Let It Snow: Three Holiday Romances Myracle, John (the lemonade war series txt) 📖

any way to put a spin on this?

“He’s a really cute pig,” I said. “Does that count for anything?”

Christina pointed to the door. “The pig has to go. Now.”

“Fine, fine,” I said. “I just need to give Tegan a cup to put him in.”

“Think Flobie’ll ever dip into drinkware?” Stuart said to Jubilee under his breath.

“I’m sorry, what’s that?” I said.

Giggling, Jubilee elbowed Stuart and said, “Ignore. Please.”

Dorrie stepped closer to me. “You did good, Addie,” she said. “I doubted you, but I shouldn’t have, and . . . well, you did good.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“Hello?” Christina said. “Did anyone hear me when I said the pig needs to go?”

“Someone needs a refresher in customer service,” Tobin said.

“Maybe Don-Keun could help?” Angie said.

Christina glared, and Tegan stepped backward toward the door. “I’m leaving, I’m leaving!”

“Wait!” I said. I released Jeb long enough to grab a snowflake mug from the shelf, which I handed to Tegan. “For Gabriel.”

“If the regional manager stops in, I’m fired,” Christina said hopelessly. “Pigs are not part of Starbucks policy.”

“Here you go, sweetie,” Tegan said, tilting Gabriel so that he slipped into the mug. He scrabbled a bit, then seemed to realize the mug was just his size and made a decent house, actually. He sat on his haunches and oinked, and every one of us gave a collective awwww. Even Christina.

“Excellent,” Dorrie said. “Now come on, we better go before Christina plotzes.”

I grinned at Jeb, who grinned back. His gaze shifted to my hair, and his eyebrows went up.

“Hey,” he said. “You changed your hair.”

“Oh, yeah,” I said. It seemed like a lifetime ago. That blonde-haired boo-hoo-hoo girl who spent Christmas feeling sorry for herself, was that really me?

“Looks nice,” he said. He rubbed a lock between his thumb and forefinger. His knuckles slid down, grazing my cheek.

“Addie, I want you,” he whispered, and heat flamed to my face. Did he honestly just say that? That he wanted me, right here in Starbucks?

Then I realized what he meant. He was responding to my e-mail, the part where I said, If you want me, I’m yours.

My cheeks stayed warm, and I was glad no one in the store had ESP, because that was a classically self-absorbed misinterpretation. But even if they did have ESP—and how would I know, anyway?—it was certainly no crisis.

I rose on my toes and wrapped my arms around Jeb’s neck.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” I warned him, since I knew how he felt about being mushy in public.

“No,” he said, gently but firmly. “I’m going to kiss you.”

His lips touched mine, and a ringing filled my head, sweet and silver and pure. It was probably the bell on the door, jingling as Dorrie and Tegan went out. But I was far too busy to check.

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