Page 4 of Mountain Man's Winter Wonder
Her lips parted, just slightly, and I wanted to kiss the answer right out of her.
“And you?” she asked. “What did you do in the Army?”
“Engineering. Built stuff. Blew up stuff. Fixed stuff.” I tried to weave holly into the frame and nearly stabbed myself. “Clearly, wreaths weren’t on the syllabus.”
Sheraton snorted and leaned in to adjust my mess. Her shoulder brushed mine, warm despite her wet clothes, and I swear the air between us went charged.
“It’s not about perfect,” she said, rearranging pine. “It’s about making something new. With your hands. With intention.”
I had the feeling she meant more than wreaths. “You feel that way about your globes?”
Her eyes softened. “Each one’s a little piece of hope.”
“And the restaurant?”
Silence. Then, softly, “I used to love it.”
I turned, studied her face, that mix of strength and weariness. “What happened?”
She gave me a shrug meant to end the conversation. It didn’t.
“What do you want, Sheraton?”
Her eyes met mine, and for once she didn’t guard them. “I want to wake up excited. I want to create. I want my life to feel like it’s mine.”
“That’s not too much to ask.”
Her laugh was bitter. “Isn’t it?”
“No.” My voice was sharp enough to make her look at me again. “It’s the bare minimum. You deserve that.”
Something passed between us then—raw and unspoken. The kind of thing that couldn’t be hidden once seen.
And then a kid spilled hot chocolate nearby, chaos snapping the moment. She pulled back, walls slamming back up.
“I should check on my booth,” she said.
“I’ll walk you.”
Outside, the storm had eased. Puddles gleamed with reflected lights. Her booth was wet but mostly intact. Relief softened her face again, and I wanted to be the reason she looked like that more often.
We straightened her display in silence until I couldn’t take it anymore. “Dinner?”
Her head shot up. “What?”
“Dinner. With me.” I ran a hand through my damp hair. “Look, I’m terrible at this, but I don’t want to say goodbye yet.”
Her lips curved, slow and tempting. “You’re not terrible. You’re actually kind of charming.”
“Kind of?”
Her eyes sparkled. “I’m reserving judgment until I see how you eat.”
I chuckled. “So that’s a yes?”
She hesitated only a beat before nodding. “Yes. But casual. I’m not dressed for fine dining.”
I looked at her—rain-damp hair, flushed cheeks, eyes lit with something that hadn’t been there an hour ago—and thought nobody had ever looked more perfect.
