Trooper scoffed.
“Whatever you say, brother. But I call dibs on being your best man. Hell, you should probably name your first kid after me, too—”
I hung up on him with a growl, stuffing my phone back into my pocket.
Chapter three
Riley
Juniper Creek is a small town, so I knew I was bound to run into Chett eventually. That’s the whole reason I hired Nitro to begin with. But seeing him at the town hall last night rattled me more than I liked. We didn’t even speak to each other, and I still felt like my blood was full of buzzing bees.
When my alarm went off the following morning, I was tempted to burrow under the covers and hide instead. It was toasty warm and safe in my nest of blankets and pillows.
Then the echo of Nitro’s voice echoed in my mind.
Keep living your life. It pisses off guys like him. Trust me.
I smiled to myself, remembering the way he called me twinkletoes. I always wanted a cute pet name, but Chett refused and scoffed at the idea, claiming they were stupid.
The steel in Nitro’s words gave me the boost I needed to get out of bed and brave the day.
“Good morning,” I chirped. Emerging from the bedroom, I twisted my hair up into a messy bun, tying the sash of my fluffy candy cane striped robe at my waist.
Nitro sat up from the couch with a grumble. He had refused to use my guest room, insisting that the couch was a more central location in the house I rented. And he didn’t get much rest on the job anyway.
It was strange to realize that a man I barely knew slept in my house and I hadn’t felt a single flicker of concern about him. The man I was actually worried about was the one I’d dated for five years.
“I should have known you’re one of those perky early birds,” Nitro said, running a hand through his hair.
Despite just waking up, he still looked put-together, ready to act at a moment’s notice. Wearing dark jeans and that snug-fitting black T-shirt.
I busied myself making coffee and breakfast—pumpkin pie toaster strudel, to go.
“Judging by your tone, it seems you don’t approve.” I turned around and leaned back against the counter, crossing my arms as I tilted my head. “Don’t tell me you hate Christmas, too. If that’s true, I might have to find another bodyguard. We’re simply not compatible, I’m afraid,” I said with a dramatic sigh.
“As a matter of fact,” he replied. “I go all-out for Christmas at my place. My nieces can vouch for me.”
I squinted at him, trying to imagine tough and tatted Nitro wearing an ugly Christmas sweater. How many nieces did he have? Did he join in their tea parties and pretend to sip from tiny pink cups? Or were they older girls who called on their scary uncle to keep their boyfriends in line?
“I’ll have to see some photographic evidence of that,” I said. “Otherwise, no pictures means it didn’t happen and you’re just pulling my leg.”
Nitro chuckled.
“Nice try. I play my cards close to the vest, twinkletoes.”
A grin spread across my face at the nickname. I couldn’t stop smiling, all the way to work, and I even hummed a few notes of my favorite Christmas songs, too.
My shift flew by as it always does when I lose myself in decorating cakes. There’s something soothing about the rhythm and swirl of the icing. The finer details, like delicate ribbons and winter roses, could easily preoccupy me for days if I had the time.
Then a familiar voice spoke and chilled my blood cold.
“I always told you that your place was in the kitchen.”
Lifting my head, I spotted Chett on the opposite side of the room.
“How the hell did you get in here?” I demanded.
“Delivery driver at the back door,” he replied with a shrug, like the answer was obvious. “You guys should really be more careful about vetting the people you work with. He just let me in, easy peasy.”
