Page 37 of Frosty Felicity
CHAPTER TWELVE
Dr. Pepper
…One week later
“Of course, Violet.” Felicity burst out in giggles as she walked across her kitchen, opened the refrigerator door, and removed the cookie dough. Moments later, she was rolling it out, forming it into little Christmas trees with the help of her cookie cutter, gifted to her from the ex-best friend several years ago.
She and Violet continued on with their phone conversation, long enough for her to place the cookies into the oven and start on another culinary project.
“And are you okay with how fast things are going?” Violet asked.
Felicity rolled her eyes as she cut the spicy peppers into smaller bits. She was making her famous, special dressing for Christmas. Everyone loved her dressing, and it had an extra kick. Just how she liked it. She figured this would be a good chance to show off her cooking skills to Brett, too, since he was on his way over to spend the evening. “I know that things are moving at an accelerated pace, but neither of us are pushing it, if you know what I mean?”
“I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I know you don’t. I appreciate that. I do.” She glanced at her phone that was lying on the counter as she spoke, then placed the knife down and transferred the chopped peppers from the plate into the bowl.
“I’ve noticed you’ve been in a chipper mood lately. Even though Christmas is here!”
Felicity smiled.
“Yes. I think because Brett enjoys the holidays so much, it’s kind of rubbed off on me.”
“Down goes Frazier! Officer Brett Mason has heated up the hunk of ice, formerly known as Frosty Felicity! He’s made far more progress with you than I have. I have to give credit where credit is due.”
Just then, she heard the doorbell.
“That must be him. I have to go, Violet.”
“Have a nice evening. I’m proud of you, Felicity. Keep up the good work.”
Felicity ended the call, slipped out of her apron, and made her way to the front door. She looked out the peephole and found her dashing man standing with a duffle bag swung over his shoulder, holding a bottle of wine and something wrapped up in dark red and silver paper, with a big white bow on top of it.
“I’m sorry, but you have the wrong address, sir,” she teased after swinging open the door. “If you’re looking for homemade eggnog, Christmas cheer, and a little hanky-panky, you need to go three doors down.”
“Who lives three doors down?”
“Santa’s house at the North Pole. I heard Santa and Ms. Klaus were into swinging.”
Brett smirked, then kissed her hard before brushing past her into the house.
“Wow. Something smells good!” He barreled straight to her kitchen, placing the wine and present down on the countertop. “What are you making?”
“Dressing.”
“Stuffing?”
“No, dressing. Stuffing goes inside the turkey—really not hygienic, either, and can cause a nasty bout of salmonella, but to each his own. Dressing is a dish all by itself.”
“And so are you,” he said flirtatiously.
“I already cooked one batch, and I’m making a second one now. This one with a bit more flavor.” She pointed proudly at the finished product she’d taken out of the oven just a few minutes before his arrival. “I think if I add a little smoked paprika in this, it’ll—”
Before she could finish her sentence, the man had dropped his duffle bag on the floor and pulled her in his arms. Her body swirled with lusty heat as he grabbed her ass, giving each cheek a good squeeze. As soon as she was flat on her feet, she dropped to her knees before him.
“What about an appetizer for ol’ Felicity? I’m famished, and wouldn’t mind jingling some bells. On my tongue.” She winked up at him as she undid his belt, slid it through the loops, and tossed it aside before unzipping his pants.
“Who am I to stand in the way of a hungry lady, especially so close to Christmas? ’Tis the season of giving…”
