Page 12 of Dad Bod Snow Job

The image of being snowed in at the farm with Nico flashes through my mind. The two of us alone, a roaring fire?—

“Holly?” Mom's voice breaks through my completely inappropriate daydream. “Did you hear what I said? Sarah is excited to visit the farm and see how it's changed.”

Translation: Sarah's multitasking—keeping tabs on her ex while fulfilling her self-appointed role as my career critic. Big sister duties, apparently.

“Sarah always had good business instincts,” Dad adds proudly. “Probably why she and Nico didn't work out. She was meant for bigger things.”

Unlike me,goes unsaid.

Mom follows me to the door, adjusting my scarf like she did when I was young. “We're proud of you, sweetheart. We want you to be happy. Like Sarah. Your sister has dreams, ambitions.”

“So do I.” I step back, needing space. “But they’re different from hers.”

Different from what everyone expects of me. A mobile florist in Riley's Ridge. Roots in this community. Maybe even a family someday, although I keep that dream tucked away where no one can judge it.

The morning air hits me like a slap, and I pull my coat tighter. My boots crunch through the fresh snow as I head toward my car.

Let them compare me to Sarah. They don't see how the farm comes alive with each improvement I suggest. They don't see Nico's eyes crinkle at the corners when he tries not to smile at my ridiculous costumes.

They definitely don't see how my teenage crush has grown into something real—something worth fighting for.

Storm clouds are gathering over the mountain where Bennett's Tree Farm sits like a Christmas card come to life. Where a certain grumpy lumberjack is probably already hauling trees, unaware that his ex-girlfriend is about to blow back into town like an unwanted winter storm.

Sarah can try to reclaim her territory all she wants. I'm done being the good little sister who stays in her lane.

The engine turns over with a groan. I crank up the heat before checking my reflection, adjusting my elf hat at a jaunty angle. The silky lingerie whispers against my skin as I shift in the driver's seat.

Nico Bennett won't know what hit him.

Operation Seduce the Mountain Man is officially in progress.

Chapter 6

Nico

The sun isn’t even up, but Holly Carter is perched on a stack of pallets with her damn phone, turning my morning work routine into some kind of lumberjack photoshoot.

Not that I checked my reflection in the truck window before getting out. Or spent extra time trimming my beard this morning. And this flannel is clean, but it's not my best one. The fact that it’s the same color that Holly said brought out my eyes last week is a coincidence.

“Little early for social media, isn’t it?” I call out, puffing up my barrel chest like some preening rooster, the buttons of my flannel straining from the effort. Christ, I’m pathetic.

She grins, giving me that sunshine smile that makes my chest tight. “Early morning light is perfect for catching authentic moments. Plus, I have to head to the shop soon.”

Authentic moments.Because nothing is more authentic than pretending I don’t notice Holly filming while I haul trees around like some performing bear. But she’s been here every morning this week, showing up before dawn to work on her “content creation” before heading to her paid job. Her dedication wouldbe admirable if her presence in the work yard wasn’t so distracting.

My lips still burn from yesterday's kiss, that moment replaying every time I close my eyes. She'd been sprawled across my chest in the snow, fearless and warm, and I'd wanted... Christ, I'd wanted everything. But wanting and having are different things, especially when there's twelve years between you. Especially when the woman in question deserves better than a struggling tree farmer with more responsibilities than prospects.

A branch snags my sleeve as I hoist the Fraser Fir. The tree’s weight shifts, forcing me to brace my legs and flex my arms to keep control. Movement catches my eye—Holly leaning forward on her perch, phone raised, capturing my graceless wrestling match with an oversized Christmas tree.

My muscles burn with the effort to make it look effortless. Nothing says professional lumberjack like losing a fight with your own inventory.

“Boss!” Mike’s voice carries across the yard. “Number two saw’s acting up again.”

I set the tree in position, rolling my shoulders. Mike is standing out front of the maintenance shed, holding a commercial chainsaw. Replacing it would cost a month’s worth of profits.

“Don’t run it,” I bark, crossing the yard.

Holly scrambles down from her perch, trailing after me with that phone still recording. I tense, tracking her movement through the equipment-littered yard. One misplaced step in those impractical boots of hers...

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