Page 6 of Lighting Up Christmas

But the land brought him peace he’d never had.

Solitude.

Acceptance. A purpose.

He knew he’d likely take the next, logical step and this light was part of it.

Only he was damn near throwing a tantrum over a literal root, which was not on his list.

Would Brin whisper in his ear that he was being absurd? And why was he still thinking of her two years after she’d walked? She likely hadn’t given him another thought.

“I need a light in my tasting room,” he explained, which he rarely did. “I have a soft opening for friends and colleagues Friday.” He didn’t. Not really. It was more of a work session with some of his closest staff for a new, in-development product. “I’m releasing my first ice wine and a few other varietals.”

Why had he added that?

“You must be excited,” the woman said. She’d told him her name moments ago. He should try to pay attention to that—put that on the list. Jackson was so good at remembering names and the stories that went along with them.

“That’s an accomplishment,” she continued. “Southern Oregon doesn’t often get enough snow and chill factor to make an ice wine.”

True. But he owned one of the highest elevation vineyard sites in Oregon.

“Are you in the wine industry?” That was something Jackson would ask. Learning to chat wasn’t on Zhang’s list, so he wasn’t sure why he was making the effort now.

“No. I don’t even drink wine. Electrician.” She smiled and fairly bounced on her toes. “Which is why I want to assess your juice—electrical, not grape.”

Who needed electricity? She could plug herself in and light up the town. Her energy should exhaust him, but he was strangely keyed up and off-balance, and he wanted to get out of here.

“The light.”

“I…” the shop owner began.

“The light was a gift for Sophia’s grand opening and designed with this space in mind.” Pushy redhead interrupted his negotiation.

He looked up at the light, easier than looking at her and not showing his exasperation. He took a picture with his phone. He’d had to pull out diseased vines—a lot of them. He still had quitea pile, but with the land so dry the past few years, he’d avoided burning them even during the few weeks in late autumn when the burn ban sometimes lifted.

Maybe he could make something similar.

“In the same amount of time, and with less inconvenience to Sophia’s business as she’s preparing for the Christmas shopping season that starts day after tomorrow, I could bring a selection of similar lighting designs to your winery and install it safely. Installation’s on the house.”

“You?” She confused him with her energy and so many words spoken so quickly.

“Electrician, remember?”

“And you know the lighting designer?”

“Intimately.”

She smirked. He blinked. Most women didn’t brag about their lovers so publicly to strangers. And then an image of her—pale skin, intriguingly freckled, and her swatch of rusty hair streaming across soft, citrus-scented sheets—splashed so vividly across his retinas, he squeezed his eyes shut as if the sensual feast were real.

He was losing his mind up on his mountain alone. He, who loved quiet and solitude, was finally on overload. How long had it been? Since Brin. Two years and counting. Not that he had been.

And now he was picturing a stranger naked.

In his bed.

He turned to walk away but risked a last look at the light. Something about it. The shape. The visual. The idea behind it. The symbolism. The warm orange glow that made the ice in his chest hurt just a little less. His grandfather would love it.

He wanted that light. He didn’t want to choose another.

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