Page 62 of The Snuggle is Real
I shot him a grin. “Look on the bright side. Charlie and Pepper can babysit each other.”
Mason threw back his head and laughed.
Time seemed to freeze—or maybe that was just the breath caught in my throat—as I tried to understand the fluttering in my gut and the warmth in my chest.
Mason West reallywasas adorable as Charlie, and I didn’t know what to do with that.
CHAPTER 17
Mason
Frosty’s windowsglowed warmly over the snow-dusted street. I paused at the door and swiped my hands over my wool coat.
Sweaty palms in 40-degree temperatures? I was officially ridiculous.
Not a date. Just friends. Ford is straight.
I took a deep breath, the cold air burning, and promptly had a coughing fit.
“You okay?” Ford’s deep voice rumbled next to my ear.
I jumped in surprise, eyes streaming, and croaked, “Great.”
He grinned, his smile a little lopsided, and somehow that made him even more attractive. Shoot. I never should have let Mrs. Lil finagle us into this. She looked sweet, but there was a mischievous spirit beneath those cashmere sweaters.
Ford looked hot as fuck in a button-down charcoal shirt, dark jeans, and a leather jacket. He rocked the lumberjack vibe in flannel, but this was a whole other level.
I wheezed, but luckily he chalked it up to my coughing fit, not a reaction to his sex appeal.
“We better head in and get you a drink before you die on me.”
I chuckled weakly. “Good plan.”
Ford pulled the festival vouchers from his pocket as we stepped inside. “Let’s see. We get two free drinks, a raffle ticket, a holiday dessert, and?—”
“Whoa.” I gazed at the packed bar. The tables were all taken. More people stood around in little groups holding festive-looking drinks accented with cinnamon sticks and candy canes. “And I thought the Santa pics event was packed.”
Ford chuckled, the low rumble raising goosebumps on my skin as he leaned close to my ear to be heard over the chatter. “Welcome to Christmas Falls madness.”
I spotted Rebecca with her gorgeous Italian boss. Taylor certainly had good taste. Not that I was interested in Rocco. I was far too aware of Ford at my side, his towering height, his broad chest, the beard that seemed to both soften his face and make it more ruggedly handsome at the same time.
It would be better if Iwereinterested in Rocco Moretti. Or maybe that sweet Hank Beaufort I’d met at the Single Mingle. Or Elias or Kody. Literally anyone but the straight, unavailable guy at my side.
A chalkboard sat propped on the bar, drink specials written on it with little candy canes drawn in around them.
“The wassail cocktail is good,” Ford said. “They’ve had that one before. It’s got bourbon, cranberry, and cinnamon.”
“Sold.”
Ford leaned forward to place our drink orders with Mik, one of the bar owners.
My treacherous gaze slipped down to the amazing fit of Ford’s jeans.
Bad Mason. Bad.
Marigold Fairchild nudged me as she passed by. “Good for you, Mason.”
“What? No, he’s not…” I trailed off as she rejoined her date, old Nicholas Willoughby, who winked at me from their spot in the crowd.
