Let It Snow

by Jeanette Grey

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  A preview of “Nine Kinds of Naughty”

  You Might Also Like…

  Also by Jeanette Grey

  Praise

  Newsletters

  Copyright

  To Peg, for cheerfully tolerating my bah-humbuggery for almost two decades now.

  Acknowledgments

  This book wouldn’t be what it is without the help of a lot of people. My thanks to:

  My editors, Megha Parekh and Lexi Smail, for all their insights.

  My agent, Mandy Hubbard, who always has my back.

  My critique partners, Heather McGovern and Brighton Walsh.

  The ladies of Bad Girlz Write and Capital Region Romance Writers of America, for their constant guidance and support.

  And my incredible husband and in-laws, who’ve given me the kinds of Christmases I thought only existed in stories.

  Chapter One

  “Come on, cheer up. With a name like yours, aren’t you, like, legally obligated to love Christmas?”

  Holly raised one eyebrow but declined to look up from her book. No reason to encourage Rebecca to loiter around the register any longer than necessary. “Yes. I had to sign something when they made out my birth certificate.”

  Out of her periphery, she saw Rebecca pull a face. “You had to sign something when you were a baby?”

  “You didn’t?” This time Holly did glance up. Mostly because she had to turn the page anyway.

  Rebecca was looking worried now. “I don’t know. I don’t remember back that far.”

  “Maybe you should ask your mom.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” With another little frown, Rebecca wandered off toward the rear of the store where her mother, Margie, was probably in her office nipping off her flask.

  Seriously. Nineteen-year-olds should not be that gullible.

  For a second, Holly almost felt bad for messing with her, but it wasn’t as if the girl didn’t have it coming. Five times now she’d asked Holly if she was excited about the lights or the presents or the trees or even church of all the godforsaken things. Holly had only a limited supply of nice to work with every day, and she was saving it for the customers, thank you very much.

  Speaking of customers…

  Holly marked her place and took a quick survey of the shop. Ugh. Margie had been so excited about her plans to keep the place open until midnight the whole week running up to Christmas Eve, and business had been brisk enough the past few nights. But now the snow was starting to pile up outside, and the roads were almost empty. They’d scarcely had a dozen customers since six, and at almost ten p.m. on December twenty-third, she doubted their tiny little independent bookstore was going to have some sort of sudden rush. Especially if the forecasters’ threats about an early blizzard came to be.

  Not that Holly really minded being stuck here. Other than the awful, never-ending soundtrack of ancient Christmas tunes, the job was pretty decent. The overtime pay was good, and it wasn’t like she had anywhere better to be this time of year. Classes weren’t in session, and all her friends had already gone home. As appealing as yet another Doctor Who marathon might be, at least when she was working, she had something to do.

  “You know…” a voice said from behind her.

  Holly just about went out of her skin. She whipped around, hand flying to her mouth, only to find Sam standing there smirking at her, blue eyes twinkling, his short, sandy hair all finger-raked and perfect. With the sleeves of his white button-down rolled up to his elbows, the muscles of his forearms stood out in stark relief as he crossed his arms over his chest, looking for all the world like one of the heroes from her comic books come to life. He was more or less the same age as she was, but when he cocked his brow like that, he looked so authoritative and in-charge. Warmth bloomed on her cheeks, and she had to work to keep her heart in check for reasons that had nothing to do with being startled.

  Reasons that had everything to do with the slow-burning crush she’d been harboring ever since he’d started on as assistant manager at the beginning of the term.

  His mouth settled into a softer smile as he tilted his head toward the hallway Rebecca had disappeared down. “It’s not very nice to pick on her like that.”

  Oh. Was that all he was concerned about? Her itching suspicion about the two of them that had kept her from acting on said crush made her huff in annoyance. “A girl’s gotta have a hobby,” she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. She didn’t even bother to push her boobs out. Apparently, it wasn’t worth the effort if he was sticking up for Rebecca of all people.

  Only, one corner of his lips rose, making the dimple in his cheek stand out. “Come on. That’s not nearly enough of a challenge to count as a real hobby.”

  “You have a point,” she conceded, working to suppress her grin. She chalked up one strike against the idea of him and Rebecca getting it on in the storage closet during breaks. It made her bold enough to flirt a little. Looking at him over the rims of her glasses, she touched her neck, running the tip of her index finger along her exposed collarbone before dipping it under the neckline of her super-sexy vintage She-Ra T-shirt. “Have an idea of someone I should pick on instead?”

  What? She didn’t say she was going to flirt well or anything.

  Fortunately, before she could start to feel too self-conscious, he laughed—a warm kind of sound, the sort that made it clear he was laughing with her as opposed to at her. Still chuckling, he pushed off the counter, closing the space between them. He reached out and tugged on her hair, twisting a finger through one of her long, dark curls. “Not sure anyone is an equal for your brain, college girl.” His tone was as teasing as ever, but the heat of it shot straight through her all the same. He ducked in close enough that his breath tickled her ear. “But I’d be willing to give it a shot if you’re feeling…understimulated.”

