Page 9 of Dad Bod Snow Job

Watching Holly work, I see what I've missed all these years. She isn't selling trees—she's offering people their future memories. Something squeezes in my chest, and I can't blame the heavy lifting this time.

The morning rush dies down, leaving a scattered handful of trees where dozens stood before. Holly surveys our depleted stock with satisfaction before spinning toward our showcase tree.

"Time to make this Instagram-worthy!" She hauls over a box of decorations, circling the tree with a critical eye. "The top needs something special."

She stretches on her tiptoes, grasping at branches well beyond her reach. The hem of her sweater rides up, revealing a strip of skin above her jeans. I force my eyes away, suddenly fascinated by our stack of business cards.

"Nico? Little help?"

I step closer, reaching for the tinsel. "Let me get that."

"Not what I had in mind." She flashes a grin. "I need a boost."

"There's a ladder in the truck," I point out.

"This is faster." Before I can protest, she grabs my shoulders, using me for leverage. "Hold still!"

Her hair spills around my face, flooding my senses with vanilla and cinnamon. She wobbles, clutching my shoulders. My hands instinctively grip her waist, fingers spanning her ribcage.

"Higher?" Her voice floats down, cheeks pink with exertion. "Almost there."

I lift her those crucial inches, my hands spanning her waist. She wobbles, fingers digging into my shoulders, and the movement pulls her closer. Soft curves press against my jaw, and every muscle in my body turns to stone.

"Careful," I manage, my voice rough.

"I trust you." She tosses the words out like they cost nothing while they slam into my chest with the force of a falling tree. So many years alone, she breaks through my walls with three simple words.

Blood rushes south.

My brain fights to focus on anything safe—inventory counts, delivery schedules, equipment repairs. Anything but how perfectly she fits in my hands or the warmth bleeding through her sweater.

"Thanks!" She beams, her cheeks flushed. "See? Much better than a ladder."

I grunt in response, not trusting my voice.

Holly slides down my chest, and I force myself to step back. Bear watches from his post, tail wagging in what looks suspiciously like amusement.

"Not a word," I mutter under his knowing gaze.

Movement at the edge of our lot catches my eye. Jack cuts an imposing figure—six-two of muscle wrapped in flannel and worn jeans, with unnerving eyes that see too much. The striking woman beside him, looks like she stepped out of a magazine, her fancy coat a jarring splash of city style among my evergreens.

"Good to see you, Nico." Jack clasps my hand. "Looks like business is booming."

"Yeah, sales are up." My attention drifts to Holly as she weaves through the trees at the far end of our lot, something about her purposeful stride making my shoulders tense. "Your tree's ready whenever?—"

Jack follows my distracted gaze. "Having trouble with your seasonal help?"

"Redheads," I grumble, shaking my head. "Going to be the death of me." I catch myself before adding how she's transformed our sales. How she's transformed everything.

Jack introduces Eden before heading toward the premium section, his hand resting casually on her lower back. They move through the trees with easy familiarity, hands brushing as they examine branches. The sight settles like a weight in my chest, heavy with possibilities I keep denying myself.

Holly's laugh pierces the quiet, drawing my attention back. Bear circles her, pinecone dangling from his mouth, tail slicing the air with each wag. Something in my chest expands at the sight of them together, warm and dangerous.

Bear lunges forward, dropping the pinecone to nose at her legs until she topples backward. She lands in a puff of snow, squealing with delight as he licks her face.

"Bear! Stop!" Her giggles bounce off the trees.

I should intervene. Instead, I drink in the moment—red hair splayed across white snow, cheeks flushed with joy, eyes sparkling. She fits here, in my world, like she's always belonged.

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