Page 2 of Baby, It’s Hot Inside

My parents’ best friends, Judy and Calvin Daniels, live right next door. Oh, did you recognize that last name? Yep, my nemesis growing up was my next door neighbor, Brock Daniels. He tormented me for years, pulling on my hair, putting frogs in my locker and using that infernal nickname he’d given me: Gingerbread. As if I didn’t know I’m rounded like a loaf of bread. Bastard.

Anyways, he’s been away--like out of the country away--finishing up his degree somewhere in Europe. Frankly, any time his name was mentioned, I tried not to pay attention.

Again, I eye myself in the mirror. I’m too damn short, too damn curvy and my wild red curls are ridiculous. I look like that Scottish princess from that animated movie. Though she at least had a cool accent. I have no cool accent, but I do have a pretty cool life.

I love my job. I teach kindergarten at the same elementary school that I attended. I have a tiny garage apartment, and a relatively decent social life. I go on the occasional date, though it’s hard to meet people when you’ve lived in the same smallish town your entire life. But my girlfriends are the best. Annie has been my very best friend since third grade when her family moved to town.

She knows all about my history with Brock Daniels which is why I’m making her come to the party tonight so that I have backup for when he shows up. My mother made a point of reminding me he was coming at least three times before I left the house. The Daniels are so proud. He’s their only child and just a shining star - so they say.

Insert dramatic eye roll.

By the time I arrive back at my parent’s house, a few cars line their circular driveway. I scan the vehicles looking for Annie’s car, but don’t see it yet. I head inside to find myself a cocktail, a little proverbial liquid courage, if you will.

The only people here so far are my parents’ friends, which of course include the Daniels.

Judy pulls me into a tight hug. “Ginger, you look absolutely adorable.”

That’s me. The adorable one. Not like my older sister who is taller so her curves are more proportional. And she has normal hair. And no freckles. But me, I’m the cute one. “Thank you,” I manage to say it without rolling my eyes.

“Brock is really excited to see you again,” she says.

I’ll just bet he is. Excited to find something new to tease me about. I wonder who he’s been tormenting all these years he’s been away. I give her a tight smile and nod, keeping one eye on the door watching for Annie.

“He hasn’t had much time to see many old friends since he’s been in town,” she continues.

I nod and take another sip of my drink.

The doorbell rings and I excuse myself hoping I’ll find Annie on the other side of the door. But when the heavy wood swings open another familiar face greets me. His face splits in a grin. Those perfect white teeth, dimples peeking through the scruff on his cheeks, dark hair and Christmas green eyes. Damn, why does he have to be so pretty?

“Gingerbread,” he says with that sexy grin.

And I slam the door in his face.

chapter two

Brock

Merry Christmas to me!

I laugh when she slams the door in my face, but don’t let it stop me from opening it and stepping inside. Ginger has now moved away from the foyer and into the main living area where I see her parents chatting with mine. But I can’t take my eyes off of the redheaded bombshell across the room.

I haven’t seen Ginger Starr since the night we graduated from high school. There were things I’d meant to say to her before I left and just never got around to it. Though back then she hadn’t been too keen to hear much of anything I ever said. But God I thought of her so many times over the last several years. I have a stack of postcards I bought her from every city I visited, addressed and stamped, but never mailed.

Still the same wild mane of red curls that I want to thread my fingers through. Same freckles and big brown eyes. Same short stature, but her curves are more pronounced and the maturity in her expression is intriguing. Fuck, if she’s not sexier than I remember her being. Of course she’d been only eighteen then. Now, she was all woman.

Ginger glances down at her phone, then winces. She looks across the room, directly at me and I smile. Can’t help it. She’s adorable.

So I make my way over to her. Once I reach her, I nod towards her phone. “Bad news?”

She blows out a breath. “Annie has food poisoning so she can’t make it.”

“Annie Fitzpatrick? Y’all still friends?”

“We are,” she says with a nod.

“I always liked her.”

Her warm cinnamon-colored eyes narrow with suspicion. “Why are you being friendly?”