Cutie and the Beast: A Roommates to Lovers Single Dad Romance (Cipher Office Book 3)

by Smartypants Romance

  Elliott’s face flames in embarrassment at the compliment. Dinah’s not wrong though. I’ve been trying very hard not to think the same thing about my roommate.

  “Not the look I was going for,” she responds. “But thanks anyway, I guess. Where do you want me?”

  Elliott and Dinah chat about the logistics of the event and how line control needs to be run while I grab the giant wardrobe bag out of the coat closet and lock myself in the bathroom. Thank goodness I remembered to relieve myself before we left the house. The toilet in here is only inches off the floor for all the potty-training kids. Last thing Santa needs is to pee on his own shoe.

  Pulling out my phone, I quickly send a text to Joey.

  Me: You better be really sick, asshole.

  Joey: I feel like I’m dying.

  Me: Serves you right since you’re dead to me.

  His middle finger emoji response is almost immediate. I chuckle at the text but don’t have time to keep poking at him. I have a giant, itchy suit to put on while I pray it doesn’t give me lice or bedbugs.

  Yuck.

  “Do it for the kids, Abel. Do it for the kids.”

  After about ten minutes of untangling buckles and tying hidden elastic so the pants don’t fall down, I’m finally channeling Father Christmas.

  Quietly, I open the door and peek out.

  Holy shit. In the few minutes I’ve been hidden in the bathroom, a line all the way out of the door and around the corner has formed. Dinah wasn’t kidding when she said it would take hours to get through this. No wonder she wanted to split this into two shifts.

  Joey really better being dying now, or he will be next time I see him.

  “Santa!”

  I don’t know where the scream came from, but suddenly the cheers are deafening, the line surging forward. Well, surging as much as a bunch of polite parents will allow while there are children everywhere. I’ll give our members this much—they know Dinah doesn’t play. If there are issues, she’ll be the first to shut this whole shindig down.

  Welp, there’s only one thing to do in a situation like this.

  I emerge from the bathroom and make sure to keep the door closed enough that no one can see what’s behind me. I raise one hand in the air and wave. “Ho, ho ho! Ho, ho, whoa! What the—?”

  “I gotta go potty!” a small child yells as he pushes past me into the room I just came out of, holding himself. So much for pretending that was Santa’s workshop.

  Looking around, I catch Elliott’s eye. Mostly because she’s trying really hard not to laugh at me. Not with me. Oh no. She’s definitely laughing at me. I cock my head, letting her know I know full well she finds this whole situation hilarious. That’s when she loses it, her laughter joining the other joyous sounds in the room.

  Making my way to the decorated chair Dinah has reserved for me, er, Santa, I take my place.

  “Thanks for joining us, Santa!” Dinah says with an exaggerated smile. “You look great.”

  “My suit jingles all the way,” I say sardonically.

  “I know. It’s fantastic.” And then she lifts her phone up and very obviously takes my picture. “That one’s going on our social media page.”

  “If you tag me,” I say with sarcastic sweetness, “you’re getting coal in your stocking.”

  “Good thing Santa isn’t a mind reader, or it would be something worse than coal.” Turning away from me, Dinah addresses the crowd loudly. “Okay everyone! Are you excited to meet Santa?”

  The crowd goes wild again, so I give them a few more obligatory Ho-ho-hos and try my best not to scratch my cheeks to rid myself of the itch from the synthetic beard. Dinah goes over the instructions and, all too soon, is leading a bouncing kid my direction. Immediately, the girl jumps up on my lap, barely missing kneeing me in the junk.

  This is going to be long day.

  Chapter Twelve

  ELLIOTT

  “I’m just saying…” I continue as I rinse the dinner dishes and hand them to Abel to put in the dishwasher. This is the second time we’ve loaded the dishwasher. Apparently, they weren’t actually clean when I put them away earlier. Oops. “You could have asked to take a break instead of sitting there the whole four hours.”

