Page 56 of Santa's Girl
A deep, low, real laugh that I felt in my chest.
“You tried to dressdown,didn’t you?” he said.
“Andyoutried to dressup,” I shot back, grinning.
We both just stood there for a second, smiling like idiots. Two people trying to meet in the middle, and somehow crashing straight into each other’s hearts instead.
Margie made a little sound behind me—one of those wistful, romantic sighs that only an aunt can make and still get away with.
Bear turned to her, leaning in and kissing her cheek. “These are for you,” he said, and handed her a bouquet of daisies—bright, simple, perfect.
Margie touched a hand to her chest. “Well, now. I don’t know what’s in the water up at that mountain cabin, but I like it.”
Bear glanced at me. “You ready?”
I nodded, heart in my throat. “Yeah. More than ready.”
And I swear as I stepped out into the cold night with him at my side, it felt like something was about to start—not just the date.
Something real.
When he led me out to the driveway, I stopped cold.
A black Cadillac Escalade. Tinted windows. Gleaming like it had just been detailed by angels. I could see my reflection in the paint. The seats inside looked like they cost more than my old apartment.
I let out a low whistle. “This yours?”
He opened the door with a grunt. “Borrowed it from a friend.”
I slid into the passenger seat, still stunned by the smell of clean leather and whatever luxury air freshener this thing came with.
“Well, damn,” I said. “You’re really trying to impress me tonight.”
He didn’t say a word. Just gave me a look — that quiet, confident Bear look that somehow said more than an entire love letter.
The drive was smooth, quiet. He had country music playing low — real stuff, not pop-country garbage. My hand kept drifting to the armrest, fingers itching to find his, but I kept it classy.
Until we pulled into a little swanky storefront that glowed with twinkle lights and wine bottle silhouettes in the windows.
I blinked at the sign.
Wine by Design.
“No,” I breathed. “Youdidn’t.”
He parked, turned off the engine, and looked over at me like it was no big thing.
“I’vealwayswanted to do these,” I said, my voice rising with actual glee. “But Huntley?—”
I stopped myself, flinching.
“Sorry. I shouldn’t be talking about exes.”
Bear shrugged, calm as ever. “He thought it was too...?”
“Gauche,” I said, making a little air-quote with one hand.
Bear rolled his eyes. “Don’t know shit about painting. But you can’t talk at the movies. And technically, we already had dinner. Twice.”
