Page 12 of Tangled In Tinsel & Knots
I huff a laugh, shaky. “That would make a hell of a headline.”
Without thinking, I touch his arm. Solid muscle under cheap felt. My fingers tingle. I drop my hand fast and pray he didn’t notice.
He did. His eyes cut to where I touched him, then back to my face, like he’s adding that detail to a list.
We move toward the main room. I try to pull my thoughts together before I drown in them. “I should get back,” I say. “Pretend everything is fine.”
He stares down at me. “I’ll be right here. If anything comes for you, it comes through me first.”
My breath stutters. That should scare me. Instead, it settles low in my stomach like heat curling under my ribs. I nod and force myself away, then weave through guests, smiling, adjusting decorations, checking on vendors.
At least on the outside.
Inside, everything is fraying.
Scot had been furious. I saw it in his eyes before he disappeared. If Scot tells his uncle lies about me, I will lose the partnership, the funding, trust in the industry. Everything I worked for.
I straighten a stack of brochures with shaking hands.
I kissed a stranger. One reckless move and everything is at risk.
There is no universe where this ends well.
I glance back across the room. Chris is still there. Watching me through the crowd, arms folded, like he already decided I belong under his protection.
I tell myself to look away. Focus. Work. Fix this. Make tonight flawless so the client has nothing to complain about. But my pulse won’t settle, and the truth slips in like a whisper I can’t silence.
I don’t know who he really is.
And worse… a dangerous, stupid part of me wants to find out.
3
HANNAH
Flour & Fable Bakery at eight o’clock in the evening smells like heaven having a love affair with Christmas.
Even from the sidewalk, I hear laughter and the hum of voices, book-club night keeping the lights bright and the ovens working overtime.
I push the door open, bells jingling overhead. Warmth and sugar hit me at the same time. Cinnamon. Chocolate. The lemon-vanilla candle Lily always burns that smells like fresh snow. The bakery only has a few customers, unlike the book café, which is packed.
Then Chris follows me inside.
Which makes the room feel even smaller.
He’s out of the Santa suit now. Instead, he wears black jeans that look lived-in and a dark button-up shirt that fits too well across his chest and forearms. Tattoos disappear under the sleeves, and his hair is damp like he washed the party out of it. He appears more dangerous like this. Less funny. More… real.
I tell myself not to stare. It doesn’t work.
“I’m coming in for brownies,” he murmurs, voice low as he scans the room. “And maybe to make sure you didn’t sneak home to have a breakdown alone.”
“That’s not my style,” I say. “I prefer to have breakdowns in public restrooms like a lady.”
He laughs.
Lily spots us, eyes narrowing like she’s assessing who I brought along. She wipes her hands on her apron and marches over. “You,” she says, pointing at Chris. “I hope you did an amazing job being Santa.”
He chuckles louder. “I didn’t exactly have a choice, but I’m glad I did.” He glances over at me, and Lily is staring at us both.
