Page 14 of Not Home Alone

She slow-blinks at me while cradling the bottle of Witbier in her arms as if protecting it from me. “You also have a reputation for ruining things, though, you know?”

“If ‘ruining things’ is a euphemism for breaking hearts, you should know that the first rule of investing is don’t get emotionally attached to your investments.”

Now she’s basically choking the neck of the beer bottle. “Wow. You mastered that one even before you graduated from boarding school.” The vitriol in her voice as those words come out of her sweet mouth…

I’m kind of impressed, actually. Shrugging, I take a pull from my beer. “Sometimes doing the right thing looks like the wrong thing to people who don’t have all the information.”

“Oh, I had all the information I will ever need. And nobody said anything about a broken heart. I was talking about a ruined theater production. When you don’t do what was rehearsed, you’re letting down the entire cast and crew!” She slams her bottle down on the counter. “That’s it—I’m leaving a review on Airbnb. You’re a terrible host.” She holds up her phone and taps open an app.

I calmly set my beer down and easily swipe the phone from her. “You must attempt to resolve issues with management first or you risk a low guest rating.”

“Okay! I’ll call Colin right now. Give me back my phone.”

I hold it up in the air. “You’re being a problematic guest.”

She comes right up to me and jumps, trying to grab her phone from my outstretched hand. Gasping and grunting and basically climbing me as she attempts to retrieve it. Parts of her are touching parts of me. If I’m being honest, I would give her a five-star rating for being hot and driving me crazy right now.

“Ooooh!” she says, grinning up at me with those big, dark eyes. I’ve never noticed how evil they are. “Are you hiding the welcome salami in your pants or are you just thrilled to see me?”

She is fully leaning into me now.

I could tilt my head down and kiss her if I wanted to. Despite everything I did all those years ago, something is telling me she wants me closer. She wants me to kiss her. But I won’t.

Because I wouldn’t be able to stop.

And then I’d just have to break her heart again. So instead, I clench my jaw, hold her gaze, lower my arm, and hand her the phone.

Then I take a step back.

She’s breathing heavily, and I can’t tell if she’s infuriated or frustrated or both.

Probably both.

“I’m going upstairs,” we both say at the same time.

“I’ll let you go up first,” I say, graciously offering her the half-full welcome basket and placing the bottle of Witbier in it. “Enjoy your one-night stay, madam.”

Her fingers brush against the side of mine as she gently takes the basket handle into her hand and curtsies. “Enjoy your trouser sausage, good sir.”

FIVE

MERRILY

I honestly can’t believe that monster ate half of my welcome basket, but this cheese is very good, and the craft beer is excellent.

It’s nice to drink ale that was locally micro-brewed and eat cheese from cows that were pastured in my home state again. I’d feel a little more welcome in my home state if my welcome basket hadn’t been pillaged by a rich, entitled asshat who ruins everything. And okay, I would feel a lot more welcome in my home state if I had the option of staying in the house I grew up in.

But it’s fine.

Everything will be fine.

It’s not that big of a deal that Grant Moody, of all people, is here in the Home Alone House. It’s not even a huge deal that he temporarily made Christmas disappear. Tomorrow, I’ll make him disappear. I’ll get really creative and decorate the shit out of this place. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside thinking about how much he’ll hate it. If that doesn’t send him packing, I’ll set up booby traps all over the house. And by that, I mean I’ll trap him with my actual boobs because he seems pretty terrified of them. And then he’ll release himself. I mean, I’ll release him. I mean, he’ll leave. He doesn’t have to go home, but he can’t stay here.

No guy who looks that good in a suit, and that good out of a suit, and has that defined of a jawline, and talks that smooth, and has that big of a yule log in his pants is good for any woman. Thank god, I can remain so logical around him now. I am so lucky I now have the good sense to know that a man is who he says he is. Plain and simple. And Grant Moody is the first person to admit that he’s a dickhead.

But I can’t believe I called the bulge in his pants a salami. To his face! I am not the kind of girl who refers to male appendages as any kind of meat. He just brings out the worst in me. Which is kind of sad because there was a moment in time when he brought out some wonderful, bold, sexy version of me that no one else ever got to see. Before or since. Which is probably for the best. I’m just not me when I’m with him. And it turned out he wasn’t really him when he was with me ten years ago either. So, I guess we’re even.

I’m about to turn on my nighttime Christmas playlist, when there’s a confident, some would say “cocky” knock at the door.