the entire world!
“Rookie approves of your baking skills,” I say, as his enthusiastic tail-wagging threatens to knock over a lamp.
“He has excellent taste.” Killion pulls me down onto the sofa with him.
“Unlike Cricket, who’s clearly a critic,” I say with a wink as I look at her.
I’m a realist,Cricket huffs.Some of us maintain standards.
The kiss that follows makes me forget about pet commentary, murder investigations, and a solid chunk of the English language. Somewhere, my mother is sensing inappropriate behavior from three towns over, and silently willing me to keep both feet on the floor.
“So,” I say when we finally come up for air, “it’s a date at the bakery.”
“It’s a date,” he confirms, and then he’s kissing me again, thoroughly serious about this whole mistletoe situation.
Sometimes the best investigations start with the simplest invitations—and sometimes the most dangerous thing you can do is say yes to a man who knows exactly how to use mistletoe to his advantage.
CHAPTER 17
The next afternoon finds me trudging through the snow toward North Pole Confectionery with my own personal crime-fighting entourage.
The air smells like fresh snow and wood smoke from nearby chimneys, while the scent of fresh-baked bread and cinnamon rolls does its best to hypnotize me. Christmas carols drift from speakers mounted outside the shop, competing with the gentle hum of afternoon traffic and the crunch of footsteps from holiday shoppers on the sidewalk.
I still don’t understand why we couldn’t stay home by the fire,Cricket complains from her tote bag, her head poking out as she frowns at the scenery.This investigation could have been conducted via telephone.
But think of all the treats!Rookie gives a lively bark as he strains against his leash with excitement.I can smell cookies and bread and something that might be bacon from three blocks away!
Killion walks beside me, relaxed and perfectly aware this is about to become an investigation disguised as a date. And yetthe man has a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth that suggests he’s got his own agenda for this little bakery visit.
“You know,” he says, “this is nice. Just the two of us, no murder clubs, no suspicious lingerie boutiques?—”
“Well, well, well,” a familiar voice interrupts. “Looks like someone’s conducting field research without her primary suspect.”
Peyton pops out from behind a parked car like she’s been lying in wait, which, based on her pink cheeks and general rage, she has. She’s bundled in a coat entirely too ritzy for someone currently crouching behind a sedan, and she’s glaring at me like I’ve committed a personal offense by not inviting her to the eleven A.M. ambush she’s clearly been planning.