  Yep. Four hours. It took two hundred forty minutes for every single child in line to sit on Abel’s lap, tell him what they want for Christmas, and take a picture. Part of the reason it took so long is because of how many parents wanted their own selfies with Jolly Old St. Nick. At first, Dinah tried to stop them, but eventually she gave up.

  For as long as they had to hang out and wait for us to finish “working,” the girls did remarkably well. Although, they could barely keep from bouncing around during dinner, and we haven’t seen them since they raced downstairs to play their favorite Wii games. There is a possibility we may never see them again with all the pent-up energy they’re releasing.

  “Hell, no.” Abel takes the last dish from me and jams it into the packed machine. “I was not going to stay there a minute longer than I had to.”

  “I understand, but if you had to pee, you could have said something. It would have given you time to get to a big-people-sized toilet instead of the baby one that splashed toilet water all over your foot.” I neglect to say what we both know—that splatter wasn’t water.

  He shuts the dishwasher and grabs a towel to wipe off his hands. “I admit that was not my finest moment, but it was a small price to pay to get that suit off. I’ll probably have ringworm now. In fact, my back feels itchy. Do you see a rash?” He turns around and lifts his shirt up, showing me nothing but beautiful, toned back muscles.

  If he only knew I was a sucker for a man’s back and shoulders, he’d be less likely to flash my favorite muscle group at me. I can’t be held responsible for my womanly reactions when they’re right in my face.

  Fortunately for both of us, I have unusually good self-control and am old enough to be his very beautiful older sister. Or so I tell myself.

  “You don’t have a rash, Abel. But you do have some ir-rash-ional fears. Get it?”

  I laugh out loud at my own joke, while he huffs and pulls his shirt back down. “Sure. Laugh at all the diseases I’m going to come down with. It’s easy to do since you didn’t have to wear a rental suit,” he grumbles and turns back around. “I don’t even wanna think about it anymore. It’s over and done with. Let’s go get a Christmas tree.”

  The sudden topic change startles me. “What? What are you talking about now? How did we go from that to this?”

  “Santa. Christmas. A Christmas tree,” he explains. “I’ve fallen so far behind I haven’t decorated at all. I feel terrible about it. Mabel and I love the holidays, but I feel like I’ve been pulling double duty, so it fell by the wayside. Let’s take the girls and go get a tree. It’ll be fun.”

  He’s not the only one who can’t seem to keep up with the rapidly approaching season. With the move and my new job, I hadn’t thought much about shopping for gifts, let alone decorating. Part of me also didn’t want to overstep my boundaries. It’s one thing to put up some lights in our bedroom, but another thing completely to hang stockings on the mantel of someone else’s home. As much as I feel comfortable living here, and as great as Abel and I get along, I’m still very aware that this is his house I pay to live in. And it would be weird to have all our stuff combined since we’re nothing more than roommates and coworkers. Right? Maybe? I don’t even know at this point.

  But since he’s offering, I might as well push aside my concerns in the interest of giving the kids happy childhood memories.

  “Sure.” I rinse out the sink quickly and grab the towel he hands me to dry my hands. “Maybe we can get some hot chocolate at that little stand around the corner on our way.”

  “Do they use real chocolate or chocolate flavoring?”

  “Does it matter? It’s Christmastime.”

  Mr. Nutrition considers my words momentarily, and I know he’s weighing the pros and cons of keeping his bod
y a temple or giving his daughter a little Christmas joy.

  “Fine.”

  “Christmas joy, it is,” I exclaim.

  “What?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed.

  I wave him off. “Nothing. Let’s grab the girls and go before it gets too late.”

  The initial call down the stairs is met with groans and resistance. Until Abel follows up with the words “Christmas tree” and “hot chocolate.” I barely have time to move out of the way before a couple of elementary schoolers knock me out of the way on their way to the coat closet.

  Ten minutes, two potty breaks, four coats, and eight snow boots later, we all head out the door.

  Walking down the neighborhood street, it hits me exactly how neglected our house really is. All the streetlights have a giant snowflake attached and lit up. Every home has a Christmas tree in the window. Those that don’t have beautiful menorahs. Even the few trees lining the streets have oversized Christmas bulbs in various colors hanging from the branches.

