Page 24 of The Mistletoe Mix-up

“Usually not, but you’re with me. Plus, I figured if you try anything hinky, I’ll take you down and cuff you.”

“Hmmm, don’t tease me now,” he said, catching the door when she opened it.

She paused and looked up at him with a straight face and heat in those dark eyes. “I wasn’t.”

Sam’s heart kicked up, staring down at those full lips that curved in the corner before she turned away from him, heading around the corner to the receptionist desk. He dropped the door and followed behind, his imagination running wild as he thought about how much fun getting in trouble with Wren used to be. Would getting in trouble by her be better, especially if it involved handcuffs?

“I was gonna go to my brother’s once I got off,” Wren said, oblivious to the train of his thoughts as she sat down in George’s chair, “but he’s not a great cook. He tries, but I’d rather eat a meal prepared by Victoria.”

Sam took the seat next to her, leaning over her shoulder as she removed the clear wrap. “What if I’d said I made the meal?”

Wren turned, grinning sheepishly. “I may have been a little more skeptical about the edibility of the food.”

“Whoa, why?” Sam asked, aware that their mouths were mere inches apart. “Because I’m a man?”

“Well, my experience and everything I’ve seen on TV tells me that Thanksgiving meals are made by women.”

“You shouldn’t believe everything you see on TV.” He tsked, disappointed when she faced forward to take a bite of her dinner. “That’s just marketing.”

Wren snorted, pointing her plastic fork at him. “No offense, but I trust a woman who’s won at least ten pie contests in her lifetime over a man who used to burn his campfire hot dog.”

“First, I like them well done,” Sam said, remembering that first camping trip when he’d cooked their hot dogs over the fire, and they’d been black on the outside and cold in the middle. They’d both tried gagging them down and eventually gave up, making a meal out of s’mores and each other. “I am highly offended by your assumption that I can’t cook. People can change.”

“You’re right, but I’m not sure you can,” Wren said, taking another bite of the potatoes.

Sam crossed his arms over his chest. “I am gonna have to prove you wrong, now.”

“Oh, was that an offer to cook me dinner?” Wren asked. Her eyes were sparkling, her voice pleasant and even as she added, “If it was, I might just have to accept it, but if you give me food poisoning, I will tase you.”

Her straight expression was so unreadable, Sam couldn’t figure out if she was serious or teasing him.

“No contaminated food is on the menu.”

“Then I’m willing to take that chance.” She spun the chair toward him, leaning on her knees until he had to widen his to make room. “Your place?”

Sam’s stomach flipped with excitement. “Sure. Any food allergies?”

“No, but I’m not a big Chinese food fan.”

He laughed. “Duly noted.”

“Alright,” she said, those beautiful, full lips spread wide into a joyful smile. “Do you need my phone number? That way you can text me your address.”

“Sure.” Sam pulled out his phone and put in her information as she recited it to him, texting her the address before slipping it back in his pocket and meeting her gaze again. “Would seven tomorrow night work?”

“Yeah, I’m off tomorrow, so that will be great.”

“Awesome,” he said, watching her tongue run along her fork, cleaning up the remaining mashed potatoes before she started in on her turkey. “I can’t believe you still eat one thing at a time.”

“I like to enjoy the individual flavors.”

He chuckled at the same time the phone rang. Wren picked it up, pausing to swallow. “Mistletoe Police Department.”

Sam stood up, and when she looked up, he mouthed, I’m going to go, motioning with his thumb.

She nodded and mouthed, Night.

Sam gave her a little wave and walked through the exit, crossing the lobby to the sound of Wren speaking calmly to whomever was on the other end of the line. He had no idea what had made Wren change her mind about him, but he wasn’t going to question the hands of fate.