Page 95 of Mad About Yule

He pulls the warehouse door open to reveal the Winter Wonderland in all its glory. My heart explodes in a series of holly jolly fireworks, each bigger and more magnificent than the last. I clap my hands together and make inarticulate high-pitched sounds.

“I thought there’d be squealing,” he says.

“You finished them. I knew you would, obviously, but you finished them.”

I’d had to leave the last house for him to paint this week because I just didn’t have enough time. A simple townhouse, it didn’t need the details I added to the others, and I left him an intricate paint color schematic he obviously followed to the letter.

He laughs as I walk around each building, complete and perfect on the warehouse floor. A bakery, bookshop, toy store, and two houses that would fit right in at the North Pole. They’re better than I’d dreamed—and I have a good imagination.

I throw my arms around his shoulders, burrowing my face into his neck. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“Hey,” he says softly. “I wasn’t expecting tears, sweetheart.”

I pull back and run a finger beneath each eye. “I’m not crying. My happiness just went all watery, that’s all.”

“Don’t, or you’ll make me all watery, too. They’re just pretend houses.”

Really? He’s trying to claim modestynow? Now that I’ve seen these festive, adorable houses in all their glory? Nice try.

“They’re not, though. They’re my Winter Wonderland, and you made them come to life like Frosty.” I give a hearty sniffle, but I make myself stop crying. That’s ridiculous. And a little bit unavoidable. “I can’t wait to see them in town square.”

“You’re going to make a lot of little kids happy.” He says it like that’s an accomplishment, like that’s living the dream.

And I think maybe I love this man. This confident, cocky man who swept into my warehouse like everything in it was beneath him, who now talks about my goals like they’re his goals, too. My heart buzzes like I’ve got a whole beehive in there, every one humming confirmation of this love.

This is…maybe bad. Maybe very bad indeed. I can’tloveGriffin McBride after a few weeks of spending every single day together. Can I?

My buzzing heart maintains I can.

“You’ve made me so happy.” I grab the lapels of his barn jacket and pull him closer. His hands go to my waist, which I sadly can’t feel because of my big coat. I want his hands onme. “I don’t feel like I’ve thanked you enough.”

He nuzzles against me and kisses behind my ear. I suck in a breath, holding in my shivers.

“It’s a good start,” he says.

“What are we doing for our date tonight?”

He flashes me a look of pure mischief. “I have an idea, but it’s a pretty bad one. You might not be in.”

“Is it wrong I’m a little turned on?”

He fakes a pout. “Only a little?”

We lock up the warehouse and walk outside to Griffin’s truck. He opens the passenger door, revealing a pile of something stuffed in the back seat.

I stare at what he has back there. “Blankets?”

He bobs his eyebrows and nods at the truck bed. I peer in and spot two bundles of firewood.

“I thought we could have a little bonfire in the canyon.”

I clap my hands like it’s Christmas morning. “Holy cow, yes!”

He still looks skeptical. “It’s awfully cold. We might not last long before we give it up as a one-way street to popsicle town.”

“I’m completely one hundred percent in on giving it a try.”

His grin gets my stomach swooping low. “Then let’s do this.”

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