Big Package

by Wilder, Blake

  It didn’t matter a bit that I’d thought the same thing when I’d first seen it.

  This asshole did not get to disparage this store. Or this town where this store had been in business for years. Or the people who loved this store. Or my damned magnificent, holy-shit-I-didn’t-even-know-I-could-decorate-a-tree-like-that Christmas trees.

  Okay, I was bitter. That peony tree was the very definition of fucking class. “Nostalgia sells. It’s part of the Holly Jolly Seed and Feed brand. Have you looked at the profit and loss statements?” The ones I had painstakingly inputted into software for this meeting, straight off of Lydia’s paper records. It had taken two entire days.

  “Of course.” He didn’t elaborate.

  “The people of this town love this store,” I tried. “I’m sure you understand that when new ownership takes over a business that’s an integral part of a community, immediate, sweeping changes don’t exactly endear the new owners to the customers they’ll depend on.”

  Hint, fucking hint, asshole. You need these people. You have to make them like you.

  Not that I’d exactly embraced that idea at first. But the people of North Pole were impossible not to like, and somehow, they’d come to like me too.

  Everyone had commented on how great my trees were.

  After a mere twenty minutes and taking several photos, the two of them nodded and held out their hands for me to shake. “Thank you for your time.”

  In other words, suck it. I could tell from their body language and lack of questions they had no intention of making an offer.

  Frustrated and, honestly, sad and a little astonished that these people hadn’t been able to see the quirky charm here, I patted the reindeer one by one. “I’ll fly you back to L.A. before I let those bastards hurt you,” I murmured to poor Alan Jackson.

  Then I went to the checkout area. Ignoring store owner convention, I jumped up on the counter and reached below for a package of Jaden’s Goldfish crackers. I listened to Elvis Presley croon about having a Blue Christmas and ate each cracker fish in three tiny bites—tail first, then the head, then the middle. What I really wanted was a glass of wine. Okay—a bottle of wine.

  When I’d spoken to Todd on the phone, I’d really thought he and his business partner/father were interested. After all, the two of them had traveled all the way from Indianapolis to see the place. I’d seen Lydia’s books, and I knew the Holly Jolly Feed and Seed would be a solid investment for anyone. The store had operated in the black since its first year of existence, and it even turned a tidy profit annually. Granted that profit hadn’t gone up, as much as remained steady, but that didn’t mean someone with a head for business couldn’t find ways to earn even more.

  I’d come up with some of my own marketing plans over the past few days as I fixed up the Christmas side, like offering wreath making classes and children’s craft classes. Not that I’d be around long enough to implement them.

  My own business had suffered a little over the last week and a half, but it was important to me to give Lydia’s legacy the attention it deserved. For more than the mercenary original reason I’d had—to turn the biggest profit possible. Now it was to ensure longevity for the store.

  I bit the tail off another Goldfish grumpily. I reached into the bag for another cracker, depressed when I realized it was empty. Fucking snack packs. I swear it only had four crackers in it.

  “Hello?”

  I recognized Joe’s voice instantly, but for the first time since meeting the sexy lumberjack/carpenter, it failed to cheer me up. If anything, it made me feel worse. I knew him now. Intimately. Like I did this store. And I really kind of had the hots for both.

  It was way more satisfying to serve the customers here than it was in L.A. I felt appreciated.

  As for Joe? He made me feel very, very appreciated.

  Joe had entered on the Feed and Seed side, and he crossed the threshold into the Christmas store.

  “Paris,” he said, walking toward me. “How did it go?”

  I made a face. I crumpled up the cracker bag and tossed it in the direction of the wastebasket. I missed.

  Joe gave me a curious gaze. “Meeting went that well, huh?”

  I laughed, even as I shook my head. “Nope,” I said. “You may find this surprising, but those big city slickers were not impressed with the Holly Jolly Feed and Seed.”

  Joe leaned against the counter. “California girl is calling the dudes from Indianapolis city slickers?”

