Page 4 of Mountain Man's Christmas Gift
“What are you doing here?”
“Helping.” I stepped around the counter without invitation, moving to stand beside her in the cramped space. “Where do you want me?”
“I—” She stared at me for a moment, then seemed to snap back to reality as another customer approached. “Can you work the register? I’ll handle the drinks.”
“Got it.”
We fell into a rhythm surprisingly quickly. I took orders and handled payments while Camilla worked her magic with the hot chocolate and mochas. The space was small enough that we were constantly making contact—my arm against her shoulder as I reached for change, her hip bumping mine as she moved between the espresso machine and the hot chocolate station. Every touch sent a little jolt through me that I tried my best to ignore.
“Next!” I called out, and an elderly woman in a bright red coat stepped up.
“I’ll have a peppermint hot chocolate,” she said, then her eyes went to the display case. “Oh my, that fudge looks delicious.”
“It is,” I said without hesitation. “She makes it fresh every morning. The peppermint bark is incredible.”
Camilla’s head whipped around to stare at me, and I caught the surprise in her expression.
“You’ve tried it?” the woman asked.
“Not yet. But I can tell it’s good just looking at it.” I gestured to the case. “Look at that presentation. If she’s selling this much, you know it’s good.”
“Well, in that case, I’ll take a quarter pound of the peppermint bark too.”
As Camilla packaged up the fudge, she kept glancing at me with something that looked suspiciously like hero worship. It made my chest feel tight in a way that had nothing to do with the cold morning air.
The next hour passed in a blur of hot chocolate, coffee, and fudge sales. I found myself naturally upselling the fudge to nearly every customer, and Camilla’s grateful looks were becoming addictive.
Finally, the crowd began to thin as the seniors spread out to explore the rest of the festival.
“I think we survived,” Camilla said, leaning against the counter with a sigh. “Thank you. I never would have managed that alone.”
“You would have figured it out.”
“Maybe, but not without having a complete meltdown first.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m Camilla, by the way. In case you wanted to know who you just saved from certain doom.”
“Keaton. And I know.”
Her eyebrows rose. “You know?”
“I asked around about you.” I shrugged, trying to make it sound casual. “Figured I should know the name of the woman who makes the best reluctant Christmas drinks in town.”
A blush crept up her cheeks. “You asked about me?”
“Maybe.”
We stood there for a moment, the air between us charged with something I couldn’t quite name. The sounds of the festival seemed muted, like we were in our own little bubble.
“You can leave if you want,” she finally said. “I’m sure you have better things to do than stand around a fudge booth all day.”
“Do you want me to leave?”
The question hung between us. She bit her lower lip, and I caught myself staring at her mouth before forcing my gaze back to her eyes.
“No,” she said. “I don’t want you to leave.”
“Then I’m staying.”
Something shifted in her expression—relief, maybe, mixed with something warmer. Whatever it was, it made my pulse pick up.
“Good,” she said. “Because I have a feeling this day is going to get interesting.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “I’m counting on it.”
