Page 29 of Tinsel in Telluride

“Great.” Frowning, I take a sip from the steaming mug in front of me.

It’s just the pick me up I need because the moment the coffee hits my lips, it takes everything in me to stifle a satisfying moan. This coffee is bold and sweet with a hint of spice, and I’m not sure where it came from, but I need to find out if I can get it in New York.

“So, what’s Bucket List Christmas?” I lean forward and plant my elbows on the island on either side of my coffee, resting my steepled fingers in front of my chin. “And why do you want to bring women?”

Bash’s eyebrows shoot up. “Luca didn’t tell you what you were walking in on?”

I chuckle. “It seems he has a habit of keeping secrets.”

“Then again, so do you.” His smirk says he’s playing, but also that he’s not afraid to call me on my bullshit.

“Well, you just say it how it is.” It’s refreshing, and I decide here and now I like this guy.

Bash shrugs and brings his mug to his lips. “Life’s too short not to.”

“Is this the part where you tell me that if I lie again and break his heart, you’ll break my face?”

“A pretty face like yours? No.” He tilts his head to the side dramatically, like he’s thinking far too hard for this early in the morning. “Though I can’t promise Holt won’t. He’s got a penchant for collecting teeth.”

My eyes bulge, and I nearly choke on the coffee I was attempting to swallow. “What?”

“He’s a hockey player,” Bash clarifies.

“Ahh.” I nod, making the connection. “For who?”

“He doesn’t play anymore. Nasty knee injury. Now he owns the San Diego Tide.”

“Wow, three team owners in one friend group.”

“Four,” Bash quips.

“Four?”

Bash takes another sip, then smiles and stands. Doing his best Vanna White impersonation, he swipes a hand across his chest, highlighting the team’s name under a large growling bear. “Four owners. The San Francisco Grizzlies are owned by yours truly.”

“So let me get this straight. You’re all team owners, and you celebrate Christmas together.” Who are these men, and how the hell did I get here with them? This is like something straight out of a Hallmark movie.

“Something like that.”

An amused cackle escapes me. “And I thought being friends with a bunch of Major League ballplayers was surreal.”

“So.” Bash sits down and leans forward, resting his elbows on the island with his head turned toward me. “Why are you reallyhere, Leigh? Because I’m not buying this bullshit story that you’re here just for work.”

I look away, my stomach churning. What am I supposed to say?

The simple answer is my guilty conscience. Both in regards to Luca and the fact I don’t want to fail Willow and Renegade Hearts.

The complicated answer is—well, just that…complicated.

Not that I expect Bash to understand or even agree, but that’s all I got. So that’s what I go with.

“Initially, that’s exactly why I agreed to come. But also, I think there’s a part of me that wanted Luca to know about Zach. Even if he might not be his father. If he is, Zach deserves a dad.”

It’s more than I planned to reveal to one of Luca’s friends, but the moment the words leave my mouth, a small weight lifts off my chest. Maybe Bash is right—life’s too short not to say it how it is.

Bash presses his lips together thoughtfully. “You really don’t know who his dad is?”

It’s the million-dollar question that shouldn’t make me feel like shit, but does.

---