  “It’s called sarcasm. They thought they were all that, and they don’t know shit about business, clearly. Don’t they understand how delightful this store is? Don’t they understand that Lydia had the sense to understand she was creating the narrative of a brand?”

  “I don’t even know what that means, but I’m not surprised they didn’t get it.”

  “It’s about people. A sense of community. It’s not about just supplying feed. We’ve got Elvis singing on one side and...” I paused, struggling to hear. “And Toby Keith singing ‘Red Solo Cup’ over there. This place is amazing.”

  I expected an answer, so when all that greeted me was silence, I peered over at Joe, trying to figure out what his expression meant.

  Was he disappointed to find the buyers hadn’t made an offer? Relieved?

  No. In truth, he looked aroused.

  “What?” I asked when he didn’t say anything.

  “Do you have any idea how fucking sexy you are when you’re being passionate about something? Especially something that means so much to me?”

  Nine

  Joe

  I was never going to get enough of her.

  That wasn’t how this was supposed to go. At first, I was supposed to just avoid her, ignore her. Then I’d decided that I’d just have to put up with her. That had lasted about three days. Then it was supposed to just be a casual, for fun, superhot fling. That also had lasted about, oh, maybe twelve hours.

  I almost laughed at that. Who was I kidding? I’d been falling for her before I’d even seen her naked. The casual part had never been real.

  I could say that that was par for the course for me. I did tend to fall hard. But damn, I would have never seen it coming with a California girl and definitely not this fast. It had never happened this quickly before.

  Paris was biting her bottom lip, looking at me with wide eyes. She was actually upset because the potential buyers hadn’t liked the store. Not because she wasn’t going to make a sale. It was because they hadn’t loved this place the way she did.

  She loved the Holly Jolly.

  I loved that she loved the Holly Jolly.

  I also wanted to make her happy again. I didn’t like seeing her sad like this.

  “Does that mean you have an idea about how to make me feel better?” she asked, batting those big eyes at me. “Because those Goldfish didn’t do much for me.”

  “I have the perfect way to make you feel better.”

  She smiled at me and slid off the stool. She came to stand right in front of me, tipping her head back to meet my gaze. “Oh, I know you do. That is definitely what I need.”

  I knew what she was thinking, and it was, of course, pretty much what I was thinking too. It was what I was always thinking when we were together, it seemed.

  Sure, stripping her down, licking her from head to toe, and then fucking her until neither of us could walk a straight line would make her feel good.

  But I could do even better than that.

  “Come on.” I reached for her coat—such that it was—and held it out for her.

  She gave me a puzzled little smile but stepped back and put her arm through a sleeve. Once she was bundled up, I moved to the wall panel behind the front counter and shut off all the lights. Except for the Christmas lights that stayed on all the time. Hey, some stores had security lights. We had strings of red, blue, green, and orange lights that hung from the false ceiling over our version of Santa’s village. Then I returned to Paris and tucked her under my arm.
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  “Let’s go get some of your Christmas cheer back.”

  She raised both eyebrows. “Oh. I was talking about sex.”

  I laughed. “Yes, my little nymphomaniac, I know.” I leaned in and kissed her temple. “So am I.”

  “Kinky Santa sex?” she asked. But she looked intrigued.

  I gave a surprised bark of laughter. “Excuse me?”

  “You know. You put on your Santa costume, and I sit on your lap and tell you all the things I want and all of the ways I was naughty this year. And I say dirty things about your north pole and how I want you to stuff my stocking.”

  I swallowed hard. “I didn’t realize you had a Santa fetish.” Was that weird? Maybe a little. But I was thinking about how I could definitely make all of that happen. I glanced toward the Santa chair that I would occupy in a few days during the kids’ Christmas party here at the store.

  No. I could not fuck Paris on the Santa chair where the kids of North Pole would be coming to see me in all their sweet Christmas innocence.

  Not even if she was dressed up as my sexy elf.

