Page 7 of Mountain Man's Naughty Elf
Finishing my coffee, I stood to refill my mug, then froze as I turned toward the living room. For the first time, I noticed what she'd done to the space beyond the kitchen.
My austere, practical living room had been "enhanced." Paper snowflakes, clearly cut from pages torn from the back of one of my field notebooks, hung from the ceiling fan. The stack of firewood by the hearth had been rearranged to form what appeared to be a Christmas tree silhouette. And my lone throw blanket had been artfully draped over the couch with decorative pinecones placed along its edge.
"What," I said with dangerous calm, "did you do to my living room?"
Pepper followed my gaze, wiping her hands on a dish towel. "A few festive touches. This place was seriously lacking in Christmas spirit."
"That was intentional."
"Nobody intentionally lacks Christmas spirit," she said, as if this were a universally accepted fact.
"I do." I set my mug down hard enough to slosh coffee onto the counter. "I don't do Christmas."
She looked genuinely perplexed. "Everyone does Christmas."
"Not me." I gestured at her makeshift decorations. "Take those down."
Instead of complying, she crossed her arms. "Why? What's wrong with a little seasonal cheer?"
I didn't answer. My reasons were my own, and I sure as hell wasn't sharing them with a stranger who'd invaded my home, my kitchen, and now my living room.
"Look," she said, softer now. "We're stuck here together. I connected to your satellite internet and checked the weather app when I got up, and it's not letting up anytime soon."
I strode to the window, yanking the curtain aside. The world outside was still a solid wall of white. "Let me see."
She handed me her phone, open to a weather radar showing an immense storm system parked stubbornly over the mountains.
"This says three days," I said, studying the forecast. "Minimum."
"Hence the decorations." She gestured around. "If I'm going to be snowed in, I'd rather not feel like I'm in a minimum-security prison."
I glared at her. "It's a cabin."
"A very nice, very stark cabin that could use some warmth."
"It has a fireplace."
She rolled her eyes. "Emotional warmth. Ambiance. Hygge, as the Danes say."
"I'm not Danish."
"No kidding." She took her phone back. "Look, I'm sorry if I overstepped. I was up early, feeling anxious about Nolan, the storm, all of it... and making things is how I cope."
Something in her expression—a flash of genuine worry beneath the cheerful exterior—made me rein in my annoyance.
"Fine," I said. "But no more redecorating without asking."
Her face lit up again. "So I can keep these up?"
I sighed. "For now."
"Victory!" She did a little dance that made the too-big sweatpants slide precariously on her hips. She hitched them back up quickly. "Sorry. I'll try to contain my enthusiasm to acceptable levels."
"Is that possible for you?"
"Honestly? No." She grinned. "But I can pretend to try."
Despite myself, I felt the corner of my mouth twitch. Her relentless good humor was... not entirely annoying. Which was more than I could say for most people.
