Page 33 of Santa's Girl
“You should,” he said simply, standing to grab another log for the fire.
But as I watched him move—broad shoulders, easy stride, the kind of quiet that filled a room—I felt something bloom in my chest that had nothing to do with soup or snowstorms.
Because suddenly, the idea of being the first woman he’d ever let past those walls felt like its own kind of magic.
And somehow, that thrilled me more than the snowmobile ride ever could.
The bar was buzzing again by late afternoon — laughter, music, the sound of cues cracking against balls. A few of the guys had started a friendly game in the corner, and I watched the cue ball spin across the felt, perfect, controlled.
I hadn’t played in forever. Not since Huntley. I was just messing around last night with Jinx, trying to fit in and not get overly noticed. But Huntley and I, we spent half our weekends in fancy pool halls downtown, teaching me how to line up shots and call them like I was in a league. I’d learned quick — I’d had to — because losing to Huntley meant enduring hours of smug grins and backseat coaching.
Now, though? I wanted to play again, but for me.
Not to impress anyone.
And maybe a little to wipe that cool look off Bear’s face.
I leaned against the table, twirling a cue. “What do you say, mountain man? One game.”
Bear raised an eyebrow, slow and skeptical. “Honey, I don’t just play pool.”
“Oh? What, you only play serious tournaments?”
He smirked. “Club rules. You gotta bet something.”
I paused, pretending to think while my pulse kicked up.
A bet.
I could do that.
“All right,” I said. “If I win, I get to decorate this place for Christmas. And I mean full-on Christmas. I’m talking 18-foot Santa blowups, glitter bombs, mistletoe in every doorway, and more Mariah Carey than you can possibly stand.”
He stared at me like I’d just suggested sacrificing his Harley to the holiday gods. “You’re serious.”
“Deadly.”
He shook his head, lips twitching. “Okay, deal. But it’s never gonna happen, sweetheart.”
“Oh, it’s happening.” I chalked my cue, fighting a grin. “What do you get if you win?”
He didn’t answer right away. Just took the stick from my hand, turned it slow, rubbed the chalk against the tip, andstepped in close enough that I could feel the heat off him. His voice dropped low, just for me.
“You stay up on my mountain one more night.”
The words hit like a shiver straight through me. Goosebumps raced down my arms before I could hide them.
I looked up at him, trying to keep my voice even. “That’s it? That’s what you want?”
He smiled, small and sure. “That’s all I need.”
For a heartbeat, I thought about throwing the game. Letting him win. Staying.
But pride’s a funny thing, and mine had just stood up and squared its shoulders.
“Better hope you’re good, Bear,” I said, lining up my first shot. “Because I really, really want to fa-la-la this place.”
He chuckled, stepping back to watch. “Show me what you got, sugar plum.”