  Her knees felt like they were going to buckle, and the tips of the awesome breasts she still wasn’t using to their full effect tingled with a warmth that shot right down her spine.

  “Oh?”

  Before she could even fully appreciate how thoroughly he’d asserted himself into her space, he stepped away, leaving her dizzy and her lungs tight. With one eyebrow cocked, he grinned. “Anytime.”

  And just like that, he walked away.

  Jesus. Okay, fine. Make that two marks in the not-fucking-Rebecca column. Or at least in the not-fucking-Rebecca-exclusively column. She knew better than to expect much more than that from a guy who knew how to get a girl’s pulse racing so quickly. Resisting the urge to actually fan herself, she swept her gaze around the store again, only lingering on the sight of his ass in those jeans of his for a second before she kept scanning.

  And spotted Margie and her 100 percent unironic light-up Rudolph sweater walking right toward them, followed closely by Rebecca. Which at least went part of the way toward explaining why Sam had pulled away so fast. And diminished some of her confidence in the mark she’d just made in her mental fucking- or not-fucking-Rebecca chart.

  Margie and Rebecca already had their coats with them, which was fine by Holly. Margie was an easy boss to work for, but if business stayed slow, her exit would mean some nice uninterrupted time to read. Or maybe flirt with Sam. It’d probably be a combination. Except then she spotted the binder under Margie’s arm and internally groaned.

  Margie bustl
ed toward the front, speaking over the piped-in holiday soundtrack. “Thank you two again for staying till closing tonight.” She glanced around at the empty confines of the shop. “I would just send you home with it this slow, but we did do all that advertising…”

  “No problem,” Sam said smoothly.

  Margie honest-to-God stopped and pinched his cheek. Holly had to bite her lip at his stifled reaction. “You are such a doll.” Continuing toward the counter, Margie added, “Anyway, the worst of the storm is supposed to hold off for another few hours, so you should be okay.”

  Eyeing the window, Holly didn’t know if she completely believed that. But if it got too bad, Sam was pretty reasonable. She could probably talk him into locking up a little early. “We’ll be fine,” she said with a bit more confidence than she felt.

  She peered past Margie, looking to Sam for agreement. But then she paused. Frowned.

  While Margie had kept on plodding toward the front, Rebecca had stopped to talk to Sam. The little hussy was toeing at the ground and fiddling with her hair and touching her neck and everything. Holly bristled. Laying it on a bit thick, much? From where Holly was standing, she couldn’t hear whatever the two of them were saying to each other. And then she couldn’t even really try anymore, because Margie, panting slightly, came to a stop in front of the counter and plunked the binder down.

  “Holly, sweetie, I hate to ask this, especially when you’re being such a doll and taking the late shift. But if it does stay slow, could you look over the books for me real quick?”

  Real quick, Holly’s ass. Margie’s accounting was beyond creative, and Holly always found at least half a dozen errors every time she went through the ledgers. It had only gotten worse as time went by—as if once Margie realized she had someone with an aptitude for numbers at her disposal, she’d stopped making even the minimal effort she’d put into her accounting before.

  Holly’s dreams of a nice quiet last couple of hours spent reading and talking to Sam evaporated. She forced a smile regardless. After all, she got paid for doing her job—not that other stuff. “No problem.”

  “Thanks. You’re the best.” Margie twisted to call over her shoulder, “Rebecca!”

  Rebecca had her head tilted back, throat exposed as she laughed. Sam wasn’t doing much to discourage her, and they were standing awfully close. Then again, his back was jammed up against a bookshelf, so he didn’t exactly have a lot of room to retreat into, but still. Despite a promising last few minutes, things were not looking good for the chart.

  As Rebecca turned away, Sam watched her go, and Holly meant watched her go. She scowled, but whatever. Disappointment was pretty much par for the course for her. Especially this time of year.

  “Oh, and Sam?” Margie called.

  Sam jerked his gaze up. “Yes, ma’am?”

  If Margie had noticed her assistant manager checking out her daughter’s ass, she did a good job of hiding it. “That shipment we were waiting for finally came in. I meant to get to it today, but didn’t have a chance. Think you could take care of it tonight, if it doesn’t get too busy?”

  Sam looked as excited about that as Holly had felt about the ledger, his smile vaguely grimacing. “Sure thing.”

  “You are both the best employees ever.” Margie beamed as she followed Rebecca to the door. She paused just inside of it, twisting around to call over her shoulder, “Have a good night!”

  Finally, the door swung closed behind them, and Holly let out a long, exhausted sigh at the same time Sam muttered, “Thank God.”

  Feeling shyer than she had earlier, Holly looked over at him with an expression that was half smile and half wince. She picked up the binder full of Margie’s accounting paperwork with one hand and twirled the index finger of her other in the air. “Woo-hoo. Fun night ahead, huh?”

  Sam rolled his eyes. “Whatever. At least you got off easy. I’ll be off breaking my back in the storeroom, thank you very much.”

  “Um, excuse me. Have you seen what happens when Margie tries to add? I’m not sure whose job sounds more painful.”

