Page 20 of Christmas With My Mountain Man Landlord
As the evening progresses, I watch Tom gradually relax. He doesn't smile often, but when he does, it transforms his face, especially when directed at Savannah, who practically glows with happiness at having her father present. Colt catches me watching them once and gives me an approving nod that suggests he understands exactly what my presence has catalyzed.
"I think I'll grab another hot chocolate," Savannah announces after we've toured most of the square. "Colt, come help me carry them?"
"I just got this one," he protests, holding up a nearly full cup.
Savannah gives him a meaningful look that even I can interpret. "Help me carry them."
"Right. Carry. The drinks." Colt catches on, clearing his throat. "Be right back. You two stay here. By the gazebo. Under that thing."
He points upward before Savannah drags him away, leaving Tom and me standing beneath the gazebo's entrance. I follow Colt's gesture, my heart skipping when I spot the small sprig of greenery hanging above us.
"A mistletoe," I say, my voice emerging higher than intended.
Tom follows my gaze, his expression unreadable in the colored lights from the tree. "Subtle, aren't they?"
"Very." I laugh nervously, suddenly hyper aware of our proximity. "We don't have to. It's just a silly tradition."
His eyes meet mine, something darkening in their depths. "Some traditions are worth observing."
My breath catches. Is he saying what I think he's saying?
Tom steps closer, closing the already small distance between us. One hand comes up to brush a snowflake from my cheek, his touch gentle but leaving fire in its wake.
"May I?" he asks softly.
I nod, unable to form words as he leans down, his lips meeting mine with unexpected tenderness. The kiss starts gentle, almost hesitant, as if he's giving me time to pull away. Instead, I step closer, my hands finding their way to his chest.
Something breaks loose between us. The careful restraint we've both maintained shatters as the kiss deepens. His arms encircle me, pulling me against him as my hands slide up to his shoulders. He tastes like coffee and winter air, his warmth enveloping me as thoroughly as his embrace.
I lose track of time, aware only of the sensations flooding through me. The solid strength of his body. The surprising softness of his lips. The gentle scrape of stubble against my skin. When we finally part, both breathing unevenly, I keep my eyes closed for a moment, savoring the lingering impression.
"Worth the wait," I whisper before I can stop myself, my eyes flying open in horror.
His lips curve into a genuine smile. "Definitely."
"Dad! Kelsie!" Savannah's voice cuts through our bubble. "Oh. Oh! Sorry, we can come back..."
I step back, feeling my face flame despite the cold. Tom keeps one arm around my waist, a small gesture that speaks volumes.
"You're not interrupting," he tells his daughter, though the warmth in his voice lacks conviction.
Savannah's grin threatens to split her face as she hands us fresh cups of hot chocolate, her eyes darting between us with undisguised delight. "We're all heading to the caroling. You two coming?"
"Of course," I say, grateful for something to focus on besides the lingering sensation of Tom's lips on mine.
As we walk toward the choir, Tom's hand finds mine, his fingers interlacing with mine in a gesture so natural it takes my breath away. We exchange a glance in silent acknowledgment. This is new territory, unfamiliar and exhilarating.
The choir's voices rise in harmony, singing about peace and joy and hope renewed. Standing beside Tom, his hand warm in mine, I feel a sense of rightness that transcends the holiday or the quaint small town setting. Something unexpected and precious is happening between us.
When the caroling ends, Savannah turns to us, cheeks flushed from cold and excitement. "We're heading to The Grind. They're staying open late for the festivities. Hot toddies and peppermint lattes."
Tom glances at me, a question in his eyes. I squeeze his hand in response.
"Actually," he says, "I think we'll head home."
The simple word 'home' rather than 'back to my house' doesn't escape my notice. Nor does Savannah's barely suppressed squeal of delight.
"Of course." She winks at me with all the subtlety of a neon sign. "Great having you here, Dad. Best tree lighting ever."
