Page 35 of Tinsel & Timber
I was really hoping to get out of here without being caught. At least the chances of Luke adding to the town gossip is slim.
The self-made billionaire came to Mistletoe Bay to hide out from the rest of the world, and the manbarelyspeaks to anyone. Well, anyone except for me and apparently the pretty florist I’ve seen coming and going from his house a few times this week. He’s a quiet man until you get to know him, and then it feels like he won’t shut up.
Luke climbs down off the ladder, brushing his hands clean on his jeans. “Let me guess: you’re butting heads with the new owner of the Kensington place.”
I shake my head. “It’s complicated.”
Only because I almost told her I loved herbefore I left.
Luke chuckles wryly. “Scary stuff I imagine for a guy who likes rules and order. And I say this as a guy whothriveson rules and order.”
There’s no denying that.
Luke straightens one of the strands of lights and adds, “You know, you could let me run your compatibility on the app.”
I snort. “I’m not signing up for your algorithmic nonsense.”
Because I don’t need to. I’ve already found my match.
“Right, right.” Luke smirks knowingly.
I grunt then mutter under my breath. “She’s…not what I expected. I thought she was just another flipper. Someone passing through town looking to make a quick buck. But she’s got heart. The kind this place used to be built on.”
Luke studies me for a beat. “So, what’s the problem?”
I exhale and look back to Mara’s house where she’s already gotten to work on her list of to-do’s for the day. “The problem is, I’m not supposed to get involved with women who are renovating historical houses.”
Luke shrugs. “Seems someone like you would consider that foreplay.”
I shoot him a warning look. The man has no idea how close to the truthhe is.
“It also seems to me, if she’s worth fightingwithshe’s worth fightingfor.”
I don’t reply to that. I just stare toward Mara’s house again, chest tight, pulse uneven.
I climb in my truck and wave goodbye to Luke, then head for home.
The sound of Luke’s teasing follows me—but so does the truth buried in it.
I’ve never wanted to protect someone and kiss them senseless in the same breath before.
eight
. . .
Mara
It’s been two days.
Two long, infuriating, stupidly slow days since Graham Whitlock showed up at my house with a Christmas tree in the back of his truck and that soft, careful smile that I swear he only lets me see.
Two days since he stood in my half-finished living room, strung lights on the tree he insisted I “needed,” kissed me until the rest of the world disappeared, tied me up with Christmas lights and made me scream his name, fell asleep on the sofa with me in his arms—then vanished the next morning.
The memory of his hands on me, the heat in his voice, the way he claimed me lingers in everycorner of the house.
We went fromsomethingto…I don’t even know what.
No texts.
