Page 23 of Festive Faking
“Need a boost?” Hands landed on my waist, and I let out a surprised yelp.
Immediately, Mac withdrew his touch. “Sorry.”
Blowing out a breath, I turned to peek at the man behind me. His eyes were cast downward, his hands fiddling with the peppermint ornament he held.
This was the second time I’d seen his confident mask slip. There was definitely more than meets the eye with this man, and I found myself wanting to learn more about what made him tick.
“Actually, I could use a hand. Do you mind?”
Mac’s dark gaze snapped up, and hope flickered in his eyes. “Yeah?”
Ugh. Why was I blushing?
Maybe because having his full attention feels like nothing else you’ve ever experienced.
Reaching around me, he placed his peppermint on the closest available branch before anchoring both hands on my waist again. He gave a testing lift, enough to have me standing on my tiptoes. “Ready?”
“Yeah.” I swallowed.
“One, two, three.”
On that final count, my feet left the ground.
His strong grip didn’t waver as I extended both hands to thread the ribbon over the branch, securing my Snowflake-lookalike figurine to the tree.
“Success!” Mac cheered as he lowered me.
Instead of letting go, he wrapped his arms around my middle, resting his chin on my shoulder as we both gazed up in wonder.
“Beautiful,” he whispered.
I wasn’t sure how long we stood there, but our lingering didn’t go unnoticed. As people moved around us, I heard a wistful sigh aimed in our direction more than once, and even one murmured, “Ah, young love.”
My first instinct was to hide from the attention we drew, but the comfort Mac’s arms provided kept me rooted to the spot. His scent surrounded me, his scruff tickling my cheek any time he shifted. His even breathing in my ear threatened to lull me into a trance.
That was, until a male voice broke through the moment. “Aspen?”
All my muscles tensed in unison.
Mac immediately sensed my distress. “What’s wrong?”
I pulled out of his hold, spinning on my heel to face the man who had spoken.
Tucker Grant. The golden boy of Rust Canyon.
In my mind, he lost that title when he blew up my best friend’s life.
I folded both arms over my chest, my voice growing deadly. “What doyouwant?”
Mac’s head was on a swivel, volleying between the two of us as we squared off in the middle of Main Street.
Tucker pulled on the back of his neck, his gaze dropping.
Coward.
“I was just, uh, wondering . . . Do you know if Bex might be coming home for Christmas?”
How fuckingdarehe?
