Page 2 of Recklessly in Love

“That sounds an awful lot like a challenge,” I reply.

Mia groans, and I laugh.

“Nate is going to be furious with me for talking you into this,” she jokes.

“I guess we’re both going to be on the naughty list this year,” I joke back. “Welcome, Mia. It’s so much more fun than the nice list.”

* * *

The following weekend and a two-plus-hour drive finds me bundled up against chilly air and piles of snow, yet still freezing my ass off, while I stand next to a radiant Mia and her smoking hot fiancé Nate, staring at a tree.

Yep. A tree.

Those gingerbread macarons better be damn good.

Granted, the tree is humongous and right in the center of what I suppose qualifies as “downtown” Alpine Ridge. Mia’s bakery is just down the road behind us, next to Nate’s shop and the grocery store. And I see a sign for a bar and restaurant across the main drag. There’s also an unmarked building behind the tree, plus a couple of other buildings further up the road from where we stand. All done up in the same rustic wood with wagon wheels style. Quaint, if not a little trite. But that’s about it. Alpine Ridge is a small town.

“So, this is where all the fun will be?” I ask drily, shooting an equally dry look at Mia.

She responds with a dramatic eye roll. “This is where the tree lighting ceremony will be. But many of the activities will be inside —” she points at the unmarked building “—at the community center.”

I smirk. “A community center, huh?” I tease. “I wouldn’t have thought the town was big enough to have one.”

Mia slips her arm into mine and starts to lead me toward the building. “Real funny. Maybe keep those kinds of comments to yourself around the locals, hm?” Mia hums.

I look pointedly between her and Nate. “I guess that means you don’t consider yourself locals?”

Nate snorts. “By the usual definition, sure. I mean, we live here full-time. But by Alpine Ridge definitions? Not even close. If you weren’t born here, you’re not local.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Is there even a hospital here where you can give birth?”

Mia suppresses a smile. “Not yet. But you know what he means; many people in town have lived here their whole lives.” She pushes the heavy door to the building open, and we head inside.

The small entry alcove has a desk to one side and opens to a larger room behind it. A hallway leads off to the right behind the desk.

My head swings around, trying to take in the massive amounts of knotty pine. Paneling. Beams. Even the damn desk is made of it.

“Well. This is … rustic,” I mumble, following Mia into the larger room. Long tables are arranged against the walls. And then my eyes land on a bent figure in the corner. And the spectacular ass pointed in my direction.

“Hey, Greg,” Nate calls toward the ass. I mean, the guy. Because there is obviously a guy attached to that splendid backside. A fact that becomes startlingly clear when he rises and turns toward me. Because the guy is just as spectacular as the ass.

At about Mia’s height, short for a dude but perfect for my tiny self, he’s all lean muscle, rugged five o’clock shadow, and full lips on a mountain man face. The face of a man who can rough it or rough you up in bed — in the best way possible, of course.

“Nate,” he returns, heading over and slapping Nate on the shoulder in greeting. “Perfect timing. Know anything about rewiring wall heaters?”

Nate follows him over to the corner to work on his heater issue. And I turn to Mia, shooting her a meaningful look.

“Girl, you were holding out on me,” I accuse her in a low voice.

Mia’s brows scrunch together. “Greg? Really?” she whispers back.

I raise my eyebrows incredulously. “Yes, Greg,” I snap back. “Holy hotness, Mia. What’s his deal? Is he married?” I curse myself for being too tangled up in fantasies of that scruff scraping along the insides of my thighs to notice whether he was wearing a ring.

Mia shrugs. “Nope. He runs this place. He and Nate work out together a few times a week, and he also helps at the wellness center sometimes. He’s a good guy. Quiet. I wouldn’t have thought he was your type.”

I huff a breath out of my nose. “Hot isn’t my type? Yeah, okay, Mia.”

A faint smile plays over Mia’s lips. “I’ve got Nate. I don’t even think about whether other guys are hot anymore. I mean … look at him.” She sighs wistfully as she eyes her man. And it’s not like I’m going to deny that the towering hunk of muscle matched with the brains of a former doctor isn’t fucking hot. At least to myself. To my best friend about her fiancé? That’s a no.

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