Page 2 of Babies for the Christmas Grump

I slide onto a barstool, giving off the vibe of a woman who’s either very tired or very drunk. Sadly, I’m just the first one.

“Please tell me you serve food,” I say to the bartender, who looks up from polishing a glass. He might as well be a character from a Hallmark movie, but hotter, and with visible sarcasm.

“We serve both food and drinks suitable for mild emotional crises,” he says, deadpan. “Which are you here for?”

“Both,” I say, unwrapping my scarf dramatically. “Ideally, at the same time.”

He grins, and I like him immediately.

“Dex,” he says, handing me a menu. “Bartender slash unlicensed therapist.”

“Good to meet you, Dex,” I reply with a smirk, forgetting to mention my own name in the process. “Sorry, it’s been a day. I might be emotionally screaming inside.”

Dex raises an eyebrow. “That’s a mood.”

“I think it’s my whole brand right now.” I laugh, though it comes out a little too tight.

He grins. “So, what are we drinking to? The impending chaos of life or just the need for some delicious carbs?”

“Definitely the carbs. The chaos has been a constant guest in my life for a while now.”

“You and me both.” He sets down a glass, wipes his hands on a towel, and tilts his head. “So, what’s your go-to drink when things are falling apart?”

“Ooh, I need a glass of red wine, for sure. And a burger would be amazing.”

“Coming right up.” He makes quick work of my order, then adds, “You sure you don’t need a side of therapy with that?”

I give him a grin. “I’d say yes, but I’m pretty sure your license is just for making drinks, not for listening to me lament my questionable life choices.”

He chuckles, sliding a glass of wine in front of me. “Therapist’s code: No judgment. Just the drink.”

I take a sip and let out a satisfied sigh. “Much better. Thanks.” I glance around the cozy, dimly lit bar. “This place is beautiful. Better than I expected. It’s the kind of place that makes you feel like you’re in a snow globe.”

Dex’s eyes flicker. Maybe with amusement, or just tiredness. “Yeah, it does have that vibe.”

I pick up a fry, dip it in ketchup, and then take a bite. “Okay, this is amazing. Like, I’m pretty sure I’ve found my new favorite food in the world.”

“Good taste,” he says with a nod, glancing at the clock behind the bar.

The door opens behind me, and Dex’s gaze flicks toward it. He pauses.

I know something’s happened because Dex stops mid-pour.

I glance over my shoulder.

And seehim.

Tall. Broad. Expensive-looking. The kind of man who wears a black wool coat as a statement and walks in a way that suggests he doesn’t need to explain himself to anyone. Steel gray hair. Eyes of ice. That jaw.

Oh no.Oh no.

He’s hot.

And not just hot. He’s ruin-your-life, forget-your-name, leave-you-thinking-about-him-for-the-next-decade hot.

He meets my eyes and smiles. Not big. Just enough.

My stomach drops straight into my boots.