Page 19 of Booked for the Holidays
Liam grins. “A perfect neighbor for your bookshop.”
“I know.” For a moment, my guard drops, and I can’t help but smile.
Last Christmas, he’d mentioned that if he ever quit the CFO grind, he’d want to open a wine bar. Somewhere cozy, with wine flights and good music. A place to unwind. To fall in love. I hadn’t thought about that conversation in months. Not until now.
“It seems someone else is living your dream.”
He glances at me, a hint of something unreadable in his eyes. “Maybe. But some dreams change.” His smile softens. “Honestly, just being neighbors with you would be a dream in itself.”
The comment makes my pulse stutter. I’m not sure if he’s flirting or just being nice, but either way, my face is warm.
I force my attention back to the fact that I still haven’t met the wine bar owner in person, but we’ve chatted through the Summit County Small-Business forum and even discussed potential collaborations. The owner, whose handle in the forum isPourChoices, has been a helpful resource for our small-town businesses, but especially me. A few months ago, he reviewed my marketing plan and gave me tips on cutting overhead costs.
I’m curious who the owner is, but even Robyn down at the chamber of commerce has been cagey about their identity.
I’m half tempted to open the forum and message the elusive business owner for advice on what to do when your very inconvenient houseguest is your brother’s best friend slash walking heartbreak. But that’s ridiculous. And I’d never admit how much I rely on a stranger’s encouragement.
We’re halfway down Founders Street, walking toward The Merry Moose when my heel skids on a patch of ice. Instinctively, I reach out, grabbing Liam’s arm for balance.
His hand covers mine and that zap of electricity I always feel from him hits me.
“Interesting choice of footwear,” he murmurs, studying me.
I ignore the way his gaze lingers, how his brow arches just enough to make me feel like he’s onto my plan to drive him wild and he’s not falling for it.
“They’re festive,” I say, lifting my chin.
My boots are black, snug at the ankle, with stiletto heels that click against the pavement like a warning. Tiny gold rhinestones catch the streetlight with every step, like I’m walking in a constellation. They’re completely impractical, wildly dramatic, and exactly the energy I need tonight.
“Functional, too. Especially on ice.”
I keep my eyes forward, determined not to take the bait.
What does he know, anyway? Just because he looks like he walked out of a ski lodge catalog in that perfectly fitted coat and those smugly appropriate boots doesn’t mean he gets to judge my footwear. Even if they are completely impractical.
Still, I can feel the warmth of his gaze on me. And I hate how aware of him I am—of the way his arm felt when I grabbed it, steady and solid like it was the most natural thing in the world. I hate even more how part of me wants to slip again just so I can touch him.
He doesn’t say anything else, but the amused glint in his eye lingers as we continue walking.
And yeah, I’m starting to think he is on to me.
The moment I open the door to The Merry Moose, I’m greeted with a burst of warm air. As we enter, there’s a mix of chatter and laughter from the packed tables, with the classic“Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” blaring over the sound system.
Liam glances around the space, taking in the glittering ornaments hanging from the ceiling, the festive twinkle light garland decorating the rustic mahogany bar, and of course the sprig of mistletoe dangling from the wooden beam between the arcade room and the front of the bar that was the catalyst for Stella and Jasper’s first kiss last year.
And now they’re engaged.
My heart wants to linger on the romance of it all, but I need a plan. And fast.
The benefit to Liam not being a local is I could pretty much pass anyone off as my date without him suspecting. I scan the bar looking for a potential fake date.
My eyes land on Wiley. He’s across the bar sipping on a Nutcracker Stout, his favorite beer. He lives for that shit.
By a stroke of luck, Wiley sees me coming and smiles.
“How’s my best girl, Juni Petuni?” he croons, grabbing my hand to spin me around.
He’s probably three beers in, but he’s the best I’ve got.
