I’m taken off-guard when Jasper’s hand closes around my bicep and he yanks me into his arms, wrapping his around me. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs.
My heart skitters, but my insides warm as I wrap my arms around him and burrow into his chest. “I’m okay now, but I never turn down hugs.”
Jasper’s chest rumbles beneath me as he chuckles fondly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
I smile into his chest, even though he can’t see it. Squeezing him a little tighter, I say, “Thank you.”
We stand there like that for a minute, just holding each other in the middle of the sweet shop.
I finally open my eyes and notice someone walking around us, eyeing me strangely, so I take a reluctant step back and look up at him. “We should probably pick out something for your mom now.”
He seems no more excited about it than I would be trying to buy something for my mother, but we get back to shopping, anyway.
We end up grabbing a box of assorted truffles for Audra, and some pretzel rods dipped in chocolate for Arlo. When we were making cookies earlier, he asked if we were going to make those this year, so I assume he was hoping we would. Audra said no and turned it into yet another reason to complain, muttering about how there was no point making a lot of sweets when so many people didn’t even bother to show up.
Arlo did, though, and none of his holiday favorites seem to be on the menu.
“Can we make one more stop before we go home?”
“Where did you need to go?”
“The grocery store. I need to pick up a few ingredients.”
Jasper looks over at me with a frown. “For what?”
I smile back. “The rest of Uncle Arlo’s Christmas present.”As Jasper ushers me down a flight of stairs, I can’t help but to think this is a very odd location for a grocery store.
When we step inside a place lit mostly by freestanding lamps and candles on tables, it feels like we’ve stepped into a forbidden, prohibition-era bar in the 1920’s instead of anyplace in a modern day Stillwater.
Striped wallpaper makes it feel a little like a hidden room in someone’s lavish home, while the exposed brick along one wall gives it the feel of some secret cellar in a big city. There are plush velvet U-shaped booths, a well-stocked bar, a couple chandeliers hanging overhead, and exposed pipes on the ceiling, adding to the vibe of this being a hidden, romantic spot.
“Is this… a speakeasy?” I ask, looking around.
Jasper places a hand at the small of my back and gently moves me forward. “It sure is.”
I am in awe. I’ve never been to one before. While I might’ve expected Chicago to have a speakeasy or two since it’s a bigger city, I never would have expected a small town like Stillwater to have something like this.
“It’s official. This is the best town in the world,” I announce.
“I don’t know about you, but I sure could use a drink.” He keeps his hand at the small of my back, keeps me close like he needs to look out for me as he scopes out the room.
I get the same vibe I got back at the completely harmless Norwegian bakery we were in, only here, it hits differently. In this dark, romantic setting, with a man I am fairly certain works for the mob…
It’s a little sexy. My heart skips a beat, my teeth sinking into my bottom lip. Jasper fits in at a place like this. I know there’s no real danger here, not in Stillwater, but if we were in his city…
“Are there places like this in Chicago?” I ask.
His gaze shifts back to my face. “Mm-hmm. My boss owns a couple of them. He has this piano bar—it’s not a speakeasy, but it has a similar vibe to this place. Then, because he’s got a flair for the dramatic and more money than God, he bought an actual speakeasy. Seemed only right a Chicago Mafioso should own one.”
I grin. “I want to go. You should have kidnapped me a night sooner and taken me there first.”
Jasper smirks mildly. “Sorry. I’ll try to plan my hostage itinerary a little better next time.”
With a perfunctory nod, I tell him, “See that you do. Could I meet this enigmatic boss of yours, too? You’ve mentioned him a few times, and I’m curious. Maybe we could go one night when he’s there.”
His hand on my waist tightens. “Absolutely not.”
I wrinkle up my nose at him. “How come?”
“He doesn’t hang out there, he just owns the place, and my boss… he’s all kinds of trouble. No reason for you to ever meet him—especially if you’re curious about him,” he mutters.
Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes. “I didn’t mean like that. Besides, he’s married, isn’t he?”