  Not even if her Christmas list was made up of things like fuzzy handcuffs, edible body lotion, and nipple clamps.

  Probably.

  “I didn’t realize I had a naughty Santa fetish until I saw you in those Santa pants the first day we met,” she told me, her eyes hot but her smile soft, almost affectionate.

  “I’ll admit, I had a different idea,” I told her. “But—”

  She put her hand over my mouth. “I want to do your idea.”

  I kissed her fingertips and pulled her hand away. “You don’t even know what my idea is.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I want to do it. I’ll do anything with you. I totally trust you.”

  The warmth I was suddenly feeling in my chest had nothing to do with the idea of her in a short red elf skirt, or candy-cane-striped thigh-high stockings, or the idea of covering her body with red and green candy sprinkles. That heat was there, always just under the surface, but this was a lot more. This was the desire to take care of her and make her happy and make memories with her. Fun, silly, sweet memories that we could talk and laugh about over and over again.

  That wasn’t going to happen. She was leaving.

  But damned if I didn’t want those memories for myself.

  “Then let’s go.”

  She threaded her fingers in mine, and we headed for my truck.

  I drove her to my place and soon had her on my sofa, wrapped in a blanket, the fireplace roaring, and milk heating in a pan on the stove.

  “This is not what I was envisioning,” she said, watching me over the back of the couch as I moved around the kitchen.

  But she tucked the blanket around her shoulders more securely and settled into my couch cushions as if she was planning to stay for a while.

  “Well, I know your visions for my Santa suit,” I said. “What were you envisioning about my house?” I was more than willing to try to make all of her ideas happen. I stirred the milk and then reached into the cupboard for the cocoa mix and the bag of mini marshmallows that I kept around for Jaden. Not that I didn’t dip into both after shoveling snow off my walk or working on the roof at the Holly Jolly on a particularly cold morning. Just for instance.

  “You carrying me in over your shoulder and stripping me down and banging me against your front door.”

  I coughed as heat shot through me. I looked over at her. “We can always go back out to the truck and start over.”

  “No.” She snuggled deeper into my couch and looked over at my Christmas tree. “This is just perfect.”

  My tree was covered in multicolored lights and a collection of ornaments that were a mix of childhood keepsakes and new ones I’d seen in the store over the years and liked. Compared to the trees Paris had decorated at the Holly Jolly, it was simple and old-fashioned. It had no specific theme or color palette, and I’d had no idea what she’d think of it. But judging by her smile, she was okay with it.

  I forced myself to concentrate on what I was doing.

  Oh yeah, making sure having sex with me was something different, something memorable, something the California girl would look back on when she was back in the sand and sun as part of her first—and maybe only—Christmas in the snow.

  I mixed hot chocolate powder into the milk in the pan, added a splash of peppermint schnapps, and reached for the bag of marshmallows. But as I dropped three into one cup, I had a better idea. I fished those out with a spoon and turned for the fridge. I pulled out a can of whipped cream and quickly swirled some on top of each cup. Then I drizzled chocolate sauce over the whipped cream and shook the green and red sprinkles over the top. I had the sprinkles from last year when Jaden and I had made cookies, but I didn’t think sprinkles went bad. I tucked a candy cane into each cup and started to return the whipped cream to the fridge but thought better of that too, tucking the can under my arm before picking up the cups of cocoa. I hit the light switch on the wall with my elbow as I passed, leaving the only light in the living room coming from the tree and the fireplace.

  I joined Paris on the couch and set the cups on the coffee table.

  She grinned and started to reach for one.

  “Oh, no, hang on there.”

  She lifted a brow. “I don’t get to have any cocoa?”

  “You get to have cocoa. But my way.”

  She smiled, definitely intrigued. “You mean I’ve been having cocoa wrong all this time?”

  “You’ve never had cocoa with me,” I said, scooting closer. “So, yes.”

  “I can’t wait for you to show me how it’s supposed to be.”

  “Lay back.”

