Page 26 of Dancing in Lake Mistletoe

I smile at his levity. It’s obvious a part of him misses the work he did back in Boston, but he’s content here, and Josie is thriving.

“They’re lucky to have you,” I say, reaching across the table and covering his hand with mine. “I’d be terrible at that. I don’t have the patience to deal with technology.”

Dutch laughs, shaking his head. “You might be surprised. You deal with your body as your instrument, and that takes a lotof patience. Working with technology is just different. It’s less physical, but it still requires the same focus.”

“That’s true,” I say, thinking about the long hours I spend in the studio. “But you seem to have a good balance of both—being practical but also creative. I’ve watched you on set. You have a flair for design.”

He shrugs, a modest smile tugging at his lips. “I guess that’s one way to look at it. I like problem-solving. Whether it’s figuring out how to run power to a town or building something with my hands, I like a project that keeps me on my toes.”

“Yeah, I get it. It’s just a different kind of choreography.”

His eyes flicker to mine, and there’s a moment of understanding between us.

“Maybe you’re right,” he says, his voice low. “I guess we’re both just trying to make things work as smoothly as possible, whether it’s on a stage or with a circuit board.”

I laugh softly. “Exactly. Who knew ballet and electrical engineering had so much in common?”

He grins. “Maybe we’ll have to swap jobs for a day, see how the other half lives.”

I give him a playful look. “Oh, I’d pay good money to see you in a leotard.”

“Is that right?”

I nod as I bite the corner of my lip. “Of course, I doubt we have one that would fit over your thighs.”

Heat sparks behind his eyes as he leans in closer. “You been checking out my legs?”

I glance away as I mutter, “Maybe.”

He chuckles, the deep sound mingling with the quiet hum of the bar around us. There’s something so easy about this moment, the way we can talk about our very different worlds and find common ground. I feel a little flutter of excitement at thethought of getting to know him even more, of seeing where this spark between us could lead.

A holiday fling with a sexy mountain man doesn’t sound like a bad way to spend my time here in Idaho.

Not bad at all.

Dutch

Ishould have kissed her.

We talked into the wee hours, only realizing the time when the server came to the table with our bill and to let us know the wine bar would be closing in ten minutes.

After paying for the wine, I drove her back to the inn. She lingered in the warmth of the truck, giving me ample opportunity to pull her in close—but I didn’t. Instead, I hurried out to open her door and awkwardly bid her good night. Then, I spent the fifteen-minute ride home berating myself for being such a chickenshit.

It’s been a while since a woman has so thoroughly piqued my interest. It’s like I forgot what the hell to do. Which pisses me off.

I should have kissed her. But I didn’t. And now, the chance has passed, and it might not come back around.

I pull up to my parents’ house and press my horn to let Dad know I’ve arrived. Mom took the girls to church this morning, and he stayed behind to wait for me.

“Morning, son,” he greets as he climbs inside. Handing me a thermos of coffee and a brown paper sack. “Your mom left us coffee and sandwiches.”

I open the bag to find sausage, egg, and cheese on toast, and my stomach growls in response.

Bless her.

Once he’s buckled in, I drive us around the lake toward town hall.

“How was your night?” he asks as he opens his thermos and takes a swig.

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