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“And she’s practically sunshine in a sundress. I’m losing my goddamn mind.” I run my fingers through my hair as if to showcase the point. “I know this is all some sort of cover, like she has a nefarious plot to snuff me out before I can leave a bad review or something.”
Peter shakes his head at me. “Oh, my sweet, naïve little brother... You’re in a mess—that’s for sure. Let me tell you what’s actually going to happen.” He leans in closer, so I mimic his movements. “You’re going to fall in love with this woman and stay in Christmas Key forever.”
“It’s Candy Cane Key,” I reply robotically before realizing what he said and sputtering. “That’snevergoing to happen!”
Peter starts laughing so hard he doubles over.
Fed up with him, I huff, “Goodbye, Peter, you devious dolt,” before hanging up.
I lay my phone face down on the desk and try to refocus on my laptop. I have my manuscript open in front of me, but my cursor is just blinking back at me—mocking me—as I try to come up with the next sentence to write. As I’m thinking of how to continue with the scene, the smell of cinnamon wafts into my room, distracting me. Teddie must be baking. Again.
Why does she have to do this every day? How does she expect me to write under these distracting conditions?
Finally fed up, I push away from the desk and stand. I stride with purpose into the kitchen, where I see her standing with her back to me. She’s humming a song I don’t recognize, but I’m sure it’s Christmas themed.
“What’s in the oven?” I demand.
She stops humming and turns around. Our gazes meet, and her wide, disarming smile causes me to falter. Sparkling blue eyes crinkle at the corners, and I swear my heart stops beating in my chest.
It’s so unfair. How can someone so annoying be so attractive?
“Snickerdoodles!” she replies gleefully.
Trying to focus, I shake my head and cross my arms over my chest. “Didn’t you bake oatmeal chocolate chip cookies yesterday?”
She raises an eyebrow. “Yes.”
“And weren’t there some kind of meringue cookies the day before that?”
“Good memory,” she quips, leaning against the counter.
“And the second day I was here, you made… What were they? Hidden Kiss cookies, right?”
Her lips twitch up. “Yes. I’m starting to think you didn’t read any of my terms before booking. It clearly saysfresh-baked cookies every day.”
I figured she would do it often, butevery day?I’m unable to stop the next word from tumbling out of my mouth. “Why?”
She shrugs like it’s no big deal to constantly be whipping up homemade goods. “Because my guests like fresh cookies.”
I throw my arms out in front of me. “Nope. Nuh-uh. I’m not buying it.”
“What do you mean?” Her brow wrinkles. “I thought you liked my cookies.”
“I do.” When she starts to smile again, I backtrack. “I mean, I’m sure anyone with tastebuds likes your cookies, but thereisa possibility of too much of a good thing.”
Teddie ignores the fact I complimented and insulted her in one breath. “Well, most guests don’t stay an entire month.”
“Most guests aren’t under a soul-crushing deadline. Which brings me to my next question—”
She groans. “Lord, here we go.”
I disregard her adorable snark. “I heard you in the kitchen this morning. Around seven? Is that a normal occurrence?”
“Yes.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m an early riser. Should I add that as a warning on the VRBO listing too?”
I push back my shoulders and ignore the way Teddie’s eyes momentarily flicked to my chest. “Possibly. You wake up early every day?”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
