Page 2 of Dad Bod Snow Job

The woman blinks, momentarily startled out of her tirade. Behind me, Nico radiates heat like a wall of warmth, his massive presence blocking out the rest of the shop.

“Well, yes, but?—”

“You're going to love this.” I gesture to the Douglas fir like I'm unveiling a masterpiece. “The natural asymmetry? That's what makes it perfect for creating depth in your display. When you're decorating a room, do you want everything symmetrical? Of course not. You want visual interest.”

I run my hand along one of the branches, demonstrating how the needles catch the light. Three marketing pitches about optimal ornament placement and lighting angles tumble from my lips. Each time I move, Nico shifts his stance as if ready to catch me if I stumble.

The customer's expression shifts from skeptical to considering. “But what about the bare spot on this side?”

“That's not a bare spot—it's an opportunity.” I grab a box of lights from a nearby display.

The teenage employee is gawking, but Nico waves him away, his attention fixed on my sales pitch.

“Add strategic lighting here, and those variations become artistic shadow play. The fuller side faces the window, while this side leaves room for your special ornaments to shine.”

The air crackles with Nico's attention. My skin prickles with awareness as I work, but I don't dare look at him. Instead, I drape a frosted garland across a display, matching it perfectly to the tree. The safety-vested workers pause their tree wrestling to watch, exchanging looks when Nico ignores their attempts to get his attention.

“Frame your window with this and add these remote-controlled lights.” I grab a stunning silver and crystal wreath. “This piece above the window? Your neighbors won't just see a tree. They'll see a magazine-worthy Christmas display.”

The woman laughs. “That would show them, wouldn't it?”

Ten minutes later, the bell chimes farewell as she leaves, arms laden with her “asymmetrical” tree and enough decorations tolight up half of Riley's Ridge. My saleswoman's smile holds until she disappears down the steps.

“I'm sorry if I overstepped,” I say, turning to find Nico much closer than expected.

His gaze flicks to my dress and lingers a moment too long before darting away. “That was... “ His voice trails off as he steps closer. His cologne mingles with coffee and winter air, making my head spin. “Impressive.”

“Thanks.” I smooth my dress, hyper-aware of his proximity. “So, about that job?—”

“The city must've paid better than minimum wage plus commission.” He runs a hand through his hair, messing it further. “Corporate marketing to Christmas trees is quite a change.”

“Good things grow in small towns.” The words spill out before I can stop them.

His eyes lock on mine, searching. “Office is this way,” he says, gesturing toward a door. “If you still want the job.”

The energy in the shop shifts as we walk. Employees scatter from Nico's path, their whispers falling silent. The safety-vested workers pause mid-lift with a Fraser fir between them, waiting for instructions. Nico doesn't even glance their way.

The gangly teenager pipes up about a late delivery, his voice cracking. Nico's hand brushes against my lower back as he guides me past them, ignoring their startled looks. No one moves until we pass, like trees bending away from a storm.

The office makes a broom closet look spacious. Nico's broad shoulders block the doorway as he flicks on the light. “Watchyour step.” His voice roughens as I slip past him, the cramped space forcing me closer than is deemed comfortable.

One desk dominates the tiny room, its surface buried under paperwork. Two chairs squeeze in like afterthoughts. The scent of coffee and pine intensifies in the enclosed space, mixing with something distinctly Nico.

“Have a seat.” He clears a stack of invoices from the visitor's chair. “Unless the corporate world spoiled you for folding chairs and bad lighting.”

The lamplight catches the silver in his hair, and my fingers itch to brush through it. “I think I'll survive.”

I sink into the chair, gripping my purse to keep my hands still. I got the job. Phase one of Operation New Life is underway. The seasonal job will cover my expenses while I develop my mobile florist business plan. And if I help save Bennett's Tree Farm along the way, it'll be a bonus.

“Why come back to Riley's Ridge?” Nico shuffles through a drawer, not meeting my eyes. “Most people don't trade high rises for Christmas trees.”

He hands me the employment forms. The paper crinkles beneath my fingers. “Maybe I missed the trees.”

“Holly.” My name in his deep voice shoots warmth through my chest. “The truth.”

“The city wasn't...” Images flash—concrete walls, endless meetings, Sarah's perfectly curated life I was supposed to want. “It wasn't home.”

His hands still over the paperwork. Something flickers in his eyes before he looks down again. “And Riley's Ridge is?”

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