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“I’d run inside.” She nibbles her bottom lip.
“Yes, but I get it.”
“You do?”
“Sure. You have these quirks, differences that I lo—” I stop myself. “That I really like about you.”
“Youlikemy differences?”
“You’re a homebody like me, you’re meticulous, dedicated, creative, and you never give up. All those qualities rolled into one woman—plus you’re fucking gorgeous—what man wouldn’t want to get your attention?”
She blushes and looks over at Charlie and Mrs. Claws grooming each other. “I thought you didn’t like me and that’s why you kept trying to compete.” She adds quickly, “Not that it’s a competition.”
“Of course I want to compete.” I laugh. “How else could I get your attention?”
She seems to think about my words for a bit, her gaze far off.
“Hey, come on. I’ve set everything up, and the griddle is hot. Sit at the bar and watch me work.” I lead her to the granite bar that runs along the sunny side of my kitchen.
She sits. “So, you don’t even like Christmas?”
“I wouldn’t say that.” I pour the pancake batter in the shape of a Christmas tree on the hot griddle.
Her eyes light up. “You do shapes. Christmas shapes!”
“Wait ‘till I do the snowflake.” I shoot her a grin and flip on the pan with the bacon.
“You really did all those lights just to get my attention?” She leans back, her hands folded in front of her.
“Yes,” I answer with no hesitation, then flip the pancake. It’s golden and perfect.
Reaching over, I flip off the burner with the pot of chocolate, then grab a large coffee mug. The bacon sizzles as I pour her a cup of the brown goodness and add a hefty dose of marshmallows on top.
“For you.” I slide it to her and grab my cup of coffee before flipping the bacon.
She tastes it, then takes an even bigger drink.
“Don’t burn your tongue.” I pour another Christmas tree onto the griddle.
“This is so good, and it has like a little, um, a little kick to it?”
“Mexican chocolate.” I nod. “A bit of spice that doesn’t hit you until after, and it makes you warm and tingly.”
“I’m definitely warm and tingly.” She drops her eyes, her cheeks going up in crimson beauty again.
“Me too.” I continue making pancakes and pour her another hot chocolate once she’s drained her cup and devoured the marshmallows.
“I should probably be weirded out that you went to all the trouble of decorating your yard just to catch my eye.”
“Probably,” I agree easily and drain the extra-crispy bacon, then crack two eggs into the grease.
“I mean, that’s sort of stalkerish, right?” She sips her chocolate slower now, savoring it.
“Would a stalker cook you a delicious breakfast?” I flip another pancake.
“I don’t know. I’ve never had one before.”
“A delicious breakfast or a stalker?” I deadpan.
