Page 29 of Mistletoe & Magic
“First cut of the season,” I say. “The saw biting clean. The farm before sunrise when frost makes the ground shine. Junie laughing and happy. Coffee I remember to drink while it’s still hot.”
She looks at me like I just handed her a gift. “You see the good stuff, too,” she says quietly. “You're just grumpier about it.”
“I amnotgrumpy.” I balk.
“You are also not nearly as grumpy as I first thought.”
I snort. “Tell that to Finn.”
“Finn thinks you are a teddy bear with a tight schedule.”
“That is slander.”
“Prove me wrong,” she challenges. And the way she looks at me when she says it makes my dick hard again. Damn it. This day has been nothing but that over and over again.
I don’t have a response to that. She’s not wrong. I have a schedule for everything.
Back at the house, she hops out and begins wrestling a crate of twine that’s twice her size before I gently take it from her. She carries the bags, instead, and hangs the scarf on my hook by the door before I can object. It looks like it lives there. I pretend I don’t notice. But I am going to probably keep that damn scarf forever for a memory of today.
In the kitchen, my mom lifts one perfect eyebrow at the sight of us. “You both came back in one piece,” she comments cheerfully, checking each of us out in surprise.
“The day is still young,” Ivy says as she kisses her cheek. “Remington might be coming around to liking me.”
I snort and roll my eyes but the tone is light. And she is the first person I have ever actually liked hearing call me by my full name. I’m starting to come around to it, but I’m not admitting to anything anytime soon.
“Excellent,” Mom says as she reaches for the bakery box Willa shoved at us last minute. “Show me this happiness.”
Junie barrels in and skids to a stop. “You’re back,” she says to Ivy, like there was never any doubt. She slings an arm around Ivy’s waist and looks up at her grandma. “Isn’t Ivy fun?”
“She is wonderful,” my Mom says, and then she looks at me like she is checking whether I will admit what everyone else already knows.
I pretend to study something on my phone. Ivy bumps my shoulder with hers and slides the scarf from the hook.
“Come here,” she says.
“I’m here.”
“Closer.”
I step forward until she’s so close I can practically count the dark lashes brushing against her cheek. The faint scent of her wraps around me like the scarf she’s about to tie.
Her hands move quickly but carefully, looping the scarf around my neck, the tips of her fingers brushingagainst my skin. I feel the warmth radiate from her arms as she tucks the ends just right, fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary. She looks up then, her gaze locking with mine, the green of her eyes catching the soft light—deep and clear, like the forest after rain. Icouldmove away. But I don’t want to.
“Functional and festive,” she says, laughing. “Beast, but make it approachable.”’
“I amnota beast.”
She smiles up at me. “You are a good man who growls.” Then she leans in and whispers, "It's kinda hot, too."
I should not like that. But I do. I feel ridiculous in a way that is not uncomfortable.
I realize my face hurts a little from all the smiling I swear I am not doing.
Ivy catches me looking. She holds my gaze a beat longer than polite. There is a warmth there that looks like an invitation and feels like a dare. My heart does something I would never admit in front of my brother.
“Thank you,” I say. It comes out rougher than I expect.
“For what,” she asks.
