Page 44 of Whiskey Kisses For the Mountain Man
"I wanna wish you a Merry Christmas from the bottom of my heart!"
The song ends to enthusiastic applause. Lettie is beaming at me, her cheeks flushed with excitement. The feeling in my chest is unfamiliar but unmistakable, pure, unrestrained happiness.
I laugh. Not a chuckle or a smirk, but a genuine, full-bodied laugh that I haven't experienced in years. Lettie watches me with wonder, then wraps her arms around my neck and kisses me right there on the stage. I don't even care that we have an audience.
"That was amazing," she says when we break apart, both slightly breathless. "I didn't know you could sing."
"Neither did I," I admit.
We return to our table, where Tony insists on bringing us tiramisu on the house. As we share the dessert, I keep catching Lettie watching me with a soft expression.
"What?" I finally ask.
"That's the first time I've heard you really laugh," she says. "It's a nice sound."
Instead of deflecting or changing the subject like I normally would, I say, "It feels nice. I'd forgotten."
Her smile is worth every moment of vulnerability.
After dinner, I’m reluctant to end the evening. "I have something I want to show you," I say as we leave the restaurant.
"What is it?"
"It's a surprise. Do you trust me?"
She nods without hesitation. "Lead the way."
I drive us to the edge of town, where a small park overlooks the valley. In the center stands a gazebo, recently decorated for Christmas with white lights and poinsettias. It's deserted at thishour, the only illumination coming from the gazebo lights and the stars above.
Lettie gasps when she sees it. "It's beautiful."
I reach into the back seat and pull out a blanket and a bottle of the whiskey she tried earlier. "I thought we could continue your whiskey education."
Her smile is radiant. "Owen McKenna, are you being romantic?"
"Don't sound so surprised," I grumble, but there's no heat behind it.
We settle in the gazebo, the blanket wrapped around both our shoulders as we sit on the bench. I pour small amounts of whiskey into the travel glasses I brought.
"To new experiences," Lettie says, raising her glass.
"To new experiences," I echo.
We sip in comfortable silence, looking out at the twinkling lights of Eden Ridge below and the star-filled sky above. The December air is cold, but the whiskey and our bodies pressed together keep us warm.
"Thank you for tonight," she says softly. "For singing with me. For this."
"I should be thanking you," I reply, surprising myself with the admission. "You're making me remember what it's like to enjoy things. To look forward instead of back."
She turns to face me, her eyes reflecting the lights around us. "Is that a good thing?"
"Terrifying," I say honestly. "But yes, good."
She smiles, then looks up. "Oh! Look at that."
I follow her gaze to see a sprig of mistletoe hanging from the gazebo roof directly above us. "I didn't put that there," I say quickly.
"Must be fate then," she says, leaning closer.
