Page 27 of Coming for Her Grumpy Boss

“Efficient,” I counter. “Two birds, one tree.”

She laughs, shakes her head, and tugs my hand toward the couch. We sink into the cushions, legs tangled, cocoa back within reach. She tucks her toes under my thigh like it’s something she does every night. That slight movement does something to me. As if my own internal infrastructure is rearranging itself.

“What’s the story with the garland ban?” she asks, nodding toward the NO GLITTER label.

“It’s really more about the stringy bits than the actual glitter. We had a cat when I was growing up. Damn thing loved to eat strings and ribbons and anything that resembled the two. One Christmas led to an emergency surgery, and we had a family vow that year.”

“And the kitty?”

“Still living, which in and of itself is a miracle. He’s like nineteen now, I think.”

“Good rule, then.”

“It would seem.”

“I can see you with cats.”

“Multiple?”

“Well, whatever your preference. But you have cat energy. That false aloofness, that dissolves into demands for belly rubs,” she says.

“I have never once demanded you rub my belly.”

“There’s still time,” she says with a grin.

“Okay, I shared a Christmas memory, give me one of yours.”

Her eyes move to look at the Christmas tree, and she starts to giggle. “I was seven and Esme was five. One of our aunts brought us this stuffed singing reindeer. That thing was terrifying. It made Esme cry. So I hid it in a closet, but the damn batteries wouldn’t die. That thing would randomly shriek ‘Jingle Bells’ at all hours. It was annoying, but by the second day, even Esme was laughing.”

“That… explains so much about you,” I say.