Page 44 of Mistletoe and Mayday
Men like Sebastian don’t do casual family dinners with cargo pilots. They do champagne towers and designer trees and perfect girlfriends who know which fork to use.
Sebastian leans the axe against a stump. “Boyfriend?”
“Nope. Turns out most guys don’t appreciate a girlfriend who can’t stop talking and doesn’t understand when she’s being ‘too much.’” I add air quotes with my free hand.
“Too much?”
“Don’t pretend you didn’t notice.” I poke at the snow with my makeshift crutch, avoiding his eyes. “Like, right now, I’m talking about personal stuff with a stranger in the middle of nowhere, which is weird, but I can’t tell if it’s normal-weird or too-weird-weird, so I just keep going until someone stops me.”
His silence draws my gaze upward. He watches me with an expression I can’t interpret, which is normal for me—faces are hard—but something about the intensity of his stare makes my skin prickle with awareness.
“And guys find that...problematic?” He says the word like it tastes wrong.
“Well, yeah. Most people want someone who knows when to shut up. Who doesn’t ramble about snow globes or make inappropriate jokes at serious moments or—” I stop, realizing I’m proving my point. “Like that. That thing I’m doing right now.”
“That’s why you fly cargo.” It’s not a question.
“Yep. Cargo doesn’t care if I talk too much or get excited about weird things or miss social cues. Cargo just...is.”
I stab at the snow with my branch, watching crystals scatter.
“I think it’s cute,” he says.
My head snaps up. “What?”
“The way your mind works. How you make connections other people miss. It’s refreshing.”
Heat floods my face despite the freezing temperature. No one has ever called my rambling “cute” before. Annoying, yes. Overwhelming, definitely. But cute?
“It wasn’t so cute in second grade,” I mutter, flustered by the compliment. “Made a presentation about penguin mating habits. Very detailed. Very enthusiastic. Very inappropriate for show and tell. They called my parents.”
He laughs then—not a polite chuckle, but a genuine laugh that bounces off the trees. “I would’ve loved to see that presentation.”
“No, you wouldn’t. There were diagrams.” The memory makes me smile despite myself. “Very anatomically correct diagrams. In crayon.”
His laughter deepens, shoulders shaking. The sound does something warm and dangerous to my insides.
“I labeled everything,” I continue, because making Sebastian Lockhart laugh shouldn’t feel this good, but it does. “Even included their mating calls. With sound effects. It’s exhausting sometimes,” I admit, softer now. “Always being the ‘too much’ girl. The one who makes people uncomfortable. The one who?—”
“Makes people recognize things they’re trying to avoid?”
His voice stops me cold. Something in his tone makes my head snap up, draws my breath short. His eyes capture mine,and my skin tingles with something I can’t name, my heart performing gymnastics in my chest.
“You’re not too much, Bailey.” The gentleness in his voice wraps around me. “You’re just?—”
A twig snaps somewhere in the forest. His whole body goes rigid, head turning toward the sound.
I follow his gaze to the treeline. Nothing. Then, movement. A shadow separating from shadows.
Eyes appear first. Amber circles floating between bare branches, unblinking and fixed on us. Then the shape materializes. Low to the ground, shoulder blades rising with each deliberate step.
Not one. Three. Four. The pack emerges from different angles, cutting off escape routes to the cabin.
“Sebastian.” His name barely makes it past my dry throat.
“Don’t run,” he whispers, the command vibrating against my ear. “Whatever you do, don’t run.”
“You’re joking, right?” My laugh comes out strangled. “Can’t run. Can’t even walk.” My hand waves at the purple balloon formerly known as my foot. “But you can. Like in that joke—if you run faster?—”
