Page 51 of Yuletide Acres

Marissa nods. “It’s sparkly. I love sparkly things.” She tugs at her own hair, done up in simple braids. “My hair is boring.”

“Your braids are beautiful, but you’re right. They could use some decoration.” I slide the clip from my hair, my long locks cascading down my back. With dexterous fingers, I twist her braids together, pinning them with the clip. “There you go. Now you’re a princess, too.”

Her eyes sparkle at the gift before wrapping her arms around my neck. Talk about an easy way to melt a heart. Marissa could turn an iceberg to water with a single smile. “I’m going to show Grandma!”

I chuckle as she runs off, any feelings of loneliness long gone.

Hey, a princess needs a crown.

I stroll over to the portable bar, ordering a glass of wine and earning an appreciative smile from the bartender.

“That’s a lovely dress.”

I turn, taking in the pretty blonde to my right. She’s a looker, not a day over twenty-five, with the perky tits to prove it. “Thank you. I didn’t get the memo about the dress code.”

“It’s nice to dress up. There’s so little reason to do it here. Not practical, as my mother would say. You know what I say? Screw practicality. Besides, you’ve caught the eye of the mayor, and that’s something few women have managed to do.”

I tap my fingers against the wineglass, looking for answers in the golden liquid. “I’ve heard he’s very popular with the ladies.”

“Can you blame us? He’s gorgeous, and totally unavailable. Word to the wise? Hold on to your heart.”

“We’re just friends,” I blurt, but I can tell from her sad smile that she sees right through my fib. “Is he really a player?” I’m not sure why I’m asking about Dylan’s sexual past. I don’t want to know, but I feel like I have to know.

“I’ve worked with him for three years. He’s a very nice man and so damn easy on the eyes. He has several women that he entertains, but he never promises them anything. They know the deal.”

“The deal?” Even the term sits in my mouth like a piece of rotten fruit, coloring every thought.

She extends her hand with a laugh. “I’m terribly rude. I’m Amelia.”

“Poppy. You were saying?” Yes, I’m pressing the issue.

“Oh, his whole hands-off approach with women. He doesn’t date, doesn’t believe in relationships or marriage or having any more children. Hell, I could post a billboard in the town square based on the amount of times I’ve heard him say that.”

“Maybe he hasn’t met the right woman.” It’s my Hail Mary pass at this point.

“Honey, with the number of women lining up over the years, if there was a right woman, he would have met her. Besides, I overheard him saying it just last week.” She sighs, taking a sip of her drink. “Damn shame, if you ask me, but he’s set in his ways.”

And just like that, my Hail Mary pass is intercepted in the end zone. I knew what she was going to say. Gayle intimated something similar, but she seemed to believe I might be different. According to Amelia, his rules are still very much in play.

That knowledge just pushed me to the sidelines. “It was nice meeting you,” I manage, winding away from the bar and taking up residence by the edge of the dance floor.

“What happened to your hair?” Dylan asks behind me, pushing it over one shoulder. I can’t help but notice how close he stands now, the intimate grazes that are more presumptuous by the minute.

Squelching my innate disappointment, I point at Marissa, running across the dance floor and showing her new “crown” to everyone in the vicinity. “Your princess needed some extra sparkle.”

Dylan chuckles, his arm wrapping around me as he drops a kiss on my shoulder. “Thank you. I really appreciate that.”

“Well, I’d offer one to you, too, but you don’t have enough hair.” I turn to face him, forcing a grin.

Yes, I broke the intimate moment. It’s not that I don’t want Dylan’s affections. I do. Desperately. But my recently acquired knowledge about Dylan’s steadfast rules regarding love is a bitter pill to swallow. The man has made it clear, apparently to anyone who will listen, that he has no intention of remarrying or fathering more children.

Both are things I would love in my life. There’s no compromise in that situation. Only disappointment.

My disappointment.

I’ve suffered enough disappointment in my life to actively search it out.

Dylan runs a hand over his short buzz, shrugging at my pointed remark. “Hey, it’s easy. Besides, I was beginning to resemble an aging rocker. Not a good look.”

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