Page 23 of The Mistletoe Mix-up

George cocked a bushy eyebrow. “That depends. You looking for someone in particular?”

Sam chuckled. “I am, actually. Your only female officer.”

“Of course you are,” George said, wagging his finger at him. “I remember the two of you playing kissy-face before my class and showing up late.”

“Can you blame me, sir?” Sam asked, leaning on the counter.

“No, I don’t. Lovely girl, inside and out.” George pointed his thumb behind him. “She’s just in the back. We had a fight break out over who could cook the Thanksgiving turkey at the Marksons’. She had to separate Tony and Troy Markson, so it might take a few more minutes if you want to have a seat in reception.”

“I can do that.” Sam figured that George couldn’t let a civilian wander around with sensitive case files and such, so he took hold of the door and went back out into the lobby to wait.

“I’ll let her know you’re here.” George shuffled out of sight, and Sam awkwardly paced in the reception area. Would she be irritated about him bugging her at work? Sam figured since he was already there, they could at least have a conversation.

Sam discreetly blew into his hand, smelling his breath. Maybe he should pop into the bathroom and make sure he didn’t have anything in his teeth.

Sam laughed, rubbing his hand over his face. Shit, where was the confident ladies’ man Mistletoe kept talking about?

George reappeared and sat down at his desk, picking up his book. “I let her know.”

“Thanks, George.” Sam sat down, pulling his phone out. He scrolled through his apps, tapping on a dating one he hadn’t checked out in a while. He swiped his thumb through the newest profiles closest to him, and his gaze lingered on one of a woman with her back to the camera in a little nightie, her blond hair falling like a waterfall down her back. He barely got through her tagline before he heard a thump and looked up.

Wren appeared at the back of the room, shutting the jail cell door with a thud. She was heading toward George, releasing a heavy breath.

“I swear, George, the things men choose to compete over is wild.”

“Hmm, don’t throw all men under the bus. Those two have never had a lick of sense.”

Wren laughed. “I believe it.” She finally caught Sam’s gaze, and her face broke into a wide smile. “Hey!”

“Happy Thanksgiving,” Sam murmured.

As she stepped through the door and into the lobby, Sam’s gaze trailed over her blond hair swept back away from her face in a tight bun, drawing attention to her flushed, round cheeks and pointed chin. Her face was fuller now, more mature, but her skin was still smooth, her brown eyes large and luminous.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” she said, stopping in front of him with her hands holding on to her vest. “What are you doing here?”

“I brought food for everybody from Victoria and Chris Winters.”

“And then he asked for you specifically,” George said.

Sam’s face burned. “Thanks, George.”

“Just delivering the message.” George picked up his book and called out, “I’m going to grab a plate and take my break. You got the front?”

“Sure, George.” George waved at Sam with his book, and he spotted the old man’s wink before he disappeared.

Sam pointed after George. “That is a good man.”

“He is.” Wren shook her head with a smile. “I don’t know how he reads those crime novels working in a police station.”

“Makes him feel like he’s a part of the action?” Sam suggested.

“Maybe. Thank you for bringing us food.”

“Sure,” Sam said, shrugging. “I was at the Winters’ house, and they asked someone to drop the food by.”

“Well, George and I appreciate it.” Wren waved toward the receptionist window. “Want to come back here and sit with me while I eat?”

“I figured civilians weren’t allowed behind the glass curtain,” he said, grinning.