Page 29 of Naughty-ish

“Lots of variations of Santas as most of us have that outfit already. Elves. Some angels. But it’s all up for interpretation. You can wear white, wrap yourself in red ribbon, and call yourself a peppermint stick for all I care.”

Would he offer to lick me if I did? I don’t dare ask.

“Okay.” My answer is soft. I’m sleepy and warm. “I’d love to go with you to the party.”

“I forgot to ask about the kids. Would this work?”

“Mitch has the kids this weekend.”

Silence falls between us again and I can’t decipher if the quiet is heavy or speculative. Where would a date lead this time? Is this actually a date, or am I just accompanying him to a fundraiser?

“Then you’ll go with me?”

I want to read hopefulness in his question, but I won’t project my feelings onto him. “Then I’d love to attend.”

“Friday at seven. It’s a date.”

Chapter 7

When Nick picks me up, he’s creatively dressed like a badass Santa, complete with his red velvet pants with white fluffy cuffs, but the suspenders and the tight white Henley make me want to ask to sit on his lap and tell him everything I want.

“A snow woman?” He questions, hitching a brow at my not-quite-so-original outfit, in which I’m wearing a white dress that might be a bit summery for a winter affair, along with a green scarf around my neck and black combat boots I found in the back of my closet. I’m also wearing throwback white tights, and a magician’s top hat from Nash’s stash of dress-up clothes. I’ve even dabbed orange face paint on the tip of my nose, like it’s a carrot.

“That would be Freya the Snowwoman to you.” I pull at the side of my dress and bend my knee for a swift curtsy.

“You look more like a tempting snowball.”

I have no idea if that’s a compliment, so I motion to the bushy clump of leaves with white berries in his hands. “Are those for me?”

“Mistletoe.” He holds the bunch upward. It’s real greenery, not a plastic imitation.

“Thank you.” I reach for the delicate plant but Nick lifts it upward. He taps his cheek, innocently suggesting he’s due a kiss.

Laughing, I place my hands chastely on his shoulders and tip upward, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Relief washes over me that there isn’t awkward tension or bashful eye-avoidance after what we’d done the other night. It’s almost as if it never happened. Nick didn’t call me the next day. Then again, I didn’t call him. A simple text from him confirmed our plans this evening, thoughtfully double-checking that the kids were taken care of for the night. However, the silence between us had me overthinking this evening.

It’s only a fundraiser, I’d often remind myself.

“So where exactly are we going tonight?” I ask as I reach for my coat draped over the back of a chair. Nick takes the coat from me and hands me the mistletoe. While he holds open my jacket, I stare at him. I can’t remember the last time someone held my coat to help me slip it on. The gentlemanly behavior seems so antiquated and yet I’m tickled pink by the gesture.

Once my coat is on, Nick motions his head toward the mistletoe in my hand. “Might want to leave that here. It’d be dangerous to bring it with you.”

“All the boys will want to kiss me?” I tease, wiggling the green bunch at him like its magic or something.

“Probably. Then I’d get into a fight, and we’d be kicked out of the party.” He winks. “But let’s add, I’d want to kiss you myself, and then we’d miss the party.”

He bites his lower lip, eyes roaming my outfit again.

He hasn’t kissed me yet, though. Not a real kiss. Not a kiss that wasn’t camouflage from security.

While I’d love to tell him he can kiss me, and we can skip the festivities tonight, it’s probably better if we leave before I do something that foolish.

+ + +

“You didn’t answer me. Where are we going?”

“Like I said on the phone, it’s a fundraiser called A Snowball’s Chance. It’s a play on snowballs not having a chance in hell. We’re fireman, so hell is our domain. Get it?”