Page 8 of Mountain Man's Holiday Bell
“So,” I said, breath puffing white. “What now?”
He stepped close, towering, eyes dark. “Now I walk you to your car and try to be a gentleman.”
“And if I don’t want you to be a gentleman?” The words tumbled out, daring and shaky.
His hand cupped my cheek. “Paige, you’re going to be the death of me.”
“Yes or no?”
He chuckled, low and rough. “That’s a ‘let me walk you to your car before I start a town scandal.’”
I grinned. “I’m parked just around the corner.”
“Lead the way,” he said, sliding his hand to the small of my back. “But I’m warning you—I want to see you again. Tomorrow.”
“I’d like that,” I said softly.
As we walked beneath twinkling Christmas lights, his touch warm against me, I couldn’t stop smiling. Maybe stepping out of my comfort zone had been what I needed all along. Maybe some things were worth waiting for.
And maybe, just maybe, I’d found something worth staying for.
4
JONAS
I’d told myself I’d only spend the morning helping Paige at her booth. That was the plan—grab her a coffee and a muffin, check if my boss needed anything, and maybe head back to the crew.
Instead, I blinked and it was nearly lunchtime, the air buzzing with chatter and the scent of fried food. People wandered by with sliders in cardboard trays, corn dogs dripping with mustard, and steaming cups of cocoa warming their gloved hands.
And me? I was still standing shoulder to shoulder with Paige, pretending I was useful when really I just couldn’t walk away.
“Thanks for helping,” she said when we finally had a lull. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold and the attention of half the town. “I know you probably have other things to do. I don’t want to get you in trouble with your boss.”
“My boss isn’t here. And the guys don’t care.”
What I didn’t admit was that Buck had walked by earlier with a two-by-four over his shoulder, smirking like an idiot before throwing me a thumbs up. The rest of the crew had been doing the same all morning—grinning, shaking their heads, andwatching me standing here holding hand-painted bells like some lovesick fool.
“I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be,” I told her. And God help me, I meant it.
I probably looked ridiculous to everyone else. A six-foot-three guy in lumberjack plaid, broad shoulders blocking half her display, big hands carefully passing delicate red and green bells to customers.
But it wasn’t about the bells. It was about Paige. It was about the way her arm brushed mine, deliberate enough to make my blood heat. The way those jeans clung to her curves when she bent over to grab something from under the table…
Three hours I’d been there, breathing her in. Three hours of trying not to think about the conversation we’d had last night.
“You don’t have to stay,” Paige said now, glancing up at me through lashes so dark they could ruin a man. “I’m sure you have better things to do than sell bells.”
“Like what?” I leaned against the table, close enough to catch the vanilla-and-spice scent of her hair. “Hike? Did that this morning. Swing a hammer? It’s Saturday. Christmas shopping?” I gestured around us. “Pretty sure this is the biggest retail scene Wildwood Valley’s ever seen.”
Her laugh slipped out, light and musical, and I felt it straight in my chest. “Fair point. But you must be bored out of your mind.”
Bored? If only she knew. Every brush of her fingers against mine lit me up like the strings of lights overhead. Every time her eyes found mine and held just a beat too long, I wanted to drag her behind the booth and kiss her until she forgot her own name.
“I’m not bored,” I said, voice rougher than I meant it to be.
She tilted her head, studying me. “No?”
“No.” I leaned in, my words low, meant only for her. “I can’t stop thinking about what you told me last night.”
