Page 18 of Elf-ish

With the devil, probably. Or more like a holiday grinch.

+ + +

Our drive to the inn in Jude’s sporty car is quiet at first as we muddle through Friday evening traffic out of a city with constant construction on its surrounding highways. When we finally pick up speed, my eyelids lose their fight to stay open.

“Set the seat back a little bit. Take that nap,” Jude suggests, sounding surprisingly considerate, and I give in to sixty restless minutes.

When I finally rouse myself, I straighten and stretch in the comfort of his heated, leather bucket seats.

“Warm enough?” Jude asks when I rub my hands up and down my arms.

I nod, while staring out the window, and ask, “Where are we?” We’ve definitely moved away from cities into what appears to be flat, empty farm fields blanketed by the cold, winter night. However, the stars are abundant and bright in the sky.

“We have another half-hour before we get there.”

I nod again, then turn my gaze toward Jude. “So how will this work? Am I a date for hire?” I wiggle my brows at the salacious thought, then remember I’m supposed to be respectable. “Or your new girlfriend?”

Jude rolls his head in my direction and gives me a tight smirk. “Girlfriend works.”

He pauses another second while returning his attention to the dark highway in front of us.

“What does being your girlfriend mean?” Has he ever had one? A meaningful one, not the on again off again woman in his office.

“I don’t know. I’ve never had one.”

The answer should surprise me, but it strangely doesn’t. It also makes me a bit sad for him. There’s an aloofness to Jude, suggesting he doesn’t allow people to get too close. A girlfriend would definitely want in his space.

“But in this case, it means . . .” He clears his throat. “That I might have to touch you.”

What? Imagine my foot hitting the brakes on this moving vehicle.

“Maybe a hand on your back or an arm over your shoulder.”

“Okay,” I whisper, drawing out the word. Okay. Maybe. I guess. I mean, I can handle that. Casual touching is acceptable. It won’t mean anything.

“And maybe a kiss or two . . . on the cheek,” he clarifies. He glances toward me, but his gaze stalls on my lips. Quickly, he yanks his attention back to the road, and he rolls his tight grip over the steering wheel.

Jude does not strike me as a cheek-kisser.

“Okay.” Still, my voice quivers and hesitates. How difficult can it be?

But a glance over at Jude, his features highlighted by the lights on the dashboard, has me swallowing hard.

That sharp nose. The smattering of facial hair. The glow of those luminescent eyes.

I’ve definitely sparked a deal with a devil.

+ + +

When we finally arrive at the quaint inn, we’re met by the soft glow of a million lights. One minute we are in complete darkness other than the headlights of Jude’s sports car and the stars overhead, and then, like an oasis in the desert, this beacon of brightness illuminates. The inn looks like something one might find in the French Alps, not amid Wisconsin farmlands. The sprawling chalet-like structure is a combination of Old World and modern flair with its white stucco and dark timbered accents.

Inside, the lobby features rich, walnut paneling and antique furniture that looks plush, facing a large fireplace where welcoming flames crackle. Large lit candles decorate the wide, stone hearth. A large circular table fills the center of the lobby near the registration counter, and a giant winter floral arrangement of pine boughs, redwood twigs, and berries on branches explodes out of a low-bowl container. The place is inviting and cozy, bordering on romantic, and standing here, we encounter another dilemma in our dating exchange.

“There must be a mistake,” Jude argues with the front desk clerk, a young man no more than twenty.

“I’m sorry, sir. Only one room was booked.”

I sigh and hang my head. This cannot be happening. I cannot stay in the same room with Jude.