Page 3 of Lighting Up Christmas

“Bastard,” Riley said calmly between chews. “He’s been dodging me for months. I had to all but storm the castle walls today, and now I find out he’s been skulking around and spying on my side hustle. He’s probably checking my business licenses and electrician certs and training as I speak.”

“Maybe he was looking for a gift,” Sophia soothed, looking at the small collection of old band instruments Riley had converted into light fixtures. “He did play sax in the high school jazz band.”

“For a hot minute to get girls.” Riley made a face. She’d played in the band and the jazz band, and having Jeff show up for rehearsal off and on for one semester had been her least favorite school experience. He rarely practiced and wanted everything to come easy.

He also had used all his hot air to talk, not play.

A dark-green customized truck parallel parked in front of the shop.

“That’s a beauty.” Riley hopped off the barstool to get a closer look.

“Trust you to notice a truck more than the man.” Sophia rolled her shoulders and then her neck working out her kinks.

“That color is to die for.”

“It’s green. Same color as your eyes.”

Riley snorted. “Indecisive hazel. And custom rims. Wonder what other upgrades lurk under the hood in the belly of the beast.”

“Why don’t you go feel up the truck?” Sophia teased. “Its owner just went in the Caffeinated Goat. He’ll be a while.”

But he wasn’t.

“Mobile order, smart.” Sophia sighed. “Look at the way he walks, all fit and sophisticated with a touch of swagger.”

Riley was still looking at the truck. And then she noticed a small logo on the door. Her heart leaped, and a partially formed plan surged into her brain.

“I gotta go.” She stuffed the last of the sandwich in her mouth and wiped her hands on her best pair of jeans—not her brown or black Carhartt work pants today in concession of her meeting with the council and city planners. She spared a moment to think about the brownie she’d left in the bag hoping to split with Sophia. It had still been warm.

She shoved open the door.

“Hey!” She hustled and blocked the driver side door. “I’m Riley Flanagan, lead electrician at Flanagan & Sons Electric.”

He stopped short.

Riley resisted the urge to lean back against all that high-gloss, vivid green metal that had not a speck of dust. And how did he manage that, living way out on the former Tully land? She hadn’t been out there since he’d taken possession more than eight years ago. She’d heard he was planting a vineyard, but he didn’t live there full-time and did much of the work himself, hiring a local vineyard management team he consulted with and often worked beside to learn. For the most part, she’d heard he was immensely private, quiet, and a true do-it-yourselfer. Riley aimed to change that. If she could get one winery account, others would follow. She was sure of it. And wineries had a lot of events where the owners wanted the properties to look elegant and unique both day and night.

A lot of curiosity, resentment, and rumors swirled around Zhang Shi since he’d bought the land Jeff Bane and his family had been angling to get for decades. Riley had heard the Banes were shocked and pissed, and when the new owner, who was a Silicon Valley high-tech entrepreneur, made no effort to integrate into the town, his rep had taken a bigger nosedive. Likely he didn’t know or care, but Riley saw an opportunity.

She smiled, pulled a card out of her olive-green Carhartt vest pocket, and did a little disappearing card trick, letting it tumbledown her arm before holding the card—in the shape of needle-nose pliers—in front of him.

Her brother Drew had taught her the trick when she was twelve. She’d perfected it and was also pretty handy playing with liquor bottles at parties. She had jumped in to play mixed drink bartender more than a few times.

“We’re neighbors. Sort of. Used to be.” Although caretaking or housesitting didn’t exactly count. And he didn’t look impressed, although with his very reflective aviators, she couldn’t tell what he was feeling or thinking. She, however, looked determined.

“I wanted to introduce myself,” she said. “I’m very familiar with the old Tully property, and with you starting a winery and maybe a tasting room…” She was fishing here—she’d heard that he’d ordered building supplies from the local lumber and hardware store but also materials from farther away. Since she’d been stalking wineries to try to reel one away from the bigger commercial electricians in Medford and Grant’s Pass, she read the winery trades.

Zhang Shi and his winery weren’t listed.

Who grew grapes without selling them or the juice?

“If you’re in the process of expanding or converting any of the old outbuildings on the property”—she knew there were several vintage barns because she’d volunteered there to care for the horses as a kid in exchange for riding lessons—“you’ll want to upgrade your electrical.”

It was then that she registered the man’s rather extraordinary beauty, and he became a man, not a potential client. Riley didn’t like that one bit. She couldn’t quite breathe right. And she felt as if the earth had done a funky ten-degree tilt on its axis, spinning her off-balance.

He was tall—taller than her. Asian, with thick, black hair that grew back from his high, square forehead and was long enoughto brush his shoulders. She couldn’t see his eyes—windows of the soul weren’t they called?—but his beautiful, full, firm lips looked like Michelangelo had sculpted them and then likely taken a nap to celebrate his artistic achievement.

What does he kiss like?

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