Page 27 of Merry Me
Riley: We’re ready.
Me: Are you, though?
“What are you typing so furiously about?” Easton asked as he touched my shoulder, his thumb grazing bare skin this time where my oversized hoodie had slid to the side.
I jerked like I’d been shot, and that choking sound came out of my mouth again. He laughed like this was all very funny, and the sound of it ripped through me…absolutely drenching my panties.
Fuck.
Just when I thought I might combust from the sheer volume of pent-up lust coursing through me…a sprawling mountain lodge came into view, rising from the snow like some kind of rugged fairy tale. This had to be the bed and breakfast.
Easton moved his hand back to the steering wheel as we pulled into the driveway, and I melted into my seat in relief.Maybe I was going to live after all. Maybe I’d survive this car ride without spontaneously combusting. Maybe.
The lodge stood nestled against the slope like it belonged there, its stone-and-cedar exterior dusted with snow and trimmed in pine garland. Frost clung to the dark wooden beams, catching the light like glitter, and a soft layer of snow blanketed the grounds. Twinkling lights were strung along the sloped roofline and wrapped around thick log columns on the porch, casting a golden glow against the silvery stretch of the late morning sky.
Lanterns lined the drive, their flames flickering warmly despite the chill, like the whole place had been pulled from the front of a winter postcard. Beyond the lodge, snow-draped pines stretched toward the mountains, and a frozen pond mirrored the string lights above it—calm, perfect, and almost too magical to be real.
Paige and Levi had done well. Really well.
This was exactly the kind of place where you’d want to get married. Not that I was thinking about that. Obviously not. I wasn’t thinking about weddings or rings or what Easton would look like in a tux or what our hypothetical children might inherit from him besides the jawline of death and the ability to smirk with weaponized charm.
Nope. Not at all.
There was a valet waiting outside the double doors of the building, bundled up in some kind of bushy brown fur coat like we lived in Antarctica or something. I’d never been more relieved to see someone in my life.
My phone was vibrating like it had just snorted espresso, but I’d have to update my ladies later. Right now, I had one mission: escape the truck before Easton could say something else with that infuriatingly hot voice of his.
I threw open the passenger door like I was being chased by a bear, taking in gulps of the smell of wood smoke that lingered inthe crisp air as I desperately tried to get his cologne out of my nostrils.
The valet flinched as I nearly collided with him. The guy caught me right before I toppled onto my face on the cobblestoned drive. Because, of course, this place had cobblestones. It couldn’t have been cuter if it tried.
“Wow. Are you okay?” he asked, his brown eyes wide.
“She’s fine,” Easton’s voice came from behind me, smooth and growly and entirely too territorial…And then I was being yanked out of the valet’s arms. “The bags are in the back,” Easton added as he tossed the keys to the poor man, who was now giving Easton that squinty, do-I-know-you-from-somewhere look that probably haunted Easton’s life nowadays.
“You’re being rude,” I hissed under my breath, glancing back at the valet who was definitely starting to connect the dots.
Easton shrugged, still gripping my arm like I was his date and not someone two seconds away from spontaneously combusting into a flaming pile of unresolved sexual tension. “He wasflirtingwith you.”
“Well, duh—” I began, ready to launch into an explanation of all of my wonderful qualities, but I didn’t get the chance.
Because the moment we stepped through the door, I lost the ability to form coherent thoughts.
CHAPTER 6
NATALIE
We had walked into a Christmas explosion.
Twinkle lights wrapped around every railing, staircase, and potted plant. Garlands were laced with velvet bows. A literal twelve-foot Christmas tree stood in the center of the lobby, decked out in what had to be a thousand ornaments.
The smell of cinnamon, pine, and cookies assaulted me like some festive drug, and the fireplace—because, of course, there was a fireplace—was crackling like it was auditioning for a fireplace commercial.
“Wow,” I whispered.
Next to me, Easton leaned in with a cocky grin. “Bet you a gingerbread man, there’s mistletoe somewhere in here.”
The insinuation in his voice was heavy, and I gave him another glare.
