Page 10 of Naughty With The Mountain Man
Then:
Pause video at 0:42—did Mrs. Claus forget something?
My stomach drops. I squint at the screen. For a second, I think maybe someone hacked me. Then I spot the bow. Nope. Not a hacker. I scrub forward to the wide shot. There I am, center frame, talking spark plug gaps in my best steady voice. And behind me, on the back of the office couch, festive and cheerful as a crime scene clue are red and white Santa panties with a peppermint bow.
I close my eyes. Then open them. Still there. Still mocking me.
“Ruby,” I say, careful. Calm. “We have … a situation.”
She walks over, curious, and the second she sees the pause frame she snorts. Not a little laugh. A laugh-laugh, hand to her mouth, eyes bright with it.
“Oh, no,” she says, delighted and horrified in equal measure. “Those are absolutely mine.”
“I gathered.”
“I meant to put them away.” She winces.
I look at the numbers. Views are climbing. Comments multiplying. I scroll past a dozen variations ofDoes Santa wear lace?and saucy North Pole comments.
“Okay,” I say, because this is my job and problems get fixed. “You’re going to have to give an explanation on the channel.”
She blinks, then straightens, unbothered. “No problem.”
I point at the screen. “I mean a real one.”
“It is real.” She leans her hip against the table. “I’m a lingerie and intimacy boutique owner, remember? I’m not ashamed of it. You don’t have to be either. Let me write a quick line, we add it to your description, and I’ll reply to the top comment with the link to my shop so they see the connection and know for sure.”
I stare at her. She stares back, cool as a snowdrift.
“You want to plug your store under my carb video.”
“Shamelessly,” she says. “With a candy cane emoji.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. Ranger rests his chin on my knee like he’s voting with her.
“It’s either that,” she adds gently, “or your comments will run wild inventing their own story. I’d rather give them the true one.”
She’s not wrong. I hate that she’s not wrong.
“Fine,” I say. “Short. Clean. Nothing graphic.”
She salutes. “Scout’s honor. Hand me your keyboard, Captain Snowmobile.”
“Pretty sure scouts didn’t sell lacey things, only cookies.”
“Uh … I have some special cookies … just for Santa.”
I watch her type. She’s fast. The line she drafts is simple: “Unintentional cameo by Ruby Garland, owner of Sugarplum Secrets (Cady Springs + online). Support small business, keep warm, and please keep the comments respectful.” She adds the link, one snowflake, one candy cane. It’s disarming. Human.
I read it twice, then paste it into the description and pin a matching comment with a note about filming in a shared office during a storm. My jaw unclenches by half.
“Thank you,” she says, softly. “For not making it weird.”
“It is weird.”
“Okay, but not shamey.”
“That word offends me.”
