If You Give A Jerk A Gingerbread (Reindeer Falls, #2)

by Jana Aston

Sweet Pillsbury Doughboy, this is my idea of porn. Keller James sitting before me, praising my baking. If my bakery plan falls apart I know what my next venture will be. Bakery porn. It'll be nothing but attractive men eating my cookies. The camera will zoom in as their tongues flicker over their lips, sweeping up every last morsel. They'll probably be shirtless too. I bet I can get subscribers to pay at least four ninety-nine a month for such a service.

He exudes confidence and charm as if they're renewable resources with no need to use them sparingly.

What am I even thinking? Crazy thoughts, that's what. I'll probably be offering to let him use my oven next. And no, that wasn't even a euphemism for something naughty.

"I wasn't flirting. You were flirting." There. That'll show him. That I'm twelve. Way to spar, Ginger.

Sigh. Jingle my bell, he's trouble.

There will be no accidentally bumping into Keller James with ensuing flirting that may or may not be happening only in my head. There. Will. Not.

"Ginger, you're so spicy this morning. I'm going to call you Ginger Spice."

"Wait." A slow smile spreads. "Is Spice your actual middle name?" I blush a thousand shades of Santa’s suit while shaking my head. "No," I deny, frantically unpacking my basket. "No of course it isn't."

Oh, for elf's sake. Did I really just say “single and ready to mingle?”

"I'm fairly certain that the only thing I'd enjoy more than bantering with you is kissing you."

I wonder if the kiss is off the table now? Has the moment passed? Has he forgotten? Should I remind him? Or should I just walk over and climb him like a kitten climbs a Christmas tree?

Comparison is the thief of joy, and this is my dream. Just because my dreams are smaller in nature doesn't make them any less important or valid.

But clearly, I didn't think this through. Because he looks like Santa's gift to single women and I look like a package left on the front porch in the snow.

"Nothing about December is practical, Gingersnap. December is when magic takes over. Embrace it."

"This town, the people. You. It all reminds me of what's really important. Of what I'm missing." "What are you missing, exactly?" "Something real."

"I don't want someone easier. I want you. Besides, you like me too. You feel this between us. I know you do. The energy. The pull. The magic."

"Maybe if I was in your life I wouldn't be distracting you from it."

Also, you're British. Are you even allowed to stay? What if the Queen wants you back?

"It’s Christmas, Ginger, and anything is possible at Christmas. Have a little faith in the magic."

Sure, I date, but I can't remember the last time a man asked for my phone number in person. I meet guys on dating apps, like a civilized millennial.

I should have spent the evening researching how to behave like a naughty elf instead of watching a bunch of Brunch, Biscuits & Tea episodes I've been hoarding on my DVR.

Ginger: STOP REGENCY-ROMANCING ME AND BRING ME A SCONE. Keller: So spicy tonight, Gingersnap. Open your door.

And just like that, we're alone. Unattended. No cameras. No Pete to bust in and interrupt. No nosy production assistants trying to eavesdrop. Just me and Keller. In my house. Where sex things could happen. I feel totally awkward.

How do naughty elves do it? They'd probably just start ripping their reindeer pajamas off in the entryway without a single word. Or shove him against the wall and kiss him, scones smashed into smithereens between them.

"I'm not adorable," I announce, and then I give him a little shove so that he topples back onto the couch. "I'm a vixen. Ignore the pajamas. Think of me as a naughty elf," I instruct as I straddle him on the couch.

"Hate-fuck? Do you dislike me, Ginger?" "No! I've got an insane crush on you just like you said. Okay? But I know I probably remind you of your best friend's little sister and you think I'm too adorable to sleep with. But I'm not. I'm quite naughty." I pause here, not wanting to oversell or lie. "Reasonably naughty," I amend.

It's as if I'm living my own Christmas romance movie. But with sex. Really great, mind-blowing sex.

"What if Santa doesn't get it back in time to have it pressed? He can't pull an all-nighter delivering presents in a wrinkled suit as if he's on the sleigh ride of shame, Noel! Think of the children!"

Did that rascal just steal my dream location? "I gave that jerk my gingerbread," I mutter. Shocked.

I don't want to look adorable today, I want to look like regret. Like the sexiest baker he's ever seen. Which is probably not saying much because baking doesn't really lend itself to sexpot status.

"You want to open a restaurant in Reindeer Falls?" I ask, not daring to believe, even though he told me to. Believe in the magic, he said. This is the magic. We're the magic. Love is the magic. "Only if you'll do it with me, Gingersnap." He says it more earnestly than a man on bended knee proposing. "Let's play bake shop forever." "Yes," I breathe.