And everything was worse with Matt.
“Are you spying on me?” I screeched when he opened the door.
“Are you baking another terrible cheesecake?” he retorted.
“You have some nerve ruining my bake-off chances and then showing up in my shop to insult me,” I yelled, barely even registering the ginormous St. Bernard that ambled into the shop because I was so focused on my hatred of Matt. I snatched the pan of cookies back.
“And don’t even think of asking for one of these. Christmas-hating Scrooge McDucks don’t deserve a cookie.”
“Stop calling me a duck,” Matt snarled.
“You are a Scrooge McDuck, complete with the top hat, the monocle, and the bad attitude. And you’re a loser bake-off partner.”
Olivia, who had been silently eating cookies and watching my disaster of a life ratchet down to a worse level, suddenly yelled, “Don’t!”
I turned in time to be hit in the face with the broken rubber band that had popped off the cabinet, where I had been keeping all my possessions. And that damn book.
“No!” I yelled as I swan dove to keep the book from falling out of the cupboard.
I didn’t make it far. I was a baker, not an athlete. I landed several feet away. The dog barked in excitement as my sleeping bag, my clothes, and my extra candles cascaded out of the overstuffed cabinet in an avalanche of all my terrible life choices.
And on top was the book.
“How to Grow Your… what kind of book is that?” Matt looked horrified. He picked it up. “You were serious?” He shook the book at me.
“You may probably want to not touch that,” Olivia said gingerly, handing him a tea towel. “This was a used book. Probably well used by the various seniors in the town.”
Matt dropped it on the floor like an over-microwaved hot pocket. Not that I had done that before and also not that I had eaten said hot pocket off the floor, but if I had, don’t judge me.
“Kringle, don’t. That’s disgusting.”
The dog was licking the book. Matt grabbed his collar and tried to pull him back.
I totally wasn’t drooling over how the muscles on his arm bulged in his thin short-sleeved workout shirt. I had just hit my head when I swan dove on the floor. I totally didn’t find Matt Frost attractive. Nope, not one bit.
I tried to rise.
“You have a dog named Kringle?” Olivia asked.
Kringle barked.
“You can’t have a St. Bernard named Kringle,” I insisted as Olivia helped drag me to my feet. I’d had a hard day and a lot to drink. “I’m the person who loves Christmas; that should be my dog.”
“I would say you could have him, but you are clearly homeless,” Matt said, now trying to keep the dog from eating the cookies cooling on the counter. His abs flexed under the tight shirt.
Really, they ought to make those super-tight shirts illegal.
I wonder how it would feel to run my hands all down that chest…watching him take that shirt off in one smooth motion…
“Do you need to go to the hospital?” Olivia whispered. “You look a little glassy-eyed.”
“She needs to move out of here,” Matt said, nudging my sleeping bag with his foot.
Kringle flopped down on my stuff as Matt turned his icy gaze to me.
“You are not allowed to live here.”
“I pay rent,” I protested. “Well, I have every intention of paying rent. I can do whatever I want in my space.”