  I’m glad Abel thought of this. My failure at Christmastime will be one less thing for Ainsley to talk about with her future therapist. The trauma of sharing a room with her mother might still be on that list. Although, the fact that she’s skipping down the street is a good indicator I might not come up at all.

  “Four please.”

  In my desire to take it all in and enjoy this moment, I didn’t realize Abel was already ordering our drinks from the small takeout window.

  Toffee Coffee is a tiny little shop that is only open a few hours during the day but is highly loved in this neighborhood. The owners of the building renovated one room of their home to allow for a walk-up window for customers long before the city required building permits for that kind of thing. As the story goes, Toffee, the woman who started the business, needed a way to provide for her family after her husband was killed in the war, so she would sell lunch out the window to construction crews or other passersby. It was extremely popular among the locals and accomplished exactly what she needed for her family.

  When Toffee remarried, the business was no longer needed and closed down. But when one of her children inherited the building upon her death, the idea sprung up again. Permits were filed, a business plan was put in place, and Toffee Coffee was born.

  To this day, there’s no entrance, no place to sit, no free WiFi. Just really good coffee, hot chocolate, and tea. I like to think Toffee would be pleased to know she left a legacy behind. Isn’t that what all of us want to some degree?

  Handing me a steaming cup, I thank Abel and take a quick sip. “Thank you for buying. I was so busy enjoying the lights, I didn’t realize you’d already ordered. I’ll make sure to spring for our drinks next time.”

  Abel takes his own sip while collecting his change from the employee in the window. “There’s going to be a next time?”

  I gesture to the girls who are happily playing one of those hand slapping games with rhymes that boarder on inappropriate. “If they have anything to say about it, I’m guessing yes.”

  “I know it wasn’t the goal,” Abel says as we each grab a cup for the girls, “but having a live-in playmate has made getting things accomplished so much easier.”

  I nod in agreement. “I know. Although I’m not convinced it’ll last forever. The honeymoon period is bound to wear off at some point.”

  “I hope not. I don’t think I’ve ever been able to look over my client plans without interruption unless I’m at work.”

  “You shouldn’t be looking at them at home anyway. Haven’t you heard that all work and no play makes Abel a cranky boy?”

  He chuckles in response. “If Abel ever becomes a cranky boy, remind me of that.”

  We round up the girls, who are more than happy to sip on some liquid sugar, and meander the two blocks to the parking lot turned Christmas tree lot for the season.

  Lights are strung up around the perimeter, giving it the illusion of decoration instead of just a clever way to keep people from taking off with the trees. That, along with the scent of pine, the snow on the trees, and giggles of two excited little girls, makes my spirit soar. There is nothing like watching the holidays through the eyes of children. Life events can get mundane when you are an adult. It can turn into yet another responsibility that has to be dealt with. But seeing the wonder on their faces is like reliving my own childhood—when everything about this time of year is extraordinary—well, I can’t help feeling my own sense of fascination.

  “Welp, what kind of tree should we get?” Abel tosses his now empty cup in a nearby trash can. I’m still sipping on mine, despite the fact that it’s now cold chocolate.

  “What are our choices?”

  He gently runs his fingers over some delicate branches as we peruse. “I’m sure they have the normal ones—Fraser fir, Douglas fir, maybe a Blue Spruce if we’re lucky. Those are always fat and happy. What kind was your favorite as a kid?”

  I shrug with a lack of knowledge on the topic. “We always had a fake tree.”

  Abel, open-mouthed, stops in his tracks and stares at me. “You had a fake tree?”

  I quirk my lips, fighting a smile at his over-the-top reaction. “Yes?”

  He shakes his head, like he’s shaking off bad memories. “What kind of monster would do that to you?”

  And now that laugh comes. Not at what he is saying, but the ridiculous look on his face. He looks truly heartbroken over my unfortunate childhood.

  “You’ve met my mother,” I finally say.

