Page 9 of Tinsel & Timber
I swallow. Hard. “Tradition?”
“Preserving heritage,” she says, completely straight-faced. “Isn’t that your specialty?”
God help me.
I lean in before I even realize I’m doing it. And she meets me halfway.
The kiss is soft and warm. Her hand curls lightly in my jacket, the tiniest tug pulling me closer. I kiss her deeper, even though I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop.
When she finally pulls back, she stays close enough that her lips almost brush mine as she whispers, “There. Tradition upheld. Disaster averted.”
I’m still trying to remember my own name while she seems to be as cool as the icicles lingering on the roofline. “Sure,” I say, but it comes out low and rough. “All in the name of historical accuracy.”
She laughs—soft, breathy, and clearly pleased with herself. “You keep telling yourself that, Whitlock.”
Then she steps toward the door, pausing with her hand on the knob. “Tomorrow. Seven. Don’t be late. I’d hate for your commitment to tradition to slip.”
I manage a nod, completely undone. “Yeah. Seven.”
She disappears inside, leaving me on the porch under the damn mistletoe—heart thudding, breath white in the air, and more certain than ever that I’m in trouble.
I make it down the steps somehow. My legs feel weird. Like they’re made of the same half-rotted floorboards I keep warning people about in these old houses. I’m halfway to the truck before my brain kicks back on.
I kissed her.
No.
Wekissed.
And it was magic.
Except that feels like admitting too much, so I decide to stick with “I was ambushed by a seasonal plant-based obligation.”
I open the door to my truck and climb inside, but I don’t start the engine. I sit there for a long time, and I swear I can feel the ghost of her mouth on mine.
Bad. This is bad.
I run a hand over my face.
God, she smelled like sawdust and vanilla.
Who smells likethatwhile sanding a railing?
No.Focus.
She’s headstrong. Determined. Too sure of herself. Too…bright. Like flipping on a light in a room I’ve let stay dark for a reason. And sure, she kissed me—well, technically I kissed her, but we’re not going to revisit that. It doesn’t mean anything.
It was mistletoe. Mistletoe is basically legally binding in this town. I was just doing my civic duty.
I look toward the house again. She hung that mistletoe on purpose. I know she did. And the way she looked at me?—
Nope. Not thinking about that.
I grip the steering wheel. Hard.
I cannot get involved with her.
She’s temporary. She’ll restore the Kensington house and be on her way. There’s no way a city girl like Mara would stick around.
