Humbugged by Pippa Grant & Lili Valente

Author:Pippa Grant & Lili Valente [Grant, Pippa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pippa and Lili Write
Published: 2019-12-09T18:30:00+00:00

Fourteen

Noelle

You’re mine.

Clint’s words—spoken in a deep, no-bullshit, oh-so-sexy voice—echo through my ears all morning, and the moment his towel fell off plays on endless repeat in my head. Throughout shopping for industrial-sized containers of flour and sugar at the bulk store two towns over and the drive back to Happy Cat, all I can think of is the moment I’ll see him again.

And then I arrive back at the bakery to find half the town has shown up to rally behind me, and I get fizzy inside for completely different reasons.

Having over a dozen people offer to help me clean up the mess and get started on today’s baking fills my heart with a feeling as cozy as the inside of my oven-warmed shop. And then my phone starts ringing off the hook with orders for holiday sheet cakes and cupcake platters and more townsfolk than I’ve ever seen in one morning wander in my front door, eager to try the new holiday specials.

By ten AM, I’m tearing up a little.

Eunice and Phoebe drop in as my cheering section. Steph from the accounting firm next door leaves her number and asks to be texted at the end of the day so the firm can buy what’s left of my inventory. And Maud and Gerald Hutchins, who own the other bakery in town, come bearing extra cleaning supplies.

It reminds me of the best part of my childhood—people on base rallying around each other like family.

But even as gratitude for this feeling of belonging settles deep in my chest, in the breaks between customers and visitors, I can’t stop seeing Clint O’Dell naked.

Clint. O’Dell.

Naked.

If there’s a sexier sight on God’s green earth then I’ll make a batch of bean flour penis-shaped cookies and eat the entire thing.

Though they’d have to be perfectly shaped, perfectly long, perfectly thick penis cookies…

I’ve never been the type to obsess about the size of a man’s bits and pieces—I figure as long as he’s big enough that he’s not going to end up slipping into home without my being aware of it, then we’re fine. In my experience, size really isn’t all that important. It really is the motion of the ocean—and the way the captain looks into my eyes while he steers his ship—that puffs up my water wings.

But if I said I wasn’t irrationally excited by the thought of becoming special friends with Clint’s gloriously perfect peen, I would be a filthy liar.

“Liar, liar, underpants on fire,” I whisper beneath my breath as the last of my morning customers depart and thoughts of that towel falling off once again take up permanent space in the front of my brain.

My kitchen is spotless. I have every last muffin tin filled and in my oven. And my morning helpers saw to all the dirty dishes before departing to spread more holiday cheer around town.

There’s nothing at all to stop me from daydreaming about all the filthy, frosting-filled fantasies I’m planning on exploring with Clint.

At least, until I

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