By the Book

Chapter Thirty: Under the Mistletoe

The small brass mirror on the desk reflected the open office door, offering just enough of a view to keep me from jumping every time Miles poked his head in. It had already happened twice that morning—first with a mug of coffee and then with a playful warning to "come up for air before sunset."

I sighed, leaning back in the chair and rubbing my temples as the numbers on the page continued to defy logic. Something wasn't adding up. A series of payments labeled Consulting Fees were sticking out like a sore thumb, too large and too regular to be routine.

The café's financials were a puzzle, and I'd been holed up in the office all day trying to piece it together. Miles had been in and out, alternating between teasing interruptions and genuinely thoughtful gestures.

"Tea," he'd said earlier, setting the steaming mug beside me with a grin. "Because coffee will only make you spiral."

Now, hours later, I'd drained that mug and the one before it, and the stack of papers was no less baffling. I scribbled another note in the margins, frustration bubbling to the surface.

"You're going to set that ledger on fire with your glare," Miles's voice came from the doorway, and I glanced up in time to see him leaning casually against the frame.

I raised an eyebrow. "And you're going to run out of mugs if you keep refilling them at this rate."

He grinned, holding up a plate of pastries this time. "Thought you might need a sugar boost. Percy was lobbying to eat one, but I figured you deserved them more."

I couldn't help the small smile tugging at my lips as I reached for a croissant. "Thanks. But unless these pastries have magical ledger-fixing properties, they're not going to solve my problem."

Miles stepped into the office, setting the plate on the desk and leaning forward slightly, his hands braced on the edge. "Maybe you need a break. Staring at the same numbers all day isn't going to make them behave."

"Or maybe you just want an excuse to drag me out of here," I countered, glancing at him over the rim of my mug.

Miles's grin widened, a spark of mischief lighting his eyes. "Guilty as charged. But in my defense..." He leaned in, bracing one hand on the back of my chair and the other on the desk beside me, effectively caging me in. His voice dropped slightly, teasing but warm. "You're a lot more fun when you're not glaring at spreadsheets like they owe you money."

"They do owe me money," I shot back, though my pulse picked up at his proximity. "Or at least, an explanation."

"Maybe you should try asking nicely," he suggested, leaning a fraction closer, his breath brushing against my cheek.

I raised an eyebrow, refusing to back down even though my heart was doing a very unprofessional flutter. "And what would that look like?"

He tilted his head, his grin softening but never losing its playful edge. "Something like this," he murmured, leaning in and pressing a soft, deliberate kiss to my cheek.

The move caught me off guard—not bold enough to overwhelm, but just enough to make my breath hitch. I turned my head slightly, and his lips grazed mine fully, lingering for a moment that felt both impossibly long and far too short.

When he pulled back, his eyes met mine, and his grin turned positively wicked. "See? Sometimes being nice gets results."

I stared at him, my lips still tingling, my brain sluggishly trying to catch up with what had just happened. "You're insufferable," I said finally, though there wasn't much heat in the words. My voice was softer than I intended, a little breathless.