  Chuckling, Sam ran a hand through his hair. It looked even more disheveled when he was done, and Holly’s inner fifteen-year-old girl gave a little swoon at the flex of his biceps beneath his shirt. The way his lips quirked up just made it worse. “Tell you what, subordinate.”

  “Yes, supervisor?”

  “Let’s give it until eleven forty-five, then I say we raid the pastry case and help Margie get rid of all the Christmas-themed shit in there before we close up. Deal?”

  Holly eyed what was left of the neat little rows of cookies and cupcakes covered in red and green icing sitting behind the glass. Yeah, that was worth two hours of sifting through Margie’s idea of math. “Deal.”

  He cocked a finger gun at her, aimed, and fired. “That’s the spirit.”

  “What can I say, boss? You know how to motivate me.”

  The tilt of his brow insinuated he knew other ways to motivate. “Uh-huh. If I come back up here, I better not find you sneaking those Star Wars novels you pretend you don’t read.”

  How the hell did he know about those?

  “Fine. Well.” She scrambled. “I better not catch you looking at…sports…stuff.”

  Ugh, she wanted to bury her face in her hands. She was totally going to come up with the perfect comeback in about three days.

  But instead of rubbing her nose in her giant pile of fail, he just smirked. “Nice try. For future reference, this time of year it’d be football.” He thumped his chest. “Go Steelers.”

  Dammit, she knew that. He wore one of their T-shirts under his button-down every game day.

  With a grin, he glanced between her and the ledgers. “Now get to work.”

  Turning on his heel, he walked away. Shoving the sleeves of her cardigan up, she gave herself two quick, sharp, fake bitchslaps on each of her cheeks.

  Then, settling her elbows on the counter, she took a cue from how he’d stared after Rebecca, and felt no shame as she watched him leave.

  Seven basic arithmetic errors, no fewer than three different versions of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas,” and a big fat zero customers later, Holly’s concentration was broken by flashing lights outside the window. She glanced up and then back down again, reaching for her eraser and carrying a couple of decimal places in her head.

  Then it struck her: The lights were red and blue, not red and green. Not Christmas lights, then. Furrowing her brow, she set her pencil down and walked out from behind the counter so she could press her face against the glass, shielding her eyes as she tried to see what was going on.

  And saw snow. Lots and lots of snow.

  Fuck. Like, at least a foot of snow. So much for the blizzard holding off a few more hours. She’d been so focused on what she was doing, she’d completely forgotten about keeping a lookout. In the far recesses of the parking lot, her car was half-buried, and nothing had been plowed. Worse, the lights that had grabbed her attention were police cars. Police cars presumably shutting down the highway.

  She dropped her hand from the glass and chewed at her lip. “Um, Sam?” After a few seconds, there wasn’t any reply, so she cleared her throat, shouting louder to be heard over the music, “Sam!”

  “What?”

  “Come here.”

  “Seriously?” He emerged from behind the shelves over in the self-help section of the store, dusting his hands off on his jeans. “We’ve still got fifteen minutes to go, you know. You trying to shirk, or…” He trailed off, and she looked over to see him focusing on the winter wonderland laid out before them.

  She gestured helplessly toward the window. “I don’t know how I didn’t notice. I just looked up and suddenly it was like this.”

  “Is that—”

  “The road being closed? Pretty sure.”

  “And where do you live?”

  “Does it matter?” She’d be hard-pressed to get out of the parking lot with the way it was coming down.
/>   “No. I guess it doesn’t.” His mouth shifted into a frown as he came to stand beside her at the glass.

  “Looks like we’re stuck here.”

  “Yeah…” He trailed off, like he was really considering the ramifications of it.

  Oh God, now she couldn’t stop considering them, too. The two of them, snowed in together. Alone. If the power went out, they might have to snuggle for body heat, or make out to fight off the boredom. Before she could start entertaining fantasies of snow-related apocalypses leaving them with no choice but to breed to repopulate the planet, she forced herself to look away from him.

  “At least we still have food,” she said, gesturing toward the pastry case. She shrugged and put on her best brave face. “And heat.”

  The seriousness in his expression eased, and he gave her a little half smile. While not nearly as heart-stopping as some of the ones he’d laid on her in the past, it seemed more earnest somehow. He nudged his elbow against hers. “Company could be worse.”

  Warmth fluttered all the way down to her toes. Which was why she apparently felt the sudden compulsion to stare at her feet. “Yeah,” she agreed. There were a lot of things that could be worse. And more than a few that could be better. Not for the first time, she missed the comfy couches they always had in those big chain bookstores. “Not exactly looking forward to sleeping on the ground, though.” As the music shifted over to Mariah Carey of all god-awful things, she shuddered and glared at the ceiling. “Or having to listen to Christmas music while I do it.”

  He laughed. “Not sure what I can do about making a bed magically appear. But that second thing I might be able to fix.” He tugged at the bundle of keys dangling from his belt, thumbing through it until he found one that had a sparkly pink ring on it.

  She cocked her head to the side, widening her eyes. “That’s not…”

  “It is,” he assured her, waggling his brows. “Assistant manager isn’t just about getting shitty night shifts and having to play nice with the owner’s daughter. There are perks, too.”