  She did. I reached up to unwrap the blanket from around her. She gave a little shiver, but I didn’t think it was because she was cold.

  “Now close your eyes.”

  She did that too. Very obedient. I liked that. A lot. I slid closer until I was right next to her and she was pressed into the back cushions. She sunk in and gave a little sigh that sounded very contented.

  I grinned. “So this is deconstructed cocoa,” I told her. “The only way to truly appreciate all the flavors.”

  “I’m ready.”

  I reached over and swiped up a dollop of whipped cream with my finger. Colored sprinkles clung to the cream. I ran my finger over her lips.

  Instinctively, her tongue darted out to taste it. “Yum,” she said softly. “Love whipped cream.”

  “Yeah? Let me see.” I leaned in and kissed her, tasting the cream and then just her under it. Delicious. “That’s pretty good,” I agreed, sitting back.

  The problem with this plan to give Paris fun, silly, sweet Christmas memories of North Pole—and me—was that I was going to have those same memories. I wanted them. I wanted to remember her. But it was going to make Christmas, and hot cocoa, bittersweet from here on out.

  But there was no stopping now.

  “I agree.”

  “Still, I think there’s a way to make it even better.”

  “Okay.”

  I reached up and started unbuttoning her blouse. Her breath caught for a moment, but she did nothing to stop me. She wiggled a little against the cushion, but otherwise was still, letting me open her shirt. She shifted so I could pull the sleeves down her arms, but I left it bunched behind her.

  She’d dressed festively for the meeting. Her blouse was white, and her skirt was red. Her bra was also white so as not to show through. I reached behind her and unhooked the lace and silk scrap, pulling it off and tossing it over the back of the couch.

  Her nipples were hard, her sweet, firm breasts looking delicious. I reached for more whipped cream and swiped it over her right nipple, causing it to bead even tighter.

  “Joe,” she gasped slightly.

  I lifted my finger to her mouth, and she drew it inside, sucking gently. I lowered my head to her nipple, doing the same there. She quickly figured out that whatever she did to my finger was the same attention I’d g
ive her nipple. Soon she was sucking hard, and then she even gave my finger a little nip.

  I did the same. Her legs shifted against the cushion as she moaned. “Joe.”

  I lifted my head. “So that’s whipped cream.”

  She gave a husky laugh. “Love whipped cream. Still.”

  I reached behind her for the zipper on her skirt. I dragged it down and skimmed her skirt over her hips and down her legs. Her panties were red like the skirt. Nice. I slid my finger over the front of the red silk, grazing her clit. She gave a sweet little gasp.

  “These are in my way,” I said gruffly, whisking the tiny piece of silk down her legs as well.

  I reached for the candy cane in the cup next. I lifted it to her mouth. “Next flavor.”

  She opened her mouth, and I slid the candy cane over her lips. She slid her tongue out, tasting the peppermint stick. She gave it a long lick, then sucked the end.

  Good girl. She knew exactly where I was going with this.

  I moved between her legs, which she parted without any urging. “You need to hold this,” I told her.

  She took the candy cane in hand, and I slid down her body.

  “Do you like peppermint, Paris?”

  “So much.” She licked the candy cane again.

  I followed suit, licking up her inner thigh and then over her clit.

  She circled the tip of the candy cane with her tongue. I did the same to her clit.

  Then she sucked. So did I.

  We continued like that until the red stripes on the end of the candy cane were gone, the girth of the candy was noticeably reduced, and she was breathing too hard and moaning too much to really pay attention to the candy.

  She let the candy cane fall against her chest, her hand over her face as she gasped and moaned.

  I slid a finger into her tight, hot, wet pussy. “Come for me, Paris.”

  “Joe!”

  “Yes, honey, come on.” I sucked on her clit again, sliding a second finger into her wet heat, and she came apart.

  “Joe,” she gasped. “I—”

  “Not done yet.” I shifted. “We haven’t even got to the chocolate yet.”