Page 12 of Frosty the Farmhand
For either of us.
Reid’s big heart and unwavering enthusiasm have been as endearing as they are aggravating. I didn’t want to be found, and I didn’t want to be seen. But Reid’s managed to do both.
“Those are some good-looking trees,” Winston says proudly as Reid hops out of the ATV practically before it stops moving. I shake my head at myself, amazed I made it back without running us into something. I need to get my head back in the game.
I need him.
Fuck.
We unload the trees as Winston takes off to handle a problem in the gift shop.
“Come on, we have to go help greet people, direct them where they need to go,” Reid says, and I can’t help it—my face scrunches up like I ate something sour.
“Probably not a good idea.”
“Why? Because you’ll have to smile and engage in the Christmas cheer?”
“Yes.”
Reid chuckles. “It’s going to be fine.”
“Not if the plan is for the farm to make money.”
He grins and elbows me playfully. “You can be Mr. Christmas instead of Mr. Frost for one day.”
I shake my head. “You’reChristmas. I’m one of those obscure holidays that someone made up that finds its way onto the calendar for no reason.”
Reid snorts out a laugh and shoves me toward the gate. “We’ll make a holiday fiend out of you yet, Mr. Frost.”
Good luck with that.
REID
It’s almostcomical the way Harlan’s smile drops once each customer has turned their back. It’s like the act of lifting his full lips is physically exhausting and draining on his soul. He catches me staring and huffs, making me laugh as I nod toward another group walking his way.
Despite his best intentions to divert people toward me, almost everyone is drawn to hisfrostydemeanor—like an animal caught in a snare.
Unsurprising since it’s already worked on me.
It takes probably half the morning, but Harlan’s shoulders finally fall to a more comfortable level, his stance becomes more open, and while his smile is still a little forced, it’s the most natural one I’ve seen all day.
Except when we were alone, and he was running the pad of his thumb over my bottom lip.
I’d give almostanythingto freeze that moment in time, to give us just a beat longer to close the distance.
Harlan isn’t the kind of man who makes you wonder whether he’s good with his hands—good in bed.He exudes masculinity and an intensity that gets your blood pumping any time he’s near.
He’s got my blood pumping south as luck would have it.
And I have to count back from twenty before I’m confident I won’t be ruining anyone’s holiday cheer with myenthusiasmfor a certain farmhand.
There are still a few hours left until the day is done and just enough time to think of a plan to woo Mr. Frost into finishing what we started. And if his hot and cold attitude is any indication, it’ll have to be something drastic.
I just hope it works.
8
HARLAN
