Page 18 of Snowed in with a Grinch

Stuffing as much of the omelet as I can into my cheeks, I follow him into the greenhouse, finding him methodically removing the thermal blankets we'd draped over his precious plants. The humid air wraps around me as I enter, making the oversized sweater cling to my skin.

“Need help?” I ask softly, moving to the nearest orchid display.

“I’m fine. You should eat your food.”

“It'll keep.” I start carefully folding one of the blankets. “Talk to me, Sawyer.”

“About what?”

“Anything. Everything.” I move closer, resting my hand on his arm. “I want to know you. All of you.”

He stills under my touch, and for a moment, I think he might push me away. But then he covers my hand with his, thumb tracing gentle circles on my skin. “Noelle…”

His mouth opens and closes, like he’s searching for the right words to say. But before he can find them, a tiny movement and flash of bright color catches my attention. “Sawyer...” I breathe, squeezing his hand. “Your orchid...”

We both watch in wonder as the Paphiopedilum's petals slowly unfurl, opening for the first time in three years. The bloom is extraordinary—exotic and complex and absolutely perfect. Like the flower had been waiting for precisely this moment to share its beauty.

“Would you look at that,” he murmurs. “After all this time trying to force it... controlling every variable, monitoring everycondition...” He turns to me, and the emotion swimming in his eyes is my undoing. “Maybe some things just need the right moment.”

“Or the right person to help them open up and bloom,” I whisper, not just talking about the orchid anymore.

“I… Noelle…”

“Yes?”

“Can we just...” He brushes along my jawline with the backs of his knuckles. “Can we just have this? For now?”

Something in his voice has me nodding in understanding. I rise up on my tiptoes, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “For now,” I whisper against his mouth. “But I'm not giving up on you, Mountain Man.”

His response is to lift me into his arms, kissing me with an intensity that has my body lighting up all over again. And as he carries me back toward his bedroom, I realize I'm already past the point of no return. Whatever secrets Sawyer's keeping, whatever pain he's trying to protect me from—my heart's already decided he's worth the risk.

I'm falling in love with my Christmas Grinch.

And I have a feeling that's going to be both the best and scariest gift of all.

SAWYER

Iwatch her sleep in the pale light of dawn, memorizing every detail. The way her dark hair spills across my pillow like spilled ink, the slight part of her lips as they curve into a soft smile even in sleep, the gentle rise and fall of her chest with each breath. The arch of her shoulder where it peeks above my sheets looks like it was created for my hands to glide over, and the memory of how her skin felt under my touch last night makes my fingers itch to reach for her again.

Late-morning light filters in through the frost-covered windows. The storm has finally passed, leaving behind a pristine blanket of white outside that makes the world feel clean and new. Quiet. Inside, the air feels alive somehow, thick with something that feels dangerously like hope.

Mine.

The possessive thought hits hard and fast, accompanied by an ache in my chest I thought I'd buried years ago. I want to wake her up and take her again, claim her the way I did several times in the night. Show her with my body what I can't seem to say with words—that she's changed everything just by existing in my space. That the careful walls I'd built around my life havecrumbled under the weight of her smile. That for the first time in years, my cabin feels less like a fortress and more like a home.

But she needs rest. And more importantly, I need to get my head on straight before I do something stupid like beg her to stay.

The Christmas lights she strung in the living area still twinkle softly through my open bedroom door. Even in sleep, she radiates warmth and joy, like she's somehow captured sunshine and hold it within herself. My bed has never looked more inviting, more right, than it does with her in it.

And that terrifies me.

With careful movements, I slip from the bed, though every instinct screams at me to stay, to wrap myself around her and never let go. She makes a small sound of protest that nearly breaks my resolve, reaching for where I'd been lying, and I have to force myself to step away before I give in to the urge to climb back in beside her. But I make it to the bathroom, closing the door softly behind me.

The man in the mirror looks different somehow. Less haunted. The hard lines around my mouth have softened, and there's a warmth in my eyes I haven't seen in years. It's ironic, given that I'm more haunted than ever—by the taste of her, the sound of her pleasure, the way she touched me like I was worth touching. Like I deserved the joy she so freely offers.

Steam fills the room as I turn on the shower, but I can't stop staring at my reflection. At the marks she left on my chest, physical proof that last night wasn't just another lonely dream. Her scent still clings to my skin, vanilla and cinnamon mixing with the earthy smell that follows me from the greenhouse.

I'm not giving up on you...

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