Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 37498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 187(@200wpm)___ 150(@250wpm)___ 125(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 187(@200wpm)___ 150(@250wpm)___ 125(@300wpm)
“Mr. Disingenuous strikes again. I’ve got to give you credit. You can apparently pull anything out of your ass.”
“Unlike my supposed attraction to the green-eyed woman, that was totally real. I meant every word,” he said. “I could tell the guy was stressed, and deep down it had nothing to do with my wrap job.” He turned to me, his eyes lingering on mine. “You know what? I can see the same stress and worry in you. You want nothing but the best for your son. That’s why we’re here in this dumb little competition.”
“Yeah,” I muttered, unable to argue with that. “Is it your son you’re trying to get the toy for?”
“No. Just a boy I know who deserves it. I don’t have kids.”
“Oh.”
“Are you married?” he asked.
I hesitated, then said, “My husband passed away a few years ago.”
He frowned. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.”
He was silent for a bit, then said, “We never really properly met. Let’s start over.” He held out his hand. “I’m Bryce Holloway.”
I took it. “I’m Holly.”
“Holly Holloway.” He chuckled.
“What?”
Did he just put our names together?
“The combination sounds like something a movie star would be named,” he said.
“More like a small-town weather girl.” I chuckled.
“Cornily fantastic name.” He laughed. “What’s your actual last name?”
“Johanssen.”
“Swedish?”
“Yes.”
“That explains the Nordic beauty.”
It took me a few seconds to snap out of his vortex.
“You’re doing it to me.”
His brow lifted. “What?”
“Buttering me up. Probably trying to swindle the robot out of me, so I’ll just hand it over to you along with my panties. Not gonna work.”
Bryce bent his head back in laughter. “While I certainly would not refuse your panties, that wasn’t where I was going with the compliment. Besides…look at my tip jar. Look at yours. I’m thinking you’re the one who needs to start buttering me up, buttercup.”
A little while later, a guy I’d hoped to never see again slithered up to the table.
“Holly? I thought that was you.”
Ugh. I forced a smile. “Hi, Aaron.”
“This is where you work now? You can’t possibly be making the same dough I was paying you?”
“I actually don’t work here. I’m sort of volunteering—wrapping for charity.” I leaned to look around him, anxious to move on to the next customer, and pointed. “Do you…uhh...have something for me to wrap? Because there’s a line behind you.”
He grinned. “I got something for you to wrap alright…”
The leering tone caught Bryce’s attention. He looked at Aaron and then me. Seeing uncomfortable written all over my face, Bryce handed the package he just finished wrapping to the customer and cleared his throat. “Can I help you with something, buddy? If you have something you want wrapped, I can take care of you.”
Aaron’s seedy grin widened. “I definitely would rather Holly take care of me.”
“I have to take the next person, Aaron. Have a good holiday.”
Aaron leaned down. “You still got the same number? I’ll call you.”
I’d actually changed my cell phone number because of him. Yet I nodded. “Yep. Bye. Next!”
After the dirtbag moved along, Bryce leaned to me. “What’s the story there?”
I blew out a puff of hot air as I shook my head. “Nothing really. He was my boss for a few months. I’d taken a second job for a while, waitressing on the weekends, and he was the manager. He’s just…let’s just say he didn’t get the note that #MeToo was a thing.”
Bryce’s face hardened. “He touched you?”
“No, nothing like that. He just made me feel uncomfortable. He would always turn any conversation sexual. Sort of like when he just said he had something for me to wrap. And then, after I left, he kept texting me and asking me to go out. I actually changed my number to avoid him.”
“That’s harassment. It’s illegal.”
“Yeah.” I shrugged. “I just quit as soon as I could. I’m a teacher, and a coaching position opened up, so luckily I didn’t need the waitressing job anymore. To be honest, I wasn’t very good at being a server anyway.”
Bryce frowned, but nodded. “So what do you coach?”
“Bowling.”
He smiled. “You’re a good bowler?”
“I actually am. My parents divorced when I was seven, and my dad had visitation every other weekend and one day a week after school for a few hours. We did homework at the bowling alley while eating pizza and then bowled three games after.”
“I’ve never been bowling.”
“Really? How come?”
Bryce shrugged. “Not sure. I guess it was just not a sport my family was into.”
“Oh…” I smirked. “Too blue collar for you?”
Bryce squinted, but his lip twitch gave away he wasn’t really annoyed. For the next half hour or so, we had a steady stream of customers so we were both busy wrapping. The next time we had a lull in the line, I stretched my arms over my head.
“So what’s your deal, Bryce? What do you do when you’re not stealing toys from unsuspecting single moms, or schmoozing green-eyed old ladies?”