Page 58 of The Naughty List Agreement

“This is my second time here.”

“Don’t read too much into it.”

“Oh, I’m reading everything into it,” he said. “Mind if I take over your kitchen?”

“Why?”

“I make a mean gingerbread that will soothe your nerves and make you forget whatever it is that you’re worrying about.”

And that was how she found herself perched on a stool at her own kitchen island while Nick rolled up his sleeves and started gathering ingredients from her pantry.

Most people wouldn’t notice anything more than that there was a stand mixer on the countertop. Nick wouldn’t guess that she’d scrimped and saved for it and had started testing out recipes so she could figure out a way to make the Winter Wonderland stand out from all the other December festivals. To him it was just a normal kitchen.

“Want to help me?”

He was leaning indolently in the doorway leading to her pantry, the strong muscles in his thighs drawing her gaze and his thick chestnut hair falling over his forehead. He needed a haircut—mostly so she wouldn’t be so consumed with wishing she could grab his hair in her fist as she urged him on.

It was just hair. On the head of a guy who irked her. Except he didn’t. Not anymore. She wasn’t sure when that had changed, but it had started when he’d presented his toy to the board and saved her bacon.

Gratitude always seemed to imply a debt in her mind. Like she had to pay him back. What would he ask of her?

“Is it really such a tough decision for you?” he asked, walking toward her with a long, languid stride.

He was too at ease in her kitchen. He took up too much space with those broad shoulders of his.

Her insides were melting like a chocolate bar in a hot car and his eyes were such a bright blue that they mesmerized her. Damn it all.

“Of course I’ll help.” Entering her pantry, she asked, “I don’t know the recipe. What do you need?”

He lifted one eyebrow, giving her a roguish smile. You, his look suggested. I need you. There was such a wicked heat between them as they gathered the dry ingredients from among the neatly arranged jars of spices and canisters of sugar, flour, and baking soda. Once they were back in the kitchen, she took out the wet ingredients from the fridge without being told.

“Seems like you know the recipe by heart as well. Tsk tsk, lying this close to Christmas … not a good idea.”

“Worried about me making the Nice List?” she teased, getting down a mixing bowl for him to put the dry ingredients in.

“Aren’t you?” he asked.

“Nah, Santa’s got a soft spot for me.”

The intensity in his eyes when he looked at her made her smile. He really took this Santa Claus stuff seriously. It made him easy to needle.

“What makes you think so? Also, I thought you didn’t believe in Santa.”

“I don’t. But you do,” she said, coming closer.

“Is that influencing you?” he asked. “Belief is one powerful catalyst, shaping possibilities and showing a believer a world they’ve never seen before.”

That was beautiful. Nick’s philosophies were so different from hers. He made her want to live in the world that he saw. She tried to cling to her own cynicism, but it was hard in the face of his conviction.

“You have the kind of courage I lack,” she admitted. “You see, I need proof.”

Nick stopped measuring ingredients and gestured to the window where the snow fell softly, illuminated by the Christmas lights on her neighbors’ homes. “The proof is all around. You only have to open your heart and your eyes to see it.”

CHAPTER 15

Opening her eyes to simple magic—the kind that couldn’t be bought in a store but came from quiet moments like this. He associated gingerbread with Ana, and if anyone understood the true meaning of Christmas, it was his sister.

“This was my sister’s favorite,” he told her as he finished mixing the dough and turned it out onto the counter that she’d floured for him. He kneaded the dough a little and then they set about cutting out gingerbread people. Her well-stocked pantry had provided M&Ms, red hots and spice drops. Seeing them made him laugh.