Better Not Pout (Mistletoe Falls)

by Maren Moore

The lenses are so ridiculously thick they’re basically bifocals. Poor-vision girls unite.

“Who sends unsolicited nudes to a girl they met once at a Trader freakin’ Joe’s?”

I’ve finally gotten to a place where I feel slightly more confident with my body, more comfortable in my own skin, but admittedly, it’s still an everyday struggle. I think it always will be, no matter how much weight I lose.

“Think you might have bit off more than you can chew, brother. Bar reno, fixing up your house, hot new neighbor that won’t take your shit? This will be fun to watch.”

Rosalie Sullivan has my full attention, whether I want it that way or not. Her smart mouth, sharp tongue, curves that go on for days.

I’ve learned that he’s actually kind and cares deeply about his family and friends, and he’s a hard worker and the best dog dad. There’s nothing hotter than a good dad in any form, and most women would agree.

“When I first met you, I thought you were fucking fiery. All sassy and mouthy. But everything around you is so goddamn sweet. From the candy at your shop to your cup of sugar coffee from Frosty’s. I thought there was no way that everything you touched was so sweet, yet you were the total, complete opposite.”

“But I’m starting to realize just how wrong I am about you. Now, all I want is to find out if you taste as sweet as I’ve imagined, Rosalie Sullivan.”

I remind myself that it’s all for show. This is exactly what we’re supposed to be doing. Faking it. But as I’m kissing my fake girlfriend in the middle of my barely renovated bar, it feels like the most right thing I’ve ever done.

“Are you going to let me bury my face between your thighs and make you come on my face like the good girl I know you are, Rosalie? You know I have a sweet tooth, and your cum is sweeter than the candy you’re dripping on.”

“You weigh nothing, Sugar. I’m a man whose entire career has been about taking hits from three-hundred-pound men and returning those hits. I could bench-press you. I’m a fucking man, Rosalie. One who loves every goddamn inch of this body. One who loves your curves and softness. One who loses his goddamn mind with the need to touch you. I’m not a boy who can’t handle the woman that you are. Do you hear me?”

“If you need me to reassure you of that every single time I see you, I will without hesitation. Over and over, until you realize how perfect you are,”

“As much as I fucking love the way you’re eye-fucking my cock right now, that’s going to have to wait until later because I need to be inside of you. Right now, Rosalie.”

It’s not just about making candy for me. It never has been. It’s about creating a legacy. A place in Mistletoe Falls where tradition never stops. Where people will always feel nostalgic as they step through the doors. The same way that I felt growing up. Sweet Sullivan’s is as much a part of me as I am a part of it, and I just want to keep that alive for as long as I can.”

Like for some reason that I can’t put into words just yet, I’m meant to be here. And the truth is, I don’t know if I am worthy of it. But I promise to give it everything I’ve got.