Romancing the Grump (Appies, #4)

by Jenny Proctor

I won’t not listen to my heart. It definitely gets a seat in the boardroom. But my head is chief executive, and it makes every decision with careful precision.

If she wants us to learn a dance and perform it on the ice? We’d better say yes. If she wants us to do it while wearing pink tights and fluffy tutus? We will hate it. We will also say yes.

“I just don’t like it when people mess with my people.”

“Yeah, but which one am I?” I ask. He immediately taps on the left side of the screen. “That’s you.” I lift my eyes to meet his. He’s right, but he didn’t even hesitate. How could he tell? He must see the question in my expression because he shrugs. “Something about your eyes.”

But man was I close to dropkicking that sniveling little reporter all the way back to wherever it is he came from.

I don’t need a rule book with this woman, I need a survival guide.

Oh, great. He’s a coffee connoisseur and he volunteers to teach children how to play hockey. Honestly. This isn’t even fair anymore.

“Physically, I’ll recover as long as I get a warm bath and a few ibuprofen. Emotionally? Pretty sure I’m about forty percent in love with him already.” “Only forty? That doesn’t sound too bad.” “Maybe not, but I’m worried the growth might be exponential.”

“Here,” I grumble as I drop the garlic into his hand. “Sorry. Also, we’re gonna kick your asses at Catan.”

“Give me a percentage,” Parker says, and I immediately know what she’s asking. I told her I was forty percent in love with Nathan after ice skating, so where am I now? “A solid sixty-five,” I say, and she lifts a hand to her chest.

She eyes me as I watch him walk away. “Eighty percent?” I breathe out a sigh. “Maybe even eighty-five.”

Oh, I’m definitely making a scene. I told Summer exactly what I would do if this guy ever showed his face around her. I don’t care what she texted Gracie—if that guy is anywhere near her, she isn’t really fine.

I won’t get into a fight, but I will let this guy know he’d better never show his face in town again. I step up behind Jason Roscoe and lean close, giving his shoulder what I hope is a painful squeeze. “You have exactly two minutes to pay your tab and get out of this bar. Understand?”

Not after that kiss. I could write poetry about that kiss. I probably will write poetry about that kiss.

those tethers snapped clean in half, and I went plummeting. Forget ninety percent. I’ve completely fallen for this man.