Page 8 of Grouch-ish

My mind is made up. I’m not leaving this farm.

Little Miss Paradise isn’t going to like it.

Like a partridge in a pear tree, I’m here to stay for twelve days.

+ + +

“You what?” Paradise stands with the front door slightly ajar. The sliver allows me only a slim view of her luscious body.

“I’m staying.” I pause. “Here.”

The shock on her rosy face, now heated from the warmth of a roof over her head and a toasty house surrounding her goes from pink to red in an instant. Her feathers are definitely ruffled by my declaration.

“I can’t find a hotel within sixty miles of this place, and I can’t leave.” I didn’t want to beg, so I needed her to hear the resolve in my voice. I couldn’t go home.

“Cap said twelve days, so I’m here for the full dozen.”

Her eyes narrow. “This isn’t a package of eggs. It’s my house.”

“Technically, it’s Cap’s,” I counter, tilting my head and taking her in again. Those bright blue eyes. Her heated cheeks. Her cherry-red lips. That mouth looked like Christmas ribbon I wanted wrapped around my—

“Fine. Dad said you can sleep in the barn.”

“What? No.” I twist and glance at the large structure, worn and faded, scratched and weathered. I wasn’t sleeping in a barn like a fucking animal. Turning back to her, I demand, “Just give me a room.”

“No room at the inn,” she mocks, before chewing at the corner of her mouth, like she’s fighting a smile.

Ha. Funny. “Come on, Paradise.”

She twists her lips and leans her head against the open door, eyeing me for a long, skeptical minute.

“I get it. I’m a stranger to you but I work with Cap. If I touched you, he’d have my balls.”

Her head pops upright. “If you touched me, I’d have your balls. And I’d roast them like teeny-tiny chestnuts over an open fire.”

Yikes. My gut tightens. I squeeze my thighs together.

“And I don’t take orders from you either,” she adds, pointing a finger at me that is oddly similar to how Cap holds his hand when his trigger is aimed at me. “I’m head elf here.”

The corner of my mouth curls and I fight to control the growing grin. She’s kind of cute when she’s trying to be stern. She cannot pull off scowling schoolteacher, but I’d still let her reprimand me. I’d be happy to be on her naughty list.

“Got it, snowflake,” I mock, saluting her.

“I’ll give you jobs around the place, take notes, and Dad can assess what you’ve done when he returns.”

“Dad,” I chide, like we’re kids and she’s playing mother hen, stealing my rank as top bird in this here apple orchard.

Her glare suggests I’m on thin ice with her. She could slam that door in my face, turn the lock, and stay nice and cozy inside that house. The idea makes me shiver as the cold is settling into my bones again. All the warmth I’d gained while sitting in my truck has dissipated.

“Look, I’m sorry.” My tone is still too rough for the apology. “I promise I’ll behave.”

“I don’t need you to behave—”

Our eyes lock. Her command wasn’t meant to be suggestive, but I have all the suggestions for how we can misbehave together.

Then I hear my balls crackling over a roaring flame, and shiver once more.

Her gaze drops and I instantly miss the cool shock and warm glare in them. For some reason, I want her looking at me. Seeing me.