Page 56 of Mistletoe

“I don’t know. I remember who I used to be, but that man is a stranger. Frankly, I don’t like him. He was selfish. Angry. I don’t know who I am now, other than an escaped monster.” He turned to hold her gaze. “What do you want, Emma De Lacey?”

Excellent question. She had no idea.

“I’m unsure,” she confessed. “I’ve poured all my time and my energy into this farm. Into taking care of my family. So much so that I wonder who I am if I’m not taking care of them. It’s exhausting. There’s just no piece of me left at the end of the day for daydreams or whimsy. I know it vexes my parents. They’re creative, always working on some project. I suspect they can’t fathom how two artistic souls produced someone as unimaginative as me.”

“You’re good at problem-solving. That’s its own type of creativity.”

“Well, I can’t hangthat time I kissed an orc to distract the authoritiesin a museum.”

“We’ll hire a painter and do just that.”

Emma laughed at the ridiculous notion.

“I’m happy to be here.” He tilted his head back, as if enjoying the sun on his face. “I’m free now and sharing a meal with a woman who is as kind as she is beautiful.”

“Oh. Well…” Unsure how to accept the compliment, she bumped her shoulder into his, like they were teasing one another and completely ignored the fact that he called her beautiful. “I’m happy to have you here.”

“A beautiful woman who will protect me.”

Now she was blushing.

“No one has ever sworn a vow of protection on my behalf.” He grinned. His was not a face made for mirth. His smile was all tooth and tusk. His face was rough, and the features were unfinished, bisected with a vicious scar. Somehow, over the last few days, that face had grown dear to her.

Familiar. Esteemed.

A friend.

“Hal—” Her tongue suddenly did not want to cooperate, and the words tangled in her mouth. “Surely I’m the first woman you’ve met. The competition is slim.”

“You’re not the first woman I’ve met, Emma.”

Suddenly, he was no longer beside her but in front of her. With hands planted on either side of her, he caged her between his arms. They were eye to eye. Instinct urged her to lean forward, to kiss him again, but doubt held her back. Since that kiss in the alley, Hal kept a respectful distance. She was his employer. Kissing him now would be bad form.

Enjoyable, but bad form.

“Such flattering words, you rogue,” she said in a teasing tone, then gently pushed him away. He eased back, grinning, but remained close.

“You’re easily the—” He lifted his eyes to the sky as if mentally doing calculations. “Easily the third woman I’ve met. While they both made an impression, you are my favorite.”

“Your favorite out of three? That’s quite the compliment.”

“You are always my favorite.”

She returned his grin without embarrassment, without doubt. She believed every word.

Hal pointed up.

Mistletoe clung to the branches directly above.

Hal

“Mistletoe,” Emma said.

“It’s tradition.”

“You can’t argue with tradition.”

He dipped his head down. She tilted her face, her lips meeting his.

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