Page 27 of Naughty Santa

“Traffic, the insanely high rent prices, earthquakes, fires, smog.”

To him, those would outweigh the benefits, but she’d grown up there. It was home. Plus, he’d never walked on a beach in Southern California. That might change his mind about everything. “I guess everywhere has pros and cons, huh?”

Paris nodded and set Louis down on the shag carpet. He ran over to the plaid sofa and leaped up onto it and did three circles before settling down. “What’s your favorite thing about North Pole?”

That was easy. “The people. The sense of community. Neighbors helping neighbors.”

“And your least favorite?” she asked.

That no woman ever wanted to stay. That he was Uncle Joe and was most likely never going to be a father unless he left town. But he didn’t say any of that. It was two weeks until Christmas; there was a light snow falling, and he and Paris were on borrowed time. Joe was going to enjoy the season. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Roscoe,” he said as Lydia’s cat strolled by and took a swipe at his leg.

Paris laughed. She bent down and scratched behind the cat’s ears. “Don’t be mean. Roscoe is just a witty-bitty cutie little baby, aren’t you, sweetie? Yes, I know. That feels so good when I rub you, doesn’t it?”

“Lucky son of a bitch.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Let me get my coat.”

“Great idea.”

Paris disappeared into the hallway between the family room and the kitchen. Lydia had it set up as a mud room. To his shock, Paris reappeared wearing his enormous winter coat and Mom’s boots. Wise, given what he had planned, but shocking, nonetheless.

“Nice duds,” he told her.

“When in Rome,” she said breezily, zipping up the nylon coat with a flourish.

Joe stepped in front of her, amazed as always by how beautiful she was with her high cheekbones and almond-colored eyes that sparkled with flirtation. He leaned in. Paris parted her lips, her eyes drifting partially closed, anticipating his kiss.

Pulling a knit hat out of his pocket, he reached up and tugged it onto her head.

She gave a squawk. “What the hell, Joe?”

“Your ears need to be covered.” She looked annoyed and adorable, the worn navy hat lopsided. Joe gave her a kiss. “It’s cold outside.”

“You need to work on your flirting skills,” she said. “This doesn’t feel very sexy.”

“You’d be sexy in a sack,” he told her truthfully.

Thirty minutes later, as he led Paris by the hand through the snow to a covered-bridge painted barn-red, she gave a gasp. “Joe… Oh my God, this is beautiful.”

“It is.” But he was looking at her instead of the bridge he’d seen hundreds of times. The wonder on her face made his dick hard and his gut clench.

It was a cold, clear night, the snow having stopped twenty minutes earlier. The moon was high, and the trees were dusted with the new-fallen snow.

“It’s so quiet out here,” she said, turning in a circle, putting her arms out. “It’s like we’re all alone in the world.”

An owl gave a low call in the distance. “Not entirely alone.”

“Where does this road go?” She gestured to the bridge. “Can we walk through it, or are we at risk for getting hit by a car?”

Joe gave her a smile. “We’re not going to get hit by a car. The bridge is closed to cars now because the road was cut off by new development and the highway. It’s just a foot bridge now.”

“Progress comes even to small towns, doesn’t it?”

“Yep. Even when it’s not wanted.” Joe took Paris’s hand and led her across the snow.

She seemed startled to be holding hands, but he didn’t care. The woman had proven herself incapable of walking in snow without falling on her ass, and he didn’t want to be hauling her off the ground every ten feet.

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