Page 3 of Mountain Man's Winter Wonder
“You’re drenched,” I said, pushing through the crowd until I reached Sheraton.
Her eyes lifted to mine—big, bright green, and way too easy to drown in. “My booth,” she said helplessly. “I didn’t get it covered in time.”
“Come on.” I guided her toward the heater humming in the corner. My hand found her elbow, and even through soaked fabric, I felt the shiver that ran through her. “Warm up first. Booth’ll keep.”
She let me maneuver her closer to the heat, and I swear the sight of relief softening her shoulders nearly buckled my knees.
“Thank you,” she said, voice low, soft. “Again. You keep rescuing me today.”
“Buck,” I offered, sticking out my hand. “Figured we ought to be properly introduced, seeing as I’m making a habit of it.”
Her cold fingers slipped into mine, and electricity shot clear up my arm. “Sheraton. And thank you, Buck. For everything.”
I should’ve let go. I didn’t. Not right away.
“You aren’t from around here,” I said finally, forcing myself to loosen my grip.
“Brevard. I travel, do festivals. The snow globes keep me on the road.”
She pushed a wet strand of hair from her cheek. The move only made me want to tuck it behind her ear.
I cleared my throat. “I just moved here with some buddies from the Army. Bought land up the ridge. Building cabins, figuring out what life looks like without uniforms.”
Her eyes softened. “That’s a big change.”
“Yeah. But this place—” I glanced around the tent, the valley beyond it. “Feels like home. What’s waiting for you back in Brevard?”
Her expression darkened. “Family. My parents are retiring. I’m supposed to take over the restaurant.”
“Supposed to?” I repeated, because I didn’t miss the way her voice dipped on the words.
Her eyes flicked to mine, startled.
“Is that what you want?” The question hit the air like a dare.
She hesitated too long. “Yes,” she said finally. Too carefully.
I let her have the out—for now. Instead, I nodded toward the families at the tables, weaving pine into wire frames.
“Ever make a wreath?” I asked.
Her lips curved. “Not since I was a kid.”
“Then we’re both overdue.” I grinned. “Though full disclosure—I have no idea what I’m doing.”
That got me her laugh. A real one. Bright and free.
“You suggested it without knowing how?”
“Sure did. I’m shameless. Needed an excuse to sit next to you.”
Her cheeks flushed as she ducked her head, but the smile lingered. We claimed a table and got armed with pine boughs and holly. She showed me what to do, guiding my clumsy hands. Her fingers brushed mine, and every damn time, a spark zipped through me. The rain drummed on the tent, drowning the chatter, shrinking the world down to just us.
“So, the globes,” I said, needing to hear her voice. “How’d that start?”
“Miniatures always fascinated me,” she said, twisting ribbon as she talked. “Little perfect worlds where nothing can go wrong. I started after high school. People wanted to buy them. One thing led to another…”
“And now you make magic for a living,” I said, watching her instead of the pine.
