Page 22 of Mistletoe Bargain with the Billionaire

“Where’s your hat? You have snowflakes melting in your hair,” I murmur, not wanting to ruin the picture-perfect moment with my silly longings.

“I had to chase someone through the snow and catch her,” he replies, his voice turning rough and delicious. Then, he reaches into his coat pocket. “I remembered yours at least.” He places my green and red striped stocking cap on my head with sweet solicitousness. I would think my heart was no more than a puddle of happy goo in my chest if it wasn’t tippity-tap-tapping like a drum from the gesture.

“I’m sor-” His fingers graze my lips as he tilts my head back and steps forward, fully into my space.

“I’m not. Nothing like a walk in the snow or a lighted gazebo to put one in the right frame of mind for romance.” His mouth descends upon mine before I can even form words of response.

And, this kiss… why must it be so perfect? So full of promise? My heart sings. My eyes prick from the tender longing in Nick’s kiss and my toes curl from the heat of it. We’ll melt the snow within twenty paces of us.

“Ring the bell, you two!”

We stumble apart at the sound of a merry wolf whistle nearby. It’s an old man walking his dog.

We share an embarrassed grin but Nick, even with us not being newlyweds, does as the man suggests. Two sharp pulls-ding-ding! A happy sound after a perfect kiss, white lace and promises combined with the most wonderful time of the year.

Remember it’s not real, Carol, for the sake of your heart if nothing else.

My cheeks are hot over the attention and the associations linked to that bell. But Nick’s not blushing. He’s smiling and it’sthatsmile, the one I never could say no to. “I really like practicing that with you, honey,” he says before pressing one final kiss to my brow.

“I like practicing with you, too.”

He offers me his hand and it’s so warm compared to mine even without gloves. “Are you ready for dinner?”

I nod, allowing him to lead me back to the SUV. But he asks a very good question. Am I ready for dinner and all that will follow the next week? I don’t know but I don’t want to miss a moment of it with him either.

13-Nick

I’ve never considered myself a coward. Until this morning, that is.

When I woke up with Carol nestled next to me in Toronto, I was hard and aching for her. My first impulse was to pull her closer, wake her with a kiss and see where that would lead. I didn’t do it but that wasn’t the cowardly part.

The cowardly part was, after deciding that I should talk to Carol about my all-consuming desire and growing feelings for her first, I failed to do either. I snuck off to the shower and didn’t say a word. I could tell my lack of communication wounded her and yet I didn’t open my mouth, risk exposing myself or do anything about it.

I cared about Carol, the girl. She was fun, she was trustworthy, she was my friend long before anyone was eager to make my acquaintance because of what they hoped they might gain from it.

Carol, the woman, blows me away. The memory of that kiss in the town square’s gazebo is going to haunt me for a very long time.

We reach the restaurant where we’re meeting Grams, Marley and Jake just in time to take Mr. Jinglebell for a short stretch before going inside. “We’ll get him and ourselves settled at the hotel after dinner,” I assure Carol.

Meanwhile, her cat is not at all sure what to make of snow. He makes the most confused (and honestly, hilarious) face when his paws first touch the fluffy white, wet stuff on the sidewalk. Then, he lets out a yowling wail that would wake his dead ancestors in the tombs of Egypt to complain about this latest horror he’s been subjected to. “Figured a Himalayan would at least tolerate snow.”

“Hey, mister! What’s wrong with your cat?”

Mentally, I’m rolling my eyes over being called out yet again when attempting to walk our cat. (Our cat?)

As I turn, I find four kids watching Mr. Jinglebell’s antics and plan on giving them a brief but polite explanation when their jaws all drop in sync. “Holy shit, are you Nick Frost?” a boy, the one who spoke, asks.

Yes, I’m recognized fairly frequently but not by children. I’m hardly a pop star or famous athlete.

A girl his age, taller than the others with tight ebony curls, gives the back of his head a slap. “Don’t talk like that to him! Mr. Frost, do you need help with your cat?”

“Hey, kids,” Carol chimes in, taking the lead as I stand by her looking puzzled. “Yes, he’s Nick Frost. I’m Carol and our cat was born and raised far from any snow so he’s having trouble adapting to that as you can see.” Mr. Jinglebell is currently hopping around like the ground is electrified and he’s hoping to avoid being shocked by staying in the air as much as possible.

“Oh… well, he’ll have to get used to snow here,” the girl replies. “I’m Tysha. This is Rick, Stu and Jazz.”

We nod to the kids and I find my tongue again. “What are you kids doing out here tonight?” It’s a small town and fairly safe but it’s cold and dark out and none of them can be more than thirteen.

“We had an important business meeting over at the pizza place across the street. We’re waiting on Stu’s mom to pick us up.” The boy, Rick, nods to the familiar Tony’s Pizzeria, home to Whistler’s best pizza pie and half a dozen old school arcade games. The perfect place to hang out at their age.

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