  He thinks for a second, hands on his hips. “I’m not sure what to say without sounding like a total jerk.”

  That starts my giggles up again. This conversation isn’t funny, but somehow, I find it hilarious. I may need to find out what Toffee Coffee is putting in their drinks. Even the girls seem a little more amped up than normal.

  “Then don’t say anything. Let’s just find a tree. Girls!” I call out as they chase each other in a totally inappropriate game of tag inside a place of business. “Slow down! And find a tree! Oh my god, they’re going to knock something over.”

  “Probably. But I’m too shaken up by your lack of real tree knowledge to notice at this point.”

  I smack him on the arm lightly as we continue to stroll around the lot, debating the merits of each potential winner. Some are too tall to fit in the house. Those are also known as “pricey.” Others are too skinny. The girls finally come down off their sugar high long enough to join us. Of course, that’s a relative term. At least they’re within talking distance now, even if they aren’t paying attention.

  “Is there anything I can help you find?” A tall man with a bushy beard and a flannel shirt approaches. His name tag says “Nate” and his beanie screams “logger.” It doesn’t really, but he fits the exact stereotype I see in my mind of a guy who cuts down trees for a living.

  “We’re still looking around.” I’m beginning to feel overwhelmed by the vast number of options. This is probably why my mother always had a fake tree. It came out of a box, no questions asked, and you made do with what you had.

  “If you’re looking for something specific, let me know.” His eyes smile along with his mouth, and I can almost feel his excitement. Looks like the girls aren’t the only ones delighted for the holidays. “And by the way, you have a beautiful family. Twins?”

  It takes me a minute to figure what he means, but when it hits me, I start laughing. Abel has clearly beaten me to it because he’s the first to answer.

  “Irish twins,” he says with a glint in his eye, making me laugh harder.

  The salesman gives me a quizzical look. Frankly, I don’t blame him. Basically, I’m laughing in the face of his kind words. Not on purpose, but he threw me off guard.

  “Well, they’re lovely. They were pointing out a bird’s nest in one of the trees. Although, they were disappointed there weren’t any eggs in it.”

  “I have no doubt,” Abel responds, still keeping up the ruse rather than explain our situation. “They’re a
handful, that’s for sure.”

  “Girls always are.” Nate heads off to another group of customers. As soon as he’s out of ear shot, I smack Abel again.

  “I can’t believe you let him believe we’re together,” I hiss through my laugh.

  Abel waggles his eyes making me roll mine. “Why not? It was funny.”

  “Well, sure. But how would he come to that conclusion?” I mutter, still baffled.

  Abel leans in closer so I can hear him despite lowering his voice. “It’s not a far stretch. You’re hot. I’m hot. We came here with our kids. Who wouldn’t think we’re together?”

  His words stun me. Is he being serious with his flirting right now or playing around after too much hot chocolate? I honestly can’t tell. Even worse, I don’t know what I think about it. He’s right that he’s good looking. But I’m in my forties. He’s practically a baby. In another life, maybe. But now? Under these circumstances?

  I don’t have time to ponder anymore because he suddenly cries out, “OH MY GOD! They have one!”

  The girls and I all turn simultaneously to see what has turned Abel into a child in a candy shop. I should have known.

  Abel has a giant, oversized grin on his face, and I swear if this was a cheesy Christmas flick, there would be a light beaming down from the sky right over the Blue Spruce he’s standing in front of.

  Mabel begins jumping up and down, clapping excitedly. “Oh, it’s so pretty, Daddy! It’s so fat!”

  “Fat and happy. Just the way I like my trees.”

  The four of us begin circling his find, looking for any potential issues.

  “Needles aren’t too stiff,” he says, pulling a few off to inspect them. “Trunk looks solid.” Mabel is watching her father intently, pulling on branches in imitation. It makes me nervous, but not really my place to step in.

  “Wait.” I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but while he has been inspecting the front, I’ve been looking at the back. “This entire side is… well… I don’t know the rules about live trees but this one seems to be dead back here.”