Page 26 of Mr. Mistletoe
The host snorts quietly behind the counter, clearly loving this. I want to tell him to go jingle someone else’s bells, but my heart is hammering too hard.
“How did you find me?” I ask.
“Tried every inn in Starlight Bay.”
The host coughs. “There’s only three.”
Still, I’m impressed. His cheeks are pink from the cold, his eyes dark and earnest.
“I wasn’t about to let you get away again,” he says.
My heart melts. Completely. I hurry down the last few steps and, predictably, trip over my own boots.
“Got you,” he murmurs, catching me in his arms.
He smells like winter—woodsmoke and pine—and the chill of his coat seeps through my sweater. For a heartbeat, it’s just us, breathing the same air, suspended in the glow of the tree lights.
“Your hair smells like…” He dips his head and inhales. “Fraser fir and—”
“Thyme,” I laugh. “I’ve been riding in a van packed with Gran’s Christmas candles.”
The host clears his throat loudly. “You still want this chili?”
Clark sets me gently on my feet, his eyes never leaving mine. “I interrupted your dinner.”
A beat stretches—thick with possibility, desire, and the promise of something real.
“Want to join me?” I ask, voice barely steady.
His eyes spark gold in the light. “Are you asking me to dinner?”
If I were trying to play coy, those eyes ruin me. “Absolutely.”
Chapter Twelve
Clark
Jess stares up at me,her blue eyes flickering in the low light. I can’t stop myself from looking back, my gaze tracing her face, memorizing every detail. Winter-pale skin, eyes brighter than the bluest sky, dark hair, bow-shaped lips… Snow White. A tall, built Snow White.
Her brow furrows. “Are you saying yes?”
I realize I’ve been staring too long to answer. “Absolutely.”
Sam huffs in mild disapproval, then retreats to the kitchen.
I guide Jess to a table beside a Douglas fir, decorated with white ornaments and twinkling lights, and pull out her chair. She slides in smoothly. As I walk around to my side, it feels like gliding across smooth ice. Everything is finally… right.
My phone buzzes in my coat pocket. I ignore it. Ingrid and Laura, no doubt, checking on our annualThe Holidayrewatch. They can wait. Jess has my attention.
I shrug out of my coat and hang it over my chair. She eyes it curiously, and the phone buzzes again.
“Do you need to get that?”
I shake my head. “It can wait.”
“So—” She leans forward, elbows on the table. “About that fake number you gave me…”
Without thinking, I reach across, brushing my fingers against hers. She doesn’t pull away. Our hands link, warm and intimate.
