Lil’ Sis:So you’re it for Taryn.
Lil’ Sis:For help, I mean.
Lil’ Sis:Please don’t hurt her again.
Okay, he was the only help Taryn would have. But the last line bristled. He reread it.
Why would he hurt Taryn?
The cold temperatures, snow, and wreath on the door were long gone. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. Memories of eating dinner, watching holiday movies, drinking eggnog, and kissing—no mistletoe required—would fade, as would ones they created with their newly minted friendship.
Friends.
That would appease his sister. He typed.
Garrett:Thanks for seeing if anyone else could help.
Garrett:I can’t hurt her.
Garrett:Taryn and I are just friends.
Friends who had some explosive chemistry based on when they’d accidentally touched at the bakery, but “friends” didn’t think about past or present kisses. There was no chance for future ones, so those weren’t an issue.
Lil’ Sis:Glad to hear it.
Lil’ Sis:I just want to make sure you wouldn’t screw anything up for the wedding.
Garrett:I’ll be on my best behavior. Promise.
And he would. Garrett only pushed the rules when he knew he could get away with it. He didn’t want to upset Callie or Taryn. Especially her.
Not again.
The truth was, he wished the Taryn he remembered from December would return. That woman had been all sunshine and smiles. It was time to bring out her dimples.
With a goal in mind, Garrett pressed the doorbell.
A chime announced his arrival, and the door opened less than a minute later.
“Hello.” Taryn had changed out of her white baker’s outfit and into a pair of blue shorts and a green T-shirt with paint stains.
He stared at her legs.
Why hadn’t he noticed them before?
They went on forever. Okay, he’d been here in winter when it was snowing, but she should move to a warmer climate so she could show them off year-round.
“Garrett?”
Oops.A friend probably shouldn’t stare at another friend’s legs.
His gaze jerked to her pretty face. No dimples or grin, but those would come. That was why he was here. Couldn’t forget that.
“I’m here. Ready to get started.” He fought the urge to cringe. So much for being an eloquent orator.
Her gaze ran the length of him. Her expression pinched. “You’re not wearing grubbies.”
She wasn’t wrong. His wardrobe came from a high-end department store where a personal shopper selected outfits for him. “This is as casual as I packed.”
