Page 2 of Whiskey Kisses For the Mountain Man
I know he's lying. Ezra's been trying to drag me back into the land of the living since I showed up at his door a month ago, more ghost than man. But I also know he wouldn't deliberately trigger the Christmas trauma if he had another choice.
A knock at the door interrupts before I can tell him to go to hell.
Zoe pokes her head in, her long dark hair falling over one shoulder. She shoots me an apologetic smile before looking at Ezra. "Sorry to interrupt, but Lettie's here for the meeting."
Ezra nods. "Send her in."
I shoot him a murderous glare. "What meeting?"
"The festival coordinator," he explains quickly. "She needs to go over the sponsorship details."
Before I can respond, Zoe is back with someone in tow, and the air in the room suddenly feels charged. I turn, and everything inside me goes still.
She's small, probably a foot shorter than my six-three frame, with curves that make my hands itch to grab. Chestnut hair fallsin waves past her shoulders, and her wide brown eyes take in the office with obvious excitement. She's wearing a red sweater with a fucking reindeer on it that should look ridiculous, but somehow makes her look soft and touchable.
She can't be more than thirty.
"Lettie, this is Owen McKenna, our distillery manager," Ezra says. "Owen, this is Lettie Donovan, Eden Ridge's new Christmas festival coordinator."
I move without thinking, pulling out a chair for her. Her eyes widen slightly in surprise before she smiles. "Thank you."
Her voice is bright and warm, like sunshine in this cold December room.
I grunt in response and step back, forcing my eyes away from the way her jeans hug her thighs. I'm forty-three years old, for fuck's sake, not some hormonal teenager. But it's been a while since a woman has caught my attention like this, and my body is reacting before my brain can shut it down.
"Lettie just moved to Eden Ridge from Portland," Zoe explains, taking a seat beside Ezra. "She's going to make this year's festival the best one yet."
I barely hear Zoe's words. My focus is caught on the small snowflake earrings dangling from Lettie's ears, the red lipstick that matches her sweater, the way her eyes crinkle at the corners when she smiles. There's something about her that radiates pure joy, and it's so foreign to the darkness I've been living in that I can't look away.
"Lettie is actually something of a celebrity," Zoe continues. "She's known online as the Christmas Queen."
And just like that, the spell breaks.
The Christmas Queen.
Of fucking course.
My body goes cold, all interest evaporating like whiskey on a hot still. I take a step back, crossing my arms over my chest.
"Owen," Ezra says, eyeing me carefully, "as I was explaining, I'll be heading to Portland with Zoe through the New Year, so you'll be the distillery's representative for the festival planning."
Lettie's smile brightens even more, if that's possible. "Oh, that's wonderful! We have so much to coordinate for the sponsor booth and the whiskey tasting event. I have a million ideas for how we can incorporate Hunter Distillery into the festival theme."
Each word out of her mouth feels like a nail being driven into my skull.
Christmas Queen.
Festival.
Whiskey tasting event.
I glance at Ezra, who at least has the decency to look apologetic.
"I'm not doing it," I say flatly.
The room falls silent. Lettie's smile falters, confusion replacing the excitement in her eyes.
"I don't do Christmas," I clarify, my voice harder than